Mírzá Ja'far and the Healing Prayer

The August sun burned down on the stone walls of 'Akká as the sailboat rocked roughly into the harbor. The Bahá'ís had come a long way. They were hot, hungry, and thirsty. But Mírzá Ja'far was happy—he was with Bahá'u'lláh!

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The townspeople yelled at them from the streets, from windows and doorways, as they passed. Mírzá Ja'far had walked through hateful mobs before. He had been hungry, tired, and hot before. These things did not matter. He was happy.

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The guards at the mighty stone prison gave them little to eat and drink. But Mírzá Ja'far thanked God. "Praise be to God!" he would say. "I am in the fully-laden Ark!" His dark, narrow cell seemed like a sweet-smelling rose garden with Bahá'u'lláh close by.

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Then, one day, Mírzá Ja'far fell sick. How could it be? They had crossed deserts and climbed mountains together. Eager always to help, Mírzá Ja'far never complained, and he never seemed to need rest. He was the one who went with 'Abdu'l-Bahá to find supplies while others rested.

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Now Mírzá Ja'far grew more and more sick. The doctor turned away. He knew of nothing that would help his patient. Mírzá Ja'far drew in his last breath.

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Bahá'u'lláh's secretary rushed to tell Bahá'u'lláh that their beloved Mírzá Ja'far was dead.

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Bahá'u'lláh said, "Go; chant the prayer of Yá Sháfí—O Thou, the Healer—and Mírzá Ja'far will come alive. Very rapidly, he will be as well as ever."

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Quickly, 'Abdu'l-Bahá went to Mírzá Ja'far's bedside. His body was cold. Soon it began to stir. Next he began to move his arms and legs. Then, before an hour had passed, he sat up, laughing and joking with his friends.

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Mírzá Ja'far lived for a long time after that, serving the friends as he always had.

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