Abdu'l-Baha, and Saffa and Vafa Kinney

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Saffa and Vafa Kinney were pillars of the Faith, immensely blessed by the Master.  Edward was his birth name, but everyone knew him by the name the Master gave him, Saffa -- Serenity; and they called Carrie by the name the Master gave her, Vafa -- Certitude.

When Abdu'l-Baha's ship arrived in New York Harbor, and a multitude was awaiting Him on the dock, He asked Mr. Kinney to come on board, and He spoke with him.  Then He directed everyone to go to the Kinneys' home, and wait for Him there.  His first address on American soil was in the Kinney home:

How are you? Welcome! Welcome!
    After arriving today, although weary with travel, I had the utmost longing and yearning to see you and could not resist this meeting. Now that I have met you, all my weariness has vanished, for your meeting is the cause of spiritual happiness.
    I was in Egypt and was not feeling well, but I wished to come to you in America. My friends said, "This is a long journey; the sea is wide; you should remain here." But the more they advised and insisted, the greater became my longing to take this trip, and now I have come to America to meet the friends of God. This long voyage will prove how great is my love for you. There were many troubles and vicissitudes, but, in the thought of meeting you, all these things vanished and were forgotten.
    I am greatly pleased with the city of New York. Its harbor entrance, its piers, buildings and broad avenues are magnificent and beautiful. Truly, it is a wonderful city. As New York has made such progress in material civilization, I hope that it may also advance spiritually in the Kingdom and Covenant of God so that the friends here may become the cause of the illumination of America, that this city may become the city of love and that the fragrances of God may be spread from this place to all parts of the world. I have come for this. I pray that you may be manifestations of the love of Bahá'u'lláh, that each one of you may become like a clear lamp of crystal from which the rays of the bounties of the Blessed Perfection may shine forth to all nations and peoples. This is my highest aspiration.
    It was a long, long trip. The more we traveled, the greater seemed the expanse of the sea. The weather was brilliant and fine throughout; there was no storm and no end to the sea.
    I am very happy to meet you all here today. Praise be to God that your faces are shining with the love of Bahá'u'lláh. To behold them is the cause of great spiritual happiness. We have arranged to meet you every day at the homes of the friends.
    In the East people were asking me, "Why do you undertake this long voyage? Your body cannot endure such hardships of travel." When it is necessary, my body can endure everything. It has withstood forty years of imprisonment and can still undergo the utmost trials.
    I will see you again. Now I will greet each one of you personally. It is my hope that you will all be happy and that we may meet again and again.

Several important talks in the City of the Covenant recorded in The Promulgation of Universal Peace were in the Kinneys' home.

When the Master fell asleep on John Bosch's shoulder during an automobile drive in New York, that drive ended at the Kinneys' home.

When the Master told Howard MacNutt, who had followed Khayrullah and then came back to the Covenant, and for a bountiful reward was directed to compile all of the Master's addresses into The Promulgation of Universal Peace -- when the Master told Mr. MacNutt to go and tell the people, "I was like Saul, now I am Paul" -- that was at the Kinneys' house, as recounted here.

In the movie of Abdu'l-Baha at the MacNutt home in Brooklyn, Mr. Kinney and Mr. Getsinger at the beginning of the movie are together walking up the sidewalk after the Master does.

This experience of Howard Colby Ives was in the Kinneys' home:

