A wooden statue of Ganesh shares the mantelpiece with a Buddhist stupa of white stone. They sit next to a statue of Jesus, a picture of Einstein, and a dog-eared book of sermons by Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. in the Nob Hill flat that serves as the San Francisco Theosophical Society’s current lodge.

Although the society has waxed and waned in size since their founding in 1910, their aims have remained relatively unchanged over the last century.

Views on sin: to view multimedia, click here.

The group members move into a circle, and Richard Power, who manages much of the lodge’s business, calls the meeting to order. He begins with a reaffirmation of their goals: to form a nucleus of the universal brotherhood of man without distinction of race, sex, caste, or creed; to foster a comparative study of religion and science; and to explore the unexplained laws of nature and the powers latent in humanity.

The society meets every Friday night at eight p.m. to discuss the human landscape. Tonight, the group will be discussing the nature of sin.

Aside from their unifying goals and a philosophical penchant for mysticism, the members differ widely in their spiritual lives and practices outside of the lodge—some are adherents of specific traditions, while others shy away from any religious categorization.

Power puts it into the context of the evening’s topic: “Mine is a very different view of sin. But that’s just mine, and I’m sure in this room there’s a different view for every person.”

Searching for common ground is the purpose that brings them together. As each of the nine members discuss what the word means in his or her life, it isn’t long before themes of selfishness and separation thread their way into the narratives. Sin is expressed, they say, as a state of ignorance that keeps people from understanding their connections to each other and the world around them. It’s a lack of spiritual focus. The members of the Theosophical Society have different ways to cope with the modern world’s push towards egotism, and meeting each week helps each member align with other viewpoints.

Bob Dewhurst, one member in attendance tonight, explains: “I think the idea of sin is that it drives us into separateness, and that’s essentially against the harmony of nature. So it’s a painful place.”
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Dewhurst tucks his bare feet underneath him as the singing begins. The atmosphere in the room is relaxed and familial. His salt-and-pepper beard is roughly the same length and color as his close-cropped hair. He closes his eyes as the group warms up with the six healing sounds of Qi-Jong.

Dewhurst has spent most of his Tuesday and Saturday nights over the last ten years singing here with the University of Light Jubilee Singers in Devoy “Light” Harris’ small flat on Gough Street. Light founded the group about fifteen years ago, and their bi-weekly practices consist of singing old Underground Railroad slave spirituals, which they perform once a month at an Episcopal homeless shelter. For Dewhurst, it is a place where he finds social and vocal harmony—a way to keep away from the sin of separation.

Tonight’s group is smaller than usual. Light, whose health has been failing recently, is propped up on a sick bed in the middle of the room and sings harmonies quietly throughout the meeting.

“I haven’t really found a church on the West Coast,” Dewhurst says. “I view Jesus as the absolute, you know, at one with all cosmic consciousness and goodness. But I don’t necessarily agree with a lot of the Christian churches. Some of them are a little confining to my outlook.”

But Dewhurst has found spiritual community with the Jubilee Singers. “Our outlook here tends to be very open, I mean, as far as all religions being one and God living in all of us,” he says. “I feel connected through singing these. This is really my church.”

A siren blares outside, providing contrast to the peaceful air within.

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When it comes time for Jeff Curtis to speak, he hesitates at first, searching for the right words as the other Theosophical lodge members wait patiently. “I think I don’t like the topic of sin very much, because I hear idiots on the radio talk about it like they know what they’re talking about,” he says, evoking general laughter from the other lodge members. “But if I stop and think about what it’s really about, what it really means to me… I bring it around to essentially a very simple take on the Golden Rule: you know, when you interact with other people, do you leave them feeling open and trusting, or do you leave them feeling closed down, afraid, and judged? And that’s kind of it for me right there.”

Lalyn Curtis, Jeff’s wife, reflects on growing up in Catholic school and her initial aloofness with the subject of sin. One day, however, a nun explained to her that each of the seven deadly sins has a direct correlate with one of the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit—that sin and virtue are opposing aspects of the same issues.

When Alima Salmon speaks, she also emphasizes that there is a positive side to the matter. “One of the things that kind of trips me out about the world religions that have dwelled on this idea of sin is that it’s all in the negative manifestation,” she says. “You know, ‘Thou shall not’ instead of focusing on the positive imagery of what is—the good connections and good ties that we have.”

She adds pointedly that Islamic teaching tells us that God’s question on the Day of Judgment is, “How have you enjoyed the gifts I have given you?”

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Salmon wraps her long, curly blonde hair in a printed headscarf before entering the San Francisco Muslim Community Center on Divisadero Street. She walks in and begins to pray, alone in the section reserved for women.

She officially converted to Islam in 1974 on the banks of the Gambia River. She had just finished a bachelor’s degree in anthropology at SF State and took a trip as soon as she could to West Africa.

She was first exposed to Islam in 1971 when she met Joe and Guin Miller, then-lodge administrators for the San Francisco Theosophical Society. Joe Miller questioned her decision to convert to such a specific path, but Salmon said it was exactly what she needed. She felt that a regular, devoted practice would give her positive connections to a spiritual community and help her focus.

“When you pray, it’s like plugging into the Ethernet, if you will,” says Salmon. “You’re connected to everyone who’s praying at that time—at the same exact time of day.”

As the khutba—or teaching—comes to a close, everyone in the mosque performs their raka’ahs. They bend their heads to the floor, sit, touch their heads to the floor again, and then stand together in unison.

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As the lodge meeting nears its end, the conversation turns from the disconnection of sin to the Theosophical Society’s tried-and-true method of bringing diverse points of view together.

Richard Power remembers a quote from Sai Baba, a famous Hindu saint: “The most important thing for people to do in this era is to meet in small groups without a leader and discuss their spiritual experiences and their spiritual studies in a circle,” Power paraphrases. “Which is exactly what we do.”

There is a general note of agreement in the group, and they take a moment to appreciate each other and the practice in which they take part.

“And we may have differences from time to time in politics or philosophy or different constructs or concepts,” says Salmon. “But somehow we all understand that they’re just the names for things, you know, and that the map is not the territory.”

At the end of the meeting, the group stands and holds hands. They voice their blessings for all living beings, and the meeting culminates in a hugging circle—everyone embracing everyone else.