A BAHÁ’Í TRAVELER IN PALESTINE
BY WALTER B. GUY, M.D.
‘AKKÁ; we are on our way to ‘Akká. We pass along the seashore “the way of the sea.” The billows roll in ceaselessly, their white-topped crests flashing white against the deep blue of the Mediterranean sea and sky.
We are going to the White Spot, the city of most ancient story, with fortress and immense walls that shine vividly in the afternoon sun: yet at one time, not long past, was the spot of cruelty, shame and unsanitary conditions. Here in this once pestilential spot lived the scourings of Turkey, its criminals and outcasts, sent to linger and die, unfit for human society.
We view the fortress, its citadel where the “One whom God should manifest,” Bahá’u’lláh, with His family and loved ones were imprisoned. We see outside the fortress, yet still within the ancient city wall, the houses and homes of Bahá’u’lláh and ‘Abdu’l-Bahá. We cannot today see the squalor and filth of the past, for a New Day has come—not here alone—but all over the world: a New Sun has arisen, and here and there, and everywhere, civilization is advancing with rapid strides. Ignorance and superstitions are fading away. Truly a New Era has dawned for the children of men. In place of ruined fortress and dismal abode in which the Beloved One was immured, we see instead a beautiful hospital where the prisoners of society are healed, and in the old home of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá, a municipal headquarters, with beds, and sick ones in the very rooms in which the Master lived.
We pass along the winding streets and through the tunneled ways, among the Oriental bazaars, and look under the fortress walls through ancient windows, and see the arched groins and pillars of that ancient Crusaders Church now being slowly emptied of the débris of the centuries.
To me it is a most wondrous symbol— how the coming of Glory has cleansed the city of man, its streets of commerce and trade; transformed the ways and byways into paths of cleanliness; and the débris of centuries is being removed from this ancient church, its pristine splendor and beauty in time will be recalled.
So shall it be. “The Most Great Peace shall come”—the churches of the Prophets shall likewise surely emerge from their accumulated débris, and their glorious truths shine again in the light of this Glorious Sun of Truth.
We leave the city and drive to Bahjí, see its gardens and now empty palace, and then place our heads amidst fragrant blooms upon the threshold of this sepulchre, praying that we with our loved ones abroad may prove valiant and true servants in forwarding the splendor of this New Day; that His presence shall be ever with us, and that at last we may ever live with Him in His eternal Home of Glory.
We start once more for the Garden of Riḍván, where the Hope and Light of the World used to sit by the flowing stream, write His messages to His servants, and pray that the Most Great Peace would speedily come into the hearts of all mankind. We see the flowers and eat of the fruits of this garden, then we return to Haifa; we pass again the foaming breakers, rolling eternally on the shore, and they again remind us of the wonderful power of our Great Creator Whose waves of Love, Light and Truth eternally roll over the world, grinding into powder the things of man that are not in harmony with His ancient plan—forever fructifying the deeds of loving service and giving eternal joy and life to struggling pilgrims seeking to do His will, who are traveling to that Golden City Eternal in the Heavens of His Command.
Haifa: It was November 27, 1929—the
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Bahá’í Pioneers of Bombay.
The Ḥaẓíratu’l-Quds of the Bahá’ís of Karáchí, the first Bahá’í Edifice to be erected in India.
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anniversary
of the passing of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá
from this world of sorrow and struggle,
achievement and joy. All day long groups
of women and children had been coming and
going at the home of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá.
At six p.m. I joined a group of men in the courtyard that led to the main door of the house. They were dressed in various costumes, some in European clothes, others with fez of crimson hue, a few with white cloth and double rings on their heads in the desert Bedouin style. Presently we passed into the large entrance hall and here all shoes were removed before entering the Master’s room from where He had ascended to the celestial world of the Spirit.
In the corner of the large room was a tall narrow bed with high posts and white coverings. On a pillow rested the Master’s white oriental headdress or fez. The group constantly grew larger until the room was filled, but still others came, forming a group in the large hall outside. Some wore beards, white or gray, others were young or in full manhood and strength. These men were the exiles or prisoners of ‘Akká and their descendants who had shared the imprisonment with the Master. As each one entered, he knelt at the side of the Master’s bed and doubtless prayed that he might worthily follow in the footsteps so nobly and faithfully trod by their Lord. Sobs and moans filled the room, tears coursed down the cheeks of those grey-bearded men, exiles from far off Persia, their homeland; how poignantly they realized the void in their hearts made by the passing of their loved Master, who, for so many years in prison and at last in freedom, had been ever their leader, master, guide, protector, and friend. Rising from their knees, they kissed passionately the bed, its posts, and some the Master’s fez.
Soon all who could get in the room had made their prayer. The sobs were stilled and at a word all sank to the floor. One of those present in the chamber raised a melodious chant, it was the sublime prayer of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá, used always at His shrine. Others chanted in and outside the room; one by one we again knelt at the side of the bed, asking that the light, love and power that had upheld, inspired and sustained the Center of the Covenant of God through long years of exile, prison and struggle, might be ours; that we, too, might carry forward to ultimate victory the Kingdom of God in the City of Hearts; and that in some glad day the goal may be won, and all mankind be a unity in love, truth and eternal brotherhood.
Carmel: It was night on the Mountain of God. The stars shone brightly; a chill wind swept down the mountain sides; the beautiful gardens with their flowers, stately cypress trees, fruits, and graveled walks were in densest shade, dimly outlined by electric bulbs moving to and fro in the gusts of an impending storm.
There were many men and boys, also a few women gathered there, to spend the hours of night in prayer and devotion, in commemoration of the Master of ‘Akká, Who had ascended to the Eternal Realms eight years ago.
All were not residents of Haifa, for some had come from far off Persia, Jewish and Muḥammadan Bahá’ís, others were from Egypt, Syria and the desert.
It was my privilege to represent the Bahá’ís of the West. Japan and Australia were represented by people of those countries.
Soon all had gathered in the Holy Shrine. Shoeless, on rich carpets, two by two, each had knelt at the threshold of the sacred tomb—first in the shrine of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá; next in the tomb of the Báb. Sacred and holy prayers were chanted in each shrine. Here for the first time I heard the Guardian, Shoghi Effendi, in stately, measured cadences, chant the prayer of His Lord.
It was a deeply spiritual occasion, an experience that can never be effaced from memory’s scroll. It was particularly Oriental in setting. All heads but mine were covered by the Oriental fez—the deep yellow of the Persian coats made a contrast with the dark suits of European design. The soft lights, the fragrant flowers, rich-hued rugs and carpets, the lamps and ornaments in the tomb chamber, and, to me, the strange chanting of the prayers—beautiful, appealing and intensely spiritual—made a scene of simple but holy splendor.
No preaching, no talking or praising,
nothing but prayer. It was a promise of that
New Day, its dawn already beaming on this
mountain of the ancient prophets, when
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man
no longer shall tell God what He shall
do, but instead, with resigned wills and
joyous hearts, hasten to His Courts,
rendering all to Him Who gave all, and
in return receive the influx of His
Divine Reality that
alone brings ineffable joy, peace and
assurance of an eternal life in the celestial
world.
Later all were gathered around the beautiful lawn and drank hot tea; more chanting was rendered, and finally in the large Eastern Pilgrim House, nearby, the Guardian said to me: “Tomorrow you travel early and far; it is my wish that you go to the Shrines and pray alone. There I will bid you farewell.” Turning to his cousin, the grandson of the Master, he said, “Go with him.”
It was midnight when we together knelt at the holy thresholds, strewn with petals of white fragrant flowers, damp with the tears of the believers and followers of the Divine Friend and Teacher. The Shrines were empty and silent; the lamps, however, still illumined the beautiful adornments. I could but offer myself as an unworthy servant, one who, however, desired to become worthy, and to serve in such a mighty work; and ask that a portion of His Spirit might descend upon me: “that God might be my portion and strength”; and kneeling together we waited for the answer; for are not all such requests answered?
As I recall this scene I am reminded how the prophet Elijah, three thousand years before, had made that memorable cry: “I am the only one left in all Israel to worship Thee.” Did not the still small voice after the thunder and mighty wind, speak in his heart the words of comfort and assurance?
As Ruhi Afnán and I waited (he in Persian garb and I in western clothes—a symbol of unity between the East and West), into my heart the answer came out of the depths of space and through the thousand veils that intervene between us and infinite love which ever surrounds and seeks to enter into our hearts and souls. It was a word of promise and assurance, comfort and joy, that my sacrifice on the altar had been accepted and His presence should be always with me.
The time of departure had come. The Guardian gave me the threefold embrace and words for the friends. Faithful Fugeta holding my hand, we went together down the narrow way through the straight gate on Carmel’s slope that leads to the Shrines which speak so eloquently of Life Eternal. We passed over barren rocks and through dark ways till we came to the Western Pilgrim House, a home of sacrifice and loving service; from thence early next day to travel homeward to service and work in the vineyard of human hearts. The Pilgrimage ended and work begun.
