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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."
7 stories on this theme.
In the years of His exile in Baghdád, Bahá'u'lláh would walk the banks of the Tigris, and there He revealed the small book of gem-like utterances He named the Hidden Words — the very essence of the guidance of God, distilled into a handful of Words and entrusted to every human heart.
Before the Sun of the new Day rose over Shíráz, two luminaries appeared above the horizon to herald its coming — Shaykh Aḥmad-i-Aḥsá'í and his successor Siyyid Káẓim-i-Rashtí. For half a century they taught a generation to read the signs, to detach themselves, and to watch for the Promised One; and when his hour drew near, the dying Siyyid sent his disciples scattering across Persia to find the dawning Light.
In 1844, while Bahá'u'lláh was still veiled from the eyes of men, a wandering dervish cooking his food by a brook in the district of Núr was, in a single brief conversation, "changed completely" — and recognised the Light that no one else yet saw. Leaving his cooking-pots behind, he rose and followed on foot, chanting a love-song whose refrain has outlived his name: "Thou art the Light of Truth."
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.
At fifty-eight, when many would be winding down, Dr. Susan I. Moody closed her Chicago medical practice and travelled alone to Tehran at 'Abdu'l-Bahá's call — to carry the light of healing to the sick and the light of learning to the daughters of a country that did not yet think girls worth teaching. Her first letters home carried one quiet, decisive sentence: "The girls' school is assured."
The Báb was sent to a bleak mountain prison on the frontier of Persia, chosen for its remoteness and the supposed hostility of its people, so that His influence might be extinguished. Instead the light could not be walled out: the hostile warden himself was transformed, the discipline relaxed, and the Kurdish villagers below began to climb the mountain each dawn for a single glimpse of His face.
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.*