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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."
57 stories on this theme.
In *Bahá'u'lláh and the New Era*, Esslemont preserves the famous 1890 account by the Cambridge orientalist Edward Granville Browne — the only Westerner ever to record his impressions of meeting Bahá'u'lláh. The short paragraph was written in plain academic English. It has never been surpassed.
Esslemont's *Bahá'u'lláh and the New Era* records the surprising recognition of the Bahá'í Faith by Count Leo Tolstoy in his last decade — the great Russian novelist who corresponded with Bahá'í teachers and praised the Faith in letters that reached far beyond the small Russian Bahá'í community of his lifetime.
On April 10, 1911, in Alexandria, Egypt, Louis G. Gregory — the African American lawyer from Washington who would later be named a Hand of the Cause — entered 'Abdu'l-Bahá's reception room for the first time. His pilgrimage notes preserve the kiss on the head, the question about his health, and the silence into which a long journey suddenly settled.
On a summer day in the Swiss countryside, 'Abdu'l-Bahá rode out to a forest, bought the violets of a swarm of peasant children, and stood entranced before a waterfall. When Juliet wished the days could last forever, He gave her a gentle answer. A retelling from the Diary of Juliet Thompson.
Juliet Thompson's mother carried a grief — and a quiet resentment of her daughter's new Faith. Then she knelt at 'Abdu'l-Bahá's bedside, and a few gentle words changed everything. A retelling from the Diary of Juliet Thompson.
Juliet Thompson had heard the whispers about herself. One morning in a Swiss hotel room, sitting at the feet of 'Abdu'l-Bahá, she learned how little they mattered to Him. A tender retelling from the Diary of Juliet Thompson.
In *The Diary of Juliet Thompson* the painter records the evening in 1912 when 'Abdu'l-Bahá visited her dying friend Marjorie Morten in her sickroom — and the strange peace that, by the next morning, had taken the place of the household's prepared grief.
In *The Diary of Juliet Thompson* the painter records an evening in New York in the summer of 1912 when, after one of the great public meetings, she found herself walking beside 'Abdu'l-Bahá through the dark streets — and the silence in which the most carrying conversations sometimes pass.
At a glittering embassy dinner in Washington, a skeptical diplomat sat across from 'Abdu'l-Bahá with tears in his eyes. A solemn question about spiritual power drew from the Master a reply that made the whole table smile. A retelling from the Diary of Juliet Thompson.
In June 1912 in New York, the painter Juliet Thompson was given an unprecedented privilege: 'Abdu'l-Bahá agreed to sit for her. The Diary preserves the moment He stopped her on the street, took her hand, and said *come tomorrow and paint;* and the cramped basement studio where He asked her to paint not the man but the *Servitude.*
In *The Diary of Juliet Thompson* the young American painter records her first encounter with 'Abdu'l-Bahá in Paris in 1901 — a small upstairs room, a single Persian voice, and a recognition that would, in time, organise the rest of her life.
In *The Diary of Juliet Thompson* the painter records a small scene in New York in 1912 when, having confessed to the Master one of her own besetting sins, she expected reproof — and received instead the quiet laughter that, in His mouth, was the most disarming form of mercy.
In His small room in 'Akka, 'Abdu'l-Bahá took Juliet Thompson's hands and listened as she laid before Him, one by one, the names of everyone she loved back in America. To each He answered with a prayer. A retelling from the Diary of Juliet Thompson.
On a sunny day in the Swiss countryside, 'Abdu'l-Bahá bought every flower a group of children were selling — and then taught His friends a simple secret about being happy.
An old woman could not walk, and she longed and longed to meet 'Abdu'l-Bahá. She thought she never would — until one day there was a knock at her own front door.
When 'Abdu'l-Bahá came to Boston, He found a city whose people had been waiting and getting ready, in their own way, for a very long time.
A famous university built its biggest hall for 'Abdu'l-Bahá's talk — but so many people came that He decided to step outside and speak to everyone at once.
At a fancy gathering in Brooklyn, a famous explorer who had reached the North Pole turned to 'Abdu'l-Bahá and asked Him to speak — and with no notes at all, He held the whole room spellbound.
A train stopped for just one hour in a city called Cincinnati — and 'Abdu'l-Bahá used that hour to step outside and greet the friends who came to meet Him.
'Abdu'l-Bahá crossed the mountains by train to two new cities — one loud with steel mills, one quiet with friends in their homes — and showed both the same warm welcome.
After many busy weeks in the big cities, 'Abdu'l-Bahá went up into the green hills to rest, to walk among the pine trees, and to welcome everyone who came up the road to see Him.