Not long after that great first experience with 'Abdu'l-Bahá I was again talking with Him. It was in the beautiful home of Mr. and Mrs. Kinney, a family of the friends who seemed to feel that the gift of all which they possessed was too little to express their adoring love. Entering their home the roar of the city, the elegance and luxury of Riverside Drive, the poverty and wealth of our modern civilization all seemed to merge into a unity of nothingness and one entered an atmosphere of Reality. Those heavenly souls who thus demonstrated beyond any words their self-dedication had a direct influence upon my hesitating feet of which they could have had no suspicion. My heart throughout all worlds shall be filled with thankfulness to them.
    In this home I had become a constant habitue. I could not keep away. One day 'Abdu'l-Bahá, the interpreter and I were alone in one of the smaller reception rooms on the ground floor. 'Abdu'l-Bahá had been speaking of some Christian doctrine and His interpretation of the words of Christ was so different from the accepted one that I could not restrain an expression of remonstrance. I remember speaking with some heat:  "How is it possible to be so sure?" I asked. "No one can say with certainty what Jesus meant after all these centuries of misinterpretation and strife." He intimated that it was quite possible. It is indicative of my spiritual turmoil and my blindness to His station, that instead of His serenity and tone of authority impressing me as warranted it drove me to actual impatience. "That I cannot believe." I exclaimed. I shall never forget the glance of outraged dignity the interpreter cast upon me. It was as though he would say: "Who are you to contradict or even to question 'Abdu'l-Bahá!" But not so did 'Abdu'l-Bahá look at me. How I thank God that it was not! He looked at me a long moment before He spoke. His calm, beautiful eyes searched my soul with such love and understanding that all my momentary heat evaporated. He smiled as winningly as a lover smiles upon his beloved, and the arms of His spirit seemed to embrace me as He said softly that I should try my way and He would try His.
    It was as though a cool hand had been laid upon a fevered brow; as though a cup of nectar had been held to parched lips; as though a key had unlocked my hard-bolted, crusted and rusted heart. The tears started and my voice trembled, "I'm sorry," I murmured.
    Often since that day have I pondered on the tragic possibilities of the effect of an expression of the face. I have even thought I should like to write a book on The Glance that Saved the World, taking as a theme the way Jesus must have looked upon Peter after the three-fold denial. What could that glance have carried to the fear-stricken, doubting, angry Peter? Surely not the self-righteous, dignified look in the eyes of the interpreter for 'Abdu'l-Bahá. As surely it must have been something in the nature of the expression of all-embracing love, forgiveness and understanding with which 'Abdu'l-Bahá calmed and soothed and assured my heart.  ("Portals to Freedom," pp. 36 ff.)

Juliet Thompson records in her diary that during her Pilgrimage to the Holy Land in 1906, at which the Kinney family were fellow-pilgrims, these events occurred:

First, with a father's tender care, He came to the carriage with us and watched us start. At the house in Bahji He joined us in a cool, whitewashed room, its door and window-trimmings painted blue, the usual linen-covered divan lining its walls, under three wide windows. Outside stood wonderful trees, like still sentinels guarding the Tomb. Sanctity hung in the air, a brooding spirit. Nowhere else in the world is the beauty of nature so impregnated with the soul of Beauty, a reflection from another world. In the air of 'Akká and Carmel is -- Life.
    On a table was a single photograph, Lua's. Our Lord called me to sit by His side, then, pointing to the photograph, said: "Your friend!"
    I got it and placed it on a little table close to His elbow, between the couch where He sat and my own chair. As I did this His face lit up with a smile of heaven.
    Tea was brought in -- in the little clear glasses always used in 'Akká -- and He served us with His own hands. Then, seating Himself again on the divan, He called the four children who were with us: two of his own little grandsons (Shoghi Effendi and Ruhi) and the two Kinney boys, and with a lavish tenderness, a superabundance of overflowing love, such as could only have come from the very Centre and Source of Love, He drew all four to His knees, clasped them in His arms, which enclosed them all, gathered and pressed and crushed them to His Heart of hearts. Then He set them down on the floor and, rising, Himself brought their tea to them.
`Words absolutely fail me when I try to express the divine picture I saw then. With the Christ-love radiating from Him with the intensest sweetness I have yet witnessed, He stooped to the floor Himself to serve the little children, the children of the East and the children of the West. He sat on the floor in their midst, He put sugar into their tea, stirred it and fed it to them, all the while smiling celestially, an infinite tenderness playing on the great Immortal Face like white light. I cannot express it! In a corner sat an old Persian believer, in a state of complete effacement before his Lord, his head bowed, his eyelids lowered, his hands crossed on his breast. Tears were pouring down his cheeks.

