There’s a common trap I’ve seen in my religious community: the idea that buying a bigger, more luxurious home can be justified as a service to others. The story goes that you're getting more space so you can host community events, gatherings, maybe even devotional meetings. Sounds lovely.

And to be fair, a younger me—or a version of myself more aligned with cultural or family expectations (Persian or otherwise)—might have said, “Of course! That’s generous. That’s the dream.”

But let’s be honest.

There’s a difference between buying a home that meets your needs—maybe $500,000—and one that simply feels really good to be in, which could easily fall into the $2–3 million range. That’s a multi-million-dollar gap, and at some point, it’s worth asking: is that extra cost really about community?

Let’s do some rough math. A $500K mortgage might be $4,000/month. A $2.5 million home? More like $12,000 or more. That’s a monthly difference of $8,000.

So the question becomes: are you bringing $8,000 worth of value to your community every month through that home?

Are you hosting events at that frequency or scale? Donating that much? Creating some equivalent impact? My guess is no—not because people don’t care, but because that’s a massive value to generate on a regular basis.

The issue isn’t having a beautiful, spacious home. It’s the need to justify it with a narrative that it's “for others,” when it’s likely more about personal comfort and lifestyle.

And honestly, just owning that would be more aligned with most spiritual values.

What do the teachings of the Baha’i Faith, Christianity, Islam, Buddhism have in common? A strong emphasis on serving the poor, caring for others, living with integrity. Meanwhile, we live in a system that rewards accumulation. Capitalism encourages us to want more. Our culture normalizes luxury—even spiritualizes it.

And if we’re being real, most wealth isn't earned purely on merit. It’s often built on timing, privilege, or luck. Right place, right time. That doesn’t mean you didn’t work hard—but let’s not pretend we’re all self-made.

So here’s the real tension:
You want comfort. You want to enjoy your life. And at the same time, you want to live in alignment with your values.

There’s nothing wrong with that. But it requires clarity, not rationalization.

If you're going to live in abundance, how are you channeling that abundance outward? If you’re enjoying luxury, how are you balancing it with generosity? These are personal questions, and they deserve honest answers.

The invitation here isn’t guilt—it’s integrity.
Don’t dilute your intentions with vague narratives. Either own your lifestyle and find other ways to give back, or realign your choices to better match your values. But don’t pretend they’re already the same thing when they’re not.