'Abdu'l-Bahá stood quietly at a great roaring waterfall and heard, inside all that noise, something wonderful — a kind of prayer.
A woman was warned she might be walking into a trap when she went to meet 'Abdu'l-Bahá — and with a smile, He told her the wonderful kind of trap it really was.
In a church packed with two thousand people, one crying woman reached out and held the hem of 'Abdu'l-Bahá's robe — and He stopped just for her.
A tired man carried a heavy worry he had never said out loud — and over a small cup of tea, 'Abdu'l-Bahá answered the very question hiding in his heart.
On a sunny Sunday in a little garden, 'Abdu'l-Bahá bent low over the lilies and laughed with the children — and a man named Howard never forgot how that afternoon smelled.
A minister in Brooklyn loved listening to 'Abdu'l-Bahá so much that one Sunday he invited Him to speak from his very own pulpit — and his church was never the same again.
A man climbed the stairs of a tall hotel with a long list of hard questions in his pocket — and discovered that the answer he truly needed was waiting for him in a single, warm hello.
A man knelt for one last blessing and placed 'Abdu'l-Bahá's hand on his own head — and what he felt taught him what true greatness really is.
Mahmúd's Diary records 'Abdu'l-Bahá's days in Boston in late July and August 1912, including His talk at the Free Religious Association and the unusually warm reception of Boston's Unitarian ministers. Boston, the city of Emerson and the Transcendentalists, recognised in the Master a kindred root.
Mahmúd's Diary records that during the May 1912 visit to Boston, 'Abdu'l-Bahá addressed audiences at Harvard University in Cambridge — including a memorable open-air talk on the lawn before Sanders Theatre when the hall could not accommodate the crowd that had come.
Mahmúd's Diary preserves the moment in early June 1912 at a Unity Club gathering in Brooklyn when Admiral Robert E. Peary, the polar explorer, unexpectedly invited 'Abdu'l-Bahá to address the room — though the Master had been there only as a guest. The talk, given without notes, brought the distinguished gathering to a complete stillness.
Mahmúd's Diary records that on the journey from Chicago to Washington in early November 1912, the Master's train made a long change of cars at Cincinnati. Word had been telegraphed ahead. A small group of Ohio believers came to the station for the hour the train was held there.
Mahmúd's Diary records the spring of 1912 when 'Abdu'l-Bahá travelled west of the Alleghenies for the first time, holding meetings in Cleveland and Pittsburgh and then continuing to Chicago. In Pittsburgh the smoke of the steel mills hung over the talks; in Cleveland the believers gathered in private homes.
Mahmúd's Diary preserves the final weeks of July and the opening weeks of August 1912, when 'Abdu'l-Bahá retired from the cities of the East Coast to the small artists' colony at Dublin, New Hampshire. The mornings were spent in dictation; the afternoons in walks through pine and fir; and the evenings in talks for the summer residents who came up the road to listen.
An elderly woman, unable to walk, longed with all her heart to meet 'Abdu'l-Bahá. When He heard of it, He did not wait for her to be carried to Him — He went, Himself, to her door. A retelling from Mahmúd's Diary.
Mahmúd's Diary records that during the New York stays of 1912, 'Abdu'l-Bahá would occasionally direct His carriage to the small Syrian-Lebanese quarter of Lower Manhattan, where He would dine in modest immigrant restaurants and speak Arabic with the proprietors and patrons.
Mahmúd's Diary preserves, alongside the public talks, the ordinary domestic hours of 'Abdu'l-Bahá's American journey: the meals He ate, the way He served the friends with His own hand, the laughter He brought to a tired room, the way He cleared the table afterwards.
Mahmúd's Diary preserves a recurring theme of the 1912 American tour: the Master's particular attention to the children who came with their parents to the meetings. He would pause the proceedings to greet them. He would set them on His knee. He would ask their names, kiss their cheeks, and send them away with a sweet from His pocket.
Mahmúd's Diary records that on September 9, 1912, after the intensity of His talks at Buffalo, 'Abdu'l-Bahá was driven to Niagara Falls. He stood for a long time at the lookout, said little, and afterward observed that the roar of the falling water was a kind of prayer.
Mahmúd's Diary records that on the evening of April 19, 1912, 'Abdu'l-Bahá interrupted His program of formal receptions to go in person to the Bowery Mission in New York. He spoke to four hundred poor men, distributed coins to each from His own hand, and returned to His hotel near midnight.
A woman came to 'Abdu'l-Bahá and admitted, a little nervously, that a friend had warned her she might be walking into a trap. With a smile, the Master agreed — and then told her exactly what kind of trap it was. A retelling from Mahmúd's Diary.
Two thousand people filled the Church of the Ascension in New York to hear 'Abdu'l-Bahá. But as He left, it was a single weeping woman, clutching the hem of His robe, who received His fullest attention. A retelling from Mahmúd's Diary.
A visitor from Russia came to 'Abdu'l-Bahá full of complaint about his homeland. Instead of arguing, the Master told him a small story about Christ and a dead dog — and the man went away saying he had found salvation. A retelling from Mahmúd's Diary.
The Power that had banished Bahá'u'lláh to the worst prison in its empire could not keep Him there. In His last years the walls of 'Akká opened, and the once reviled Prisoner lived out His days in a mansion at Bahjí, honoured by pilgrims and notables alike — having shown, His family recalled, how to glorify God in abasement and how to glorify Him again in honour.
Exiled and dispossessed, Bahá'u'lláh spent ten years in Baghdád showering kindness upon all who came to Him — the poor, the lowly, the learned, and even those who had wished Him harm. By the time a fresh banishment drove Him on to Constantinople, the whole city had come to love Him; and on the day He rode away, men and women of every rank wept in the streets and pressed forward to embrace His stirrups.
A Unitarian minister who had spent his life hungry for a reality his own theology could not give him met 'Abdu'l-Bahá in New York in 1912. Recognition did not strike him like lightning; it dawned, slowly and against his own resistance, over months of inner struggle — until the light he had been looking for all his life rose at last, and he walked out of one ministry into another.
Withdrawing alone into the mountains of Kurdistán to spare His companions from discord, Bahá'u'lláh lived for two years among proud and warlike tribes and the learned of Sulaymáníyyih as a nameless stranger. He asked nothing of them and pressed His claims on no one; yet His gentleness, wisdom, and unfailing kindness so won their hearts that the whole region came to revere Him — and grieved to lose Him when at last He was called back.
When 'Abdu'l-Bahá came to Paris in 1911 He was honoured by the great and the cultivated of the city. But the people who drew His tenderness most surely were the poor, the friendless, and the troubled who found their way to His door — to whom He gave money, comfort, and an unhurried love, as though each were the only person in the world.
In *Portals to Freedom* Howard Colby Ives recounts an evening in May 1912 when, having sat through one of the great public meetings, he was invited into the Master's private room for a small cup of tea — and a quiet conversation that addressed, without his having spoken them, the very fears he had carried in.
In *Portals to Freedom* Howard Colby Ives describes a Sunday afternoon in 1912 when 'Abdu'l-Bahá received the believers in a small New Jersey garden — and the way the smell of lilies, the ordinary furniture of the house, and the laughter of children combined into what Ives later called the *fragrance* of the Cause.
In *Portals to Freedom* Howard Colby Ives describes the Sunday morning in 1912 when he invited 'Abdu'l-Bahá to speak from his own Unitarian pulpit in Brooklyn — and the strange experience of standing in his own church and watching his own congregation be addressed by the man whose presence had reorganised his ministry from within.
In *Portals to Freedom* Howard Colby Ives describes the first morning in April 1912 when, summoned to the Ansonia Hotel in New York, he climbed the stair and entered the room where 'Abdu'l-Bahá was receiving — and found that all the arguments of his Unitarian ministry suddenly fell silent.
At the last farewell aboard the ship, Howard Colby Ives knelt and placed 'Abdu'l-Bahá's hand upon his own head. What he felt in that hand — and saw in that face — became his lasting picture of true humility. A retelling from Portals to Freedom.
A short story preserved by Hand of the Cause Furutan in *Stories of Bahá'u'lláh*: an aged believer who set out on foot from Persia to attain the presence of Bahá'u'lláh in 'Akká, and the welcome that met him at the door when he arrived, exhausted, decades younger in his soul.
In March 1913 the Star of the West printed an obituary for Leslie Armstrong of Montreal — a small boy whose hands the Master had filled with fruit during the 1912 Canadian visit, on whose head the Master had laid His hand, and to whom He had said: *He will be a shining light for God.* The child died at age six from injuries in an automobile accident.
In *Ten Days in the Light of 'Akká* Julia Grundy preserves a private audience with 'Abdu'l-Bahá near the end of her 1905 pilgrimage. He spoke with her about her spiritual progress, told her she would become a source of guidance to others, and consoled her with a promise that has carried many pilgrims home: *you will never be absent now.*