The First Assembly

Praise to God who made existence out of nothing, so that upon its pages the lights of the ancient mysteries shone forth. Thanks to the God who created being out of nothing, then revealed upon that nothing the lights of the ancient mysteries. He has forever been in His eternity, honored in His majesty, sufficient in His perfection, needing neither servants nor attendants. He is the refuge of every wanderer, the remedy of the helpless, the beloved of every grieving heart, the forgiver of every penitent. His manifestation dazzles the minds, His presence bewitches the hearts; His light is the light of every eye, and hearts stay wakeful with what He has marked upon them. His pain and sorrow are the guests of the heart, His gentle name is the soul of the heart; the heart is His and He is the heart's, so if you are a lover, step forward. Toward His loved ones flow all the kinds of His gracious favor; how bitter the drink of His trial, tempered by the rites of His all encompassing generosity. Call him no beggar, though he has neither breakfast nor supper, and though his heart finds no rest, His love is inscribed upon his soul. Knowledge of Him fully satisfies reason; nothing goes astray in His oneness. Glory be to Him, glory be to Him; every wish falls short, He surpasses all nations. You are higher than anything I could say, better than anything I could want, greater than anything I could know, O soul of all souls, without doubt. Praise of the Chosen Prophet: when the mark of purity had faded, our qualities are guided by him, for by his right guidance he opens the common paths. O strength of hearts, so he said; the seal of guidance rests in his hand; my heart's name is paired with his, the pride of the Arabs, the light of the non Arabs. God's blessing be upon him as long as the lamps of the sky shine; indeed he added goodness, as if by him the best of nations came alive. Reason is at home in his street, the heart bids farewell toward him; souls are sacrificed to his face, for he is exalted, he is revered. It is reported of that leader of the ranks of truth, that commander of the army of the mystic path, that jewel in the ring of glory, that essence of perfection, that one clothed in the satin of 'By the morning brightness,' bound with the silk of 'By the night when it grows still,' and cloaked with 'Your Lord will surely give you, and you will be satisfied,' the bearer of good tidings and 'The hereafter is better for you than the first life,' the master without whose blessed footstep the road of faith would never have been cleansed of the dust of unbelief: 'This day I have perfected your religion for you'; the lord without whose awesome hand the moon's robe would never have split: 'The hour drew near and the moon was cleft asunder.' Hear more than this: Adam the chosen received his robe of purity from him; Idris took his high station through instruction from him; the spirit full of triumph entered the mold of Noah honored by him; upon the head of Hud he drew the cloak of ascent; around the waist of Abraham he tied the belt of the sword of friendship; in the name of Ishmael he wrote the decree of command; upon the finger of Solomon he set the ring of kingship; upon the feet of Moses he placed the sandals of nearness; and upon the head of Jesus he laid the turban of elevation. This lord, this best of all, this master and this leader, a hint of whose praise you have now heard, says this: 'Whoever passes forty years and his good does not overcome his evil, let him prepare for the Fire.' That is, whoever, in this house of decay and goods of delusion that you call the world, reaches the age of forty and whose good does not prevail over his evil, whose obedience does not outweigh his sin, tell him to gather his belongings and take the road to Hell. What a grave warning and mighty threat for the sinners of Ahmad's people, who have sold their precious lives for a grain of the forbidden, burned their harvest in the fire of sin, and come to the Resurrection empty handed. As proof of this saying let me give an example and draw a precious pearl from the sea of the mind. Have you seen the candle they light in a basin, cherishing its love in their hearts, a company gathered around it and the guests of the gathering delighted by it, each one bound in service to it while it sits atop the dish like a king? Then suddenly the true dawn breaks, and you see that very company lean in and cut its neck with knife and blade. Ask them: how strange! All night you served it; what happened that today you cast it aside? That same company will say: the candle was so dear to us that it burned itself and kindled light for our sake; but now that the true dawn has set the crown of the horizon on its head and cast its rays over the world, the candle has no worth left, and we have no bond with it. So, my dear one, do not take this saying as mere figure. The mastery of the world is like that lit candle, and the company gathered around it are its family, children, servants, and dependents. Each in some way rushes to serve it and speaks according to its wishes. Then suddenly the true dawn of death breaks and the fierce wind of mortality blows; you see the master caught in the grip of the angel of death, falling from the throne of desire onto the plank of defeat. When they carry him to the graveyard, children and family, slave and free, all at once turn away from him. Ask them why they turned their faces from the master all at once, and they will say: the master was so dear to us because, like the candle, he burned himself in the basin of the world, hoarding coin by coin from the lawful and unlawful, casting his precious life into ruin, building up wealth and property for our sake. Now the harsh autumn wind of sorrows has torn the root of his life from the soil of living, and the master's hand can no longer reach for gain and business, so what bond have we with him and what use has he for us? They tell that in a garden a nightingale had built its nest on the branch of a tree. By chance a frail ant had made its home beneath that tree and arranged a dwelling for its few short days. Night and day the nightingale flew about the rose garden and tuned the lute of enchanting song, while the ant busied itself gathering through night and day. The thousand voiced bird grew vain with its own singing in the garden. The nightingale whispered secret hints to the rose, and the morning breeze flirted between them. When the frail ant watched the coyness of the rose and the pleading of the nightingale, it said in the language of its state: what does all this chatter accomplish? The truth will show at another time. When spring departed and autumn arrived, the thorn took the rose's place and the crow settled where the nightingale had sung. The autumn wind began to blow and the leaves began to fall from the tree. The face of the leaves turned yellow and the breath of the air grew cold. From the ash of the clouds pearls poured down, and from the sieve of the air camphor sifted. Suddenly the nightingale came to the garden and found no color of rose nor scent of hyacinth. Its tongue fell silent with the thousand voiced bird, no rose whose beauty it might see, no green whose perfection it might behold. From having nothing its strength gave out, and from want it fell mute. Stranded, it remembered: was there not once an ant beneath this tree that had a house and gathered grain? Today I will take my need to its door and, by the nearness of dwelling and the right of neighborhood, ask for something. Ten days hungry, the nightingale went begging to the ant. It said: O dear one, generosity is the sign of good fortune and the capital of success. I spent my precious life in heedlessness while you were clever and stored up provisions; what harm if today you grant me a share of that kindness? The ant said: night and day you were in words while I was in deeds; you were busy a moment with the freshness of the rose and a breath vain with gazing at spring, not knowing that every spring has an autumn and every road an end. O beloved ones, hear the tale of the nightingale and apply its whole meaning to your own condition. Know that every life is followed by a death, and every union has a parting behind it. The pure wine of life is not without dregs, the satin of survival is not without the coarse cloth of extinction. If you set foot on the path of obedience, read 'The righteous are indeed in bliss,' for that is your reward; and if you drag your baggage into the street of sin, read 'The wicked are indeed in Hell,' for that is your due. In the spring of the world do not be heedless like the nightingale, and in the field of the world strive to plant obedience, for 'The world is the tilth of the hereafter,' so that when the icy blast of death arrives you may enter the hole of the grave like the ant, carrying the grains of good deeds. You have been given work; do not be idle, so that on those days when the falcon of 'When the great event befalls' takes flight and spreads the wings of 'No one can deny its coming' and beats the drum of the Calamity, when brains boil from the blaze of the Resurrection's sun and hearts cry out from the terror of the trumpet's blast, you may be excused, and not bite the back of your hand with the teeth of bewilderment in regret that such a day lay ahead of you. Strive, in this ten day respite, to earn a store and lay up provision, for the Day of Resurrection is a day when the creatures of the earth and the angels of the sky stand bewildered and lost in thought, the prophets trembling, the saints afraid, and even the nearest and the present ones seeking help. If on the Day of Gathering He speaks with wrath, what place is there for the prophets to plead? Tell Him to lift the veil from the face of grace, for the wretched still hope for forgiveness. If today you take provision from the field of the world, tomorrow you will arrive at the everlasting paradise. Only that one carries off the prize of fortune from the world who takes a share of it with him to the world beyond.