November 6-12, 2003

city beat

Eck-posé

ONE ECK OF A TEMPLE: In this nondescript Old City building, Eckists seek knowledge about their religion of light and sound. Photo By: Michael T. Regan

Inside a little-known religion's Old City worship center.

by Morris Bracy IV

Becoming a member of Eckankar, the religion of Light and Sound of God, does not guarantee someone will become an Eck Master. No, to reach such lofty heights, they'd have to travel through all the spiritual planes, past the five levels of the Negative Realm and into the highest level of the Positive Realm to encounter Sugmad in the Ocean of Love and Mercy. From there, it's onto the dream world, to obtain the Rod of Power from another Eck Master.

Sound easy enough? Well, since the beginning of time, just 973 people -- only three of whose existences can be verified -- have pulled it off. Though it sounds like a journey in a science-fiction novel, it's actually a matter of spirituality for some 50,000 Eckists worldwide, including some 550 Pennsylvanians. (But it's also a faith that leaves some religious experts skeptical; perhaps because it has extraterrestrial roots.)

The nationally recognized, tax-exempt religion just happens to have a center of worship in an inconspicuous rowhouse on North Fourth Street, in the heart of Old City. But despite having drawn 2,000 followers to its convention at the Marriott on 12th and Market five years ago, Eckankar exists so quietly that neighbors are barely aware of their existence. It's possibly the most popular religion you've never heard of.

Says Robert Wagner, part owner of the Metropolitan Funding Group, a business that operates next door to the center, "We rarely see anybody going in or out and when we do see someone, it varies quite a bit."

Despite the local mystery, they're all over the Internet with sites representing believers in almost every state, in addition to Canadian provinces and several European nations. The faith's local site includes a picture of the Liberty Bell and Eckankar's national phone number, 1-800-LOVE-GOD.

The interior of the local Eck center is sterile with walls sparsely decorated by Eckist art depicting fantastic landscapes and colorful portraits of people in interesting robes. (When I asked about the portraits, I was told they're of Eck Masters past, with names like Fubbi Quantz, Rebazar Tarzs and Kata Daki, the first female Eck master.)

There is also a photograph of Sri Harold Klemp, the current head of Eckankar who resides at the Temple of Eck in Chanhassen, Minn. (He's also known as the Mahanta, or by his spiritual name, Wah Z).

With a conservative suit, thick glasses and bookish features, he looks more like a high school history teacher than the leader of a radical religious movement. His followers on hand at the local center a few weeks back also fit that bill, except for the one sporting a "What Would Jesus Do?" neckband.

They were all average looking, mostly middle-aged folks, the kind that your eyes would pass over without a second thought while walking through Suburban Station. Both genders were equally represented and the gathering was almost evenly divided racially.

They were gathered in two six-person circles, deeply engaged in independent discussions before openly welcoming a guest who was politely instructed to join a circle.

(Far from being secretive, the local group hosts an introductory session for the public on the first Saturday of each month).

For 20 minutes, conversations flowed freely from using emotional involvement as a means of self-defense to difficulties in revealing their Eckist identity to co-workers and acquaintances. Then, we joined a larger circle, united hands and chanted "HU" -- a love song to God -- in unison.

Legend has it that Eckankar was started several eons ago by the first Eck Master, an entity from the planet Venus named Gakko. In 1965, some two million years later, Paul Twitchell, a writer who dabbled in various new-age religious movements, proclaimed he was the 971st Eck Master after being taught by an elusive sect known as the Vairagi Eck Masters. One of these masters, the aforementioned Rebazar Tarzs, a 500-year-old Tibetan monk, is said to still walk among us, making himself apparent only when he's needed.

"They call [Tarzs] the torchbearer Ö in the period of time between two living Mahantas, he will keep the Eck going," explains local Eckankar public-relations official Charles Foley, a former graphic artist, nurse's aide and dental assistant.

Maximilian, a 32-year-old finance student at the Community College of Philadelphia, has been associated with the religion since he saw Klemp on television 20 years ago. Klemp's sermons are broadcast as a half-hour cable-access program in 850 cities across North America. (The local site offers no clue as to whether it can be seen in the Delaware Valley.)

Maximilian says he was attracted to Eckankar because of their open attitude toward other faiths. "You can find spirituality in many religions," he explains. "[Eckankar] has been open with me and truthful with me."

Turns out that spiritual truth comes with a price tag, though. To officially join Eckankar, you must pay a $130 annual fee, plus voluntary donations. (Introductory books are available free via their websites.) Of course, it would also help to purchase the Shariyat-Ki-Sugmad, the primary text of the faith, along with other books in their extensive spiritual library, all of which are published by Eckankar-owned Illuminated Way Press. Conveniently, they can be purchased at local Eckankar centers.

After two years of involvement, a member is eligible for the first level of initiation. What happens during the initiation ceremonies was not revealed, but Foley says "an individual is opened up to the Mahanta and a greater flow of the holy spirit to awaken their consciousness."

Eckists believe that spiritual understanding can only be obtained by releasing your bonds to worldly things and focusing attention on the Eck, which is comparable to the Holy Spirit in Christianity. They believe that light and sound are media through which their god Sugmad communicates with people.

David Lane, a professor of philosophy at Mt. San Antonio College in Walnut, Calif., and author of The Making of a Spiritual Movement: The Untold Story of Paul Twitchell and Eckankar (Garland Reference Library), is highly critical of the faith's mysterious origins and its founder.

Stopping short of drawing cult analogies, Lane claims the religion is nothing more than "a compilation and, at times, an appropriation, of varying spiritual paths that [Twitchell] followed Ö Although Paul Twitchell wanted his readers to believe that Eckankar was an ancient religion that traces its roots back to Gakko and Venus, the fact remains that it dates only back to the 1960s."

Despite that, local Eckists dutifully planned to undertake their annual pilgrimage to Minnesota as their spiritual New Year just passed late last month. And this Saturday, Foley says the group will host an "Art of Spiritual Dreaming" workshop at the Whole Foods Market on South Street. So, it's quite possible that more people will soon know about Eckankar, even if their own Old City neighbors haven't a clue about it.

"We grow in accordance with the understanding that the populace has with these teachings," Foley says. "I can't help but think it is going to grow."