Tea Drunk Without Sugar: 'Abdu'l-Bahá's Lesson on the Poor
Stories Told by 'Abdu'l-Bahá, (2000), Bahá'í Publishing Trust
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When in Bahá'í history
'Akká (today: 'Akká, Israel)
Visitors to ‘Akká in the years before the Master’s passing recorded a small household story. A guest, sitting at His table, noticed that the Master took His tea black. The guest inquired, in the polite Persian way, whether the absence of sugar was a matter of preference.
The Master smiled and answered, in the recorders’ several versions, with substantially the same words. He had visited a certain village in Persia in His younger years, He said. The believers there had been very poor. They had set before Him their best — black tea in small cups, brewed dark and strong. There had been no sugar. The believers had apologised for its absence; sugar was a luxury they could not afford.
The Master had drunk the tea black. He had drunk it black gladly, the visitors record Him saying, because in that village the only sweetness available was the love of the friends, and that sweetness was sufficient. He had returned, in due course, to His own household and to the better-furnished tables of ‘Akká. But He had decided, after that visit, never again to take sugar in His tea.
The decision was small. He did not press it on others; the guests at His table were given sugar with their cups. He himself simply set the small bowl aside and drank as He had drunk in the village — black, strong, and without sweetness that His distant friends could not share.
How could I take sugar in My tea when My friends in that village had none?
The recorders note that He told the story without theological elaboration. He did not preach a sermon on the duty of solidarity. He simply, in the course of an ordinary tea, named what He had decided and went on with the visit. The teaching was in the act, not in the lecture.
The believers who heard it told it again. It became, in the Bahá’í household tradition, a small icon of the Master’s hospitality and His sense of fellowship: that the table at which He sat in ‘Akká was, in His own awareness, the same table as the table of the poor village in Persia, and that nothing would be permitted at one that the other could not also enjoy.
Paraphrased from Stories Told by 'Abdu'l-Bahá (Bahá'í Publishing Trust, 2000); see original for full text.
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Reflection
- The Master gave up a small daily comfort because His friends could not share it. What small comfort might you set aside for a similar reason?
- The story was told quietly, without instruction. What does that restraint say about how love teaches?
Cite this story
Compilers, V.. (2000). *Stories Told by 'Abdu'l-Bahá*. Bahá'í Publishing Trust.
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Related stories
An Old Believer Looks Up: A Mountain Ascended Many Times
In *Bahá'u'lláh and the New Era*, Esslemont describes the proximity of the Persian believers in 'Akká to the great Mansion of Bahjí — the pilgrim who, after the long road, would silently ascend the path each morning to be near the windows of the Master, then sit beneath the trees, then descend at dusk having barely spoken.
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In *The Chosen Highway* Lady Blomfield records an afternoon in September 1911 when 'Abdu'l-Bahá visited a poor district of east London — a settlement house among the dock-workers' families — and spoke to a hall of children who had never before heard a man speak as one of them.
Quarters for the Poor: 'Abdu'l-Bahá at the Bowery Mission
Juliet Thompson's diary entries, printed in the Star of the West in April 1917, preserve a small image from the Master's first days in New York in April 1912 — His insistence on distributing silver quarters from His own hand to the men of the Bowery Mission, with the brief direction: *Surely, give to the poor!*
The Old Woman Who Carried the Wood
Among the small stories 'Abdu'l-Bahá would offer to teach the hidden dignity of the poor was the account of an old village woman who walked seven kos for a load of firewood — and a passing prince who learned, in a single conversation with her, what his court had not been able to teach him.