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"The earth is but one country, and mankind its citizens."
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"The earth is but one country, and mankind its citizens."
13 stories on this theme.
A short paraphrase from the Baha'i Stories Blog about a small encounter on a Washington sidewalk: a blind beggar at the corner of the boarding-house street, the Master's daily greeting to him, and the small daily coin pressed into his palm.
A brief paraphrase from the bahaistories.com archive on the small recurring practice of 'Abdu'l-Bahá in His American cities: the warm conversation with each cab driver who carried Him, the personal inquiry into the driver's family, and the larger tip than the fare required.
The twelfth Hidden Word in Arabic — Bahá'u'lláh's reminder that the soul was fashioned with God's own hands and was not intended for the dust of bondage.
The thirteenth Hidden Word in Arabic — Bahá'u'lláh's confronting question to the soul that has forgotten its own original nobility and has set itself in the rank of the abased.
On Christmas night of 1912, 'Abdu'l-Bahá went to a shelter in Westminster where about a thousand of London's homeless and friendless men had gathered for a Christmas meal. He told them that His company had ever been with the poor, that He counted Himself one of them, and that in the sight of God poverty was greater than wealth — and He left money so the men might feast again on New Year's night.
In an age when a Black man in America was offered little honour, Robert Turner — a butler in a wealthy household — became the first of his race in the West to embrace the Faith of Bahá'u'lláh, and 'Abdu'l-Bahá rose to greet him, telling him that God had given him a black skin but a heart white as snow.
An unlettered villager of no rank or wealth, Shaykh Salmán walked on foot from Persia to Baghdád, to Adrianople, and to the prison of 'Akká once every year for some forty years, carrying the letters of the believers and the Tablets of Bahá'u'lláh — until 'Abdu'l-Bahá declared there had never in history been a courier so worthy of trust.
Robbed of his small stock of goods in exile, Ḥájí ʻAlí-ʻAskar-i-Tabrízí was pressed by a powerful consul to inflate the loss and share in the spoils. With prison and banishment threatened against him, the impoverished old believer would not speak a single false word — and Bahá'u'lláh said of him simply, "I am pleased with him."
Mírzá Muḥammad was a man of gentle birth and high learning, accustomed to being waited upon. For the love of Bahá'u'lláh he left every comfort behind, walked to the prison of 'Akká, and spent himself as a servant at the believers' hospice — he who had been the master was now the servant, and counted it the highest honour of his life.
Ustád Ismá'íl was a master builder of high standing in Ṭihrán, prosperous and well regarded by all. For the love of Bahá'u'lláh he lost his work, his wealth, and even his bride, and ended his days peddling trinkets from a cave outside Haifa — counting himself, in that poverty, more honoured than he had ever been in his prosperity.
On April 19, 1912, 'Abdu'l-Bahá addressed the men of the Bowery Mission in lower Manhattan — several hundred of New York's poorest, many homeless, gathered in the Mission hall for the evening service. The Master spoke to them as the equals of any king and gave them, at the close of the address, a silver quarter from His own hand.
On the afternoon of April 22, 1912, 'Abdu'l-Bahá addressed the students and faculty of Howard University in Washington, D.C. — the historically Black institution at the heart of African American higher education. His subject was the station of the human being: created in the image of God, possessed of a divine spark beyond every material limitation.
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.