THE SELFLESS SELF By Maria Pavlou Make me a hollow reed, through which the pith of self hath been blown. Allow me to paint you a picture. Except not literally, because you’d just end up with a few stick figures and some incredibly basic shading. So it’s the early 20th century. You and your family are sequestered in the Ottoman Empire, in the prison city of Akka, so called because, much like the Australia of the East, it was a place to dump the empire’s most criminally inclined. The conditions range from gross to utter deprivation. At best there’s no running water, at worst cholera and dysentery run rampant as famine rages, and you’re forced to work in the most horrendous conditions. But thankfully for all the inhabitants of Akka, there lives a Man there in exile with His family, victims of religious persecution. Every day He prepares food for all the thousands hungry in the city. You line up, an obedient child, but you must bring back an extra portion for your sick father who is unable to lift his head from his pillow. But you’ve been caught out. They recognise you going back for seconds, and you’re about to be reprimanded, until this Man intervenes. He knows about your father since He has taken it upon Himself to visit and care for all the sick in the city. From that day on He packs an extra portion for you to take every day. And when you and your siblings are sent away for a better life, His is the only Face at the docks to send you off. So many have shared similar stories about this Figure, named ʻAbdu'l-Bahá, that He was dubbed the Father of the Poor. For 40 years He remained in Akka rallying people together and creating a community out of prisoners and exiles. Abdu'l-Bahá would wash, clothe, and feed those in need with such humility and love that not only did He win the affections of the governors in each city He was exiled to, but the admiration of every soul who crossed His path. His utter self-effacement gave me the courage to do away with the pith of self. So this year, the Centenary of His passing, I decided to tackle the thing I dreaded most about coming back to London: my fear of people sleeping rough.
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