Abdu'l-Baha and the Kinney family
Copyright © 2010 Baha'i National Archives, WilmetteUsed With Permission
During a meal during that Pilgrimage, Juliet writes:

He called Mr. Kinney's attention to the rice. "Rice. Rice," He said in English, "very good." Then looking at me and laughing: "She is smiling at My English!" "I smile because Your voice makes me happier than anything in the world."
    Soon, sensing my wish to speak to Him, only for the sake of speaking to Him: "Speak. Speak."
    But I had really nothing to say! I brought forth this: "Even this physical food is the best in the world."
"That is because of your intense love. A poison given by a friend is like honey. A Persian poet says: 'The poison which comes from  Thee to me is my antidote. A wound from Thee is remedy.' Certainly these physical dishes are tasteful to you because you have the greatest love."
    I supplicated that He might give me poison and wound me in His Cause, that I might be found worthy of this. "I will. When afflictions and bitter conditions taste sweet to man, this shows that he is favoured in the sight of God." Mr Kinney said: "I am not eating now, but my Master is feeding me." Our Lord: "I, Myself, am the Food." As He spoke His head was bowed, His hands upturned, like cups, in His lap. He sat, the embodiment of Divine humility. A great Mystery flooded the room, and a tremendous Power. "How like Jesus that sounds!" whispered Mr Kinney. "Jesus," said our Lord, His head still bowed, "was the Bread that came down from Heaven, but I am the Food prepared by the Blessed Beauty, Bahá'u'lláh."

Mr. Kinney recounted that the New York Spiritual Assembly met in the Kinney home: Mr Kinney: "The Board of Council has met for three years past in my studio and I am very proud of it."
Our Lord: "It is indeed worthy to be proud of. I hope your home may always be the place of the gatherings; that the beloved of God may always come together there, be engaged in commemoration of God, have heavenly talks and speak through the confirmation of the Holy Spirit. Your home will be one of the heavenly constellations, Insha'llah, and the stars will gather there."
Mr Kinney: "What could I ask for more?"
Our Lord: "There is nothing superior to this."

The Master permitted the Kinneys to remain as pilgrims in the Holy Land for eight months during 1906.  They asked Him for the privilege of returning the favor, imploring Him to visit America, and when He did, to stay as a guest in their home.  He did, and while in their home in New York He told Mrs. Kinney, "I am returning your visit, but while I am in your home I will be the host and you will be the guests."
SAFFA KINNEYCopyright © 2010 Baha'i National Archives, Wilmette
Used With Permission
On the occasion of Saffa Kinney's passing, Shoghi Effendi cabled to the Baha'i world:

GRIEVE PASSING DEARLY LOVED, HIGHLY ADMIRED, GREATLY TRUSTED, STAUNCH, INDEFATIGABLE, SELF-SACRIFICING TEACHER, PILLAR FAITH, SAFFA KINNEY. HIS LEONINE SPIRIT, EXEMPLARY STEADFASTNESS, NOTABLE RECORD SERVICES ENRICHED ANNALS CLOSING PERIOD HEROIC AGE OPENING PHASE FORMATIVE AGE BAHA'I DISPENSATION. BOUNTIFUL REWARD ASSURED ABHA KINGDOM BENEATH SHADOW MASTER HE LOVED SO DEARLY, SERVED SO NOBLY, DEFENDED SO HEROICALLY UNTIL LAST BREATH.  SHOGHI

"Saffa was so human." (Statement by one of Saffa Kinney's friends after his passing.)

That beautiful scene recounted in Portals to Freedom (pp. 50 ff.), when Howard Colby Ives followed the Master up the stairs when the Master was so tired, and asked Him about Renunciation, was in the Kinneys' home.

One day the Master asked Saffa Kinney to walk with Him on Riverside Drive.  He stopped and looking deep in to Saffa's eyes asked in heart-piercing tones,
"Do you love Me?  Do you love Me?  Do you love Me?"

The next-to-last talk of the Master on America's shores was at the Kinneys' home:

I am greatly pleased with you all and rejoice that you have shown me the utmost kindness and affection. It is my desire that Bahá'u'lláh shall be pleased with you, that you may follow His precepts and become worthy of His confirmations. The requirements are that your minds must be illumined, your souls must be rejoiced with the glad tidings of God, you must become imbued with spiritual moralities, your daily life must evidence faith and assurance, your hearts must be sanctified and pure, reflecting a high degree of love and attraction toward the Kingdom of Abha. You must become the lamps of Bahá'u'lláh so that you may shine with eternal light and be the proofs and evidences of His truth. Then will such signs of purity and chastity be witnessed in your deeds and actions that men will behold the heavenly radiance of your lives and say, "Verily, ye are the proofs of Bahá'u'lláh. Verily, Bahá'u'lláh is the True One, for He has trained such souls as these, each one of which is a proof in himself." They will say to others, "Come and witness the conduct of these souls; come and listen to their words, behold the illumination of their hearts, see the evidences of the love of God in them, consider their praiseworthy morals, and discover the foundations of the oneness of humanity firmly implanted within them. What greater proof can there be than these people that the message of Bahá'u'lláh is truth and reality?" It is my hope that each one of you shall be a herald of God, proclaiming the evidences of His appearance, in words, deeds and thoughts. Let your actions and utterances be a witness that you are of the Kingdom of Bahá'u'lláh. These are the duties enjoined upon you by Bahá'u'lláh.
    Bahá'u'lláh endured the greatest hardships. He found neither rest by night nor peace by day. He was constantly under the stress of great calamity -- now in prison, now in chains, now threatened by the sword -- until finally He broke the cage of captivity, left this mortal world and ascended to the heaven of God. He endured all these tribulations for our sakes and suffered these deprivations that we might attain the bestowals of divine bounty. Therefore, we must be faithful to Him and turn away from our own selfish desires and fancies in order that we may accomplish that which is required of us by our Lord.

‘Abdu’l-Bahá seated in the Kinneys Home, New York City, 1912Copyright © 2010 Baha'i National Archives, Wilmette Used With Permission

‘Abdu’l-Bahá Farewell at New York Harbor, December 5, 1912
Copyright © 2010 Baha'i National Archives, Wilmette Used With Permission

The House of 'Abdu'llah Pasha

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THE HOUSE OF 'ABDU'LLAH PASHA
The house in 'Akká that 'Abdu'l-Bahá rented in 1896 and that served as His residence until He moved to Haifa in 1910. Historical photograph from media.bahai.org

"Some of the most poignant, dramatic and historically significant events of the Heroic Age of our Faith are associated with this house, which derives its name from the Governor of 'Akká who built it and used it as his official residence during his term of Office, from 1820 to 1832.... It was in this house that ['Abdu'l-Baha's] celebrated table talks were given and compiled, to be published later under the title "Some Answered Questions." In this house and in the darkest hours of a period which the beloved Guardian describes as 'the most dramatic period of His ministry,' 'in the heyday of His life and in the full tide of His power' He penned the first part of His Will and Testament.... In this house was born the child ordained to hold the destiny of the Faith in his hands for thirty-six years and to become its 'beloved Guardian,' the child named 'Shoghi' by his Grandfather, who grew up under His loving and solicitous care ...."
[As Thornton Chase, the First American Baha'i, wrote of his Pilgrimage, when he visited Abdu'l-Baha in this house:] 

'We did not know we had reached our destination until we saw a Persian gentleman, and then another and another, step out at the entrance and smile at us. We alighted and they conducted us through the arched, red brick entrance to an open court, across it to a long flight of stone steps, broken and ancient, leading to the highest story and into a small walled court open to the sky, where was the upper chamber assigned to us, which adjoined the room of 'Abdu'l-Bahá. The buildings are all of stone, whitewashed and plastered, and it bears the aspect of a prison.'

"As we contemplate the extraordinary focusing of powerful forces and events upon this house, we eagerly anticipate the day when it will be restored and made ready for pilgrims, who may inhale from its atmosphere, its grounds and sacred walls, the fragrances of a glorious past."(The Universal House of Justice, Messages 1963 to 1986, Message 157)

"Freedom is not a matter of place. It is a condition. I was thankful for the prison, and the lack of liberty was very pleasing to me, for those days were passed in the path of service, under the utmost difficulties and trials, bearing fruits and results. Unless one accepts dire vicissitudes, he will not attain. To me prison is freedom, troubles rest me, death is life, and to be despised is honour. Therefore, I was happy all that time in prison."(`Abdu'l-Baha in London, p. 120)

~ ~ ~
O House! Who climbed your stairway? When the Master was a prisoner our spiritual forbears came to you in the night, hearts pounding, souls reaching and hoping: Lua and Sarah, and Phoebe and Robert, and Louis, and Laura, and Thornton -- the first in the West to hear the voice of their Shepherd, Christ, in His "New Name."
We hear their footsteps now, the dust crackling beneath their feet. We hear their spirits, crushing doubt, opening the doors of their hearts to the Light of the New Jerusalem.
A child was born here, too --one promised by Isaiah. He ran up and down your stairs, his praises of God filling the courtyard.
- The courtyard? His voice filled the earth, and fills it still, and will for ages to come!
O Palm Tree, witness of servitude and grandeur, bearer of beauty and joy! How sweet your form, how dear your shadow, caressing the room of the Beloved! We, too, would press our cheek against that wall, feel its coolness against our face, inhale its fragrance, and seek to hear the soul-uplifting Voice within, charting destinies, answering questions, granting certitude.

The Tell-Tale Sign You're An Aged Rock Star

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Each generation is presented with new, never experienced before challenges. Think of the cohort who invented the wheel, then had to cope with their teenagers taking the first ever joy rides. Or the first Catholics who suddenly had to get culinarily creative on a Friday night. Or Morse's peers who had to deal with the first prank telegraph messages (just what is the dot-dash configuration of "Do you have Prince Albert in a can?"?). Obviously, the daunting, never-before-have-people-had-to-face-this challenge of the present generation is, what to do with aging rock stars. It's amazing to think of it, but many of the Founding Fathers (or Queens, and here's to you, Little Richard) of Rock'n'Roll are still alive--Chuck Berry, Jerry Lee Lewis, and the previously mentioned Mr. Penniman. Hell, Elvis would be/is only 77. All hail them and the rest, but still, we as fans are faced with several thorny issues concerning how to deal with these former paragons of youth now that they ain't that young anymore.

For years now we've rather naturally taken in stride the gradual steps of an aging career: the balding, the hearing loss, the myriad "comeback" tours and albums (when you've got at least three of each on your resume, you know you're getting old, Mr. Rock Star), the Rock Hall induction, the Super Bowl gig, the tribute albums and concerts, the third or fourth box sets, the ironic singing of lines penned in youth--and all of that's just the last thirty years of Pete Townshend's life. Like Medicare, senior coffee at McDonald's, and EZ Lift chairs for the rest of us, an entire network of safety nets has been erected to ease the once callow, rebellious rocker into senescence. There's Unplugged, and Storytellers, the duets album, the album of standards, the greatest hits live album, the hook-up with the hip young producer album, the songwriters in the round concerts, the rock cruises, and the inevitable writing of the memoirs (David Ritz thanks you all). Say what you will about Elvis's tragic death, but the man put out a lot of schlock when he was alive, and, all the merchandising since his death notwithstanding, imagine the crap he would have made lo these last 35 years!

But, accustomed as I am--and I'm sure you are--to all of this by now, the question that has bugged me for some time is, what's the Rubicon, what's the jump the shark/couch moment, the definitive dividing line between being an aging rock star--where we can salute the career, bask in past glories, honor, if a bit sadly, the god while he or she is still alive --and being an aged rock star, where the whole thing is just downright depressing and should be kept away from the public? Well, like Steve Jobs must have felt years ago when he realized, "Phones, my God! Who knew? The future is phones!" yesterday I had a eureka moment concerning this aging/aged rock thing. I now know the exact moment when it is clear that our beloved aging rock star, the hero of our youth, has landed at the bottom of the slippery slope and is now not simply completely irrelevant but is dangerous to our collective joie de vire and should be put out to pasture for good--however you want to define that euphemistic idiomatic phrase.

But first let me qualify things. I love the Rolling Stones. It might be an oldies station playing it, but whenever I hear "Jumpin' Jack Flash," or "Brown Sugar" or "The Last Time" on the radio, they all still sound like the freshest, nastiest thing on any airwaves. If I were a pugilistic sort, I'm sure by now my oft-repeated, and oft-scoffed at, statement of incontrovertible fact that the Stones were/are/and ever shall be greater than the Beatles would have gotten me engaged in many a fisticuffs over the years. It's such a foundational truth, that I guess only the hoariest, most despicable cliche applies--you look up Rock'n'Roll in the dictionary, and you'll find a picture of the Stones.

Of course, duh, I'm speaking of the Rolling Stones only in the first 20 years of their by now 50 year existence (sic). Go ahead, name three great songs the Stones have made in the past thirty years; here's a hint, I'll be beyond aged by the time you can even muster an argument for the third one. Hell, they've made a grand total of six, 6! albums in the past thirty years. (By the way, the answer is one. One great song in the last thirty years: "The Worst," off Voodoo Lounge; a Keith song, ironically, from 1994!).

Now I won't bother going through yet again the "pathetic parodies of themselves," "only in it for the (huge amount of ) money" arguments. You've read them all before. And will undoubtedly read them again as they mount whatever becomes their 50 Year Celebration, i.e., hopefully, Swan Song, in the next few months. No, my beef at the moment is with Keef. The Human Riff. The alleged poster boy of all things Rock. Mick is Mick, always was, always will be. God save him. Ronnie's just a hired gun. Charlie is irreproachable; always was and always will be the coolest guy Rock has ever created. But Keith. My God. Years ago I thought it, and I still do, now more fervently than ever--every day he lives he gets less cool. For thirty years now he's been trading on the lovable bad guy schtick. Now he's Goofy Grandpa, professionally raconteuring rather than rocking and touring. We love you Keith, always have and always will, but shut up and go away already.

And what has brought me to such apostasy today? What has me so sacrilegiously blaspheming the mighty Keith Richards? The eureka moment I experienced yesterday. The discovery of the tell-tale sign that the aging rocker has become aged. The end of the living rock god's relevant life: At the bookstore where I work, we received two remaindered (duh) copies of Keith's autobiography, Life, IN LARGE PRINT! Trust me, I know the book retailing business. Keith's audience is not the LARGE PRINT audience. Unless he's ditched Patti and is shacking up with Debbie Macomber, Danielle Steel, or Barbara Taylor Bradford, Keith Richards has no place in the LARGE PRINT section of a bookstore. Good God, Keith, I know you've raised reckless nonchalance to an art form, but why in the name of Robert Johnson did you sign a publishing contract that allowed them to print your book in LARGE PRINT? If you do ever tour again, you better have a special ring of seats for AARP members, where earplugs, Depends, and seat cushions are included in the senior discount price. You never even made a standards album, Keith! How can you go LARGE PRINT on us?

R.I.P. KEITH. IT'S ALL OVER NOW.

An Oldster Re-Fashions A Youngster's Song

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Well, the toe bone is connected to Epsom Salts
And the foot bone is connected to ongoing litigation involving Medicare, the insurance industry, and Payday Loans, Inc.
And the ankle bone is connected to God only knows what.
The shin bone is connected to the slings and arrows of absurd misfortune
And the knee bone is connected to Dial-A-Prayer
While the thigh bone is connected to a heating pad.
The hip bone is connected to Mother Nature's storm center
And the tail bone is connected to this EZ Lift Chair.
The back bone is connected to Edvard Munch's psyche
And the breast bone is connected to the hopes of Ponce de Leon.
The shoulder bone is connected to Advil
All the arm elbow wrist hand and finger bones seem to be connected to someone else's nervous system
And the neck bone is connected to Meyerwitz, Meyerwitz, and Pane and Sons.
The jaw bone is connected to Ensure
The nose bone is connected to a sink of dirty dishes at the moment
The ear bone has been disconnected
And the head bone is looking to connect with a soft pillow.

The Man For Whom Rock'n'Roll Never Worked

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He's known three Rhondas and they never once helped him. The only Maggie he knew never worked on, let alone owned, a farm, and she sure as hell never kicked him in the head come morning. No pair of blue suede shoes ever fit him. Every Sally he's known has been short. And Caroline, no, wasn't sweet at all. Tall, lithe Fanny never sent him anywhere with regards for anyone. He stopped believing--and everything else--long before he ever had enough. Even after the rain's gone, his glasses are still foggy. He thought everything was gonna be alright, but the three birds crapped on his shoulder, ruining his seersucker suit. Even when school's out for summer, he inevitably finds himself back in summer school. No ride is free for him. The Suzanne he knows never takes him down anywhere, let alone touches his imperfect body with anything. Nobody carries an umbrella at his bus stop. The only tambourine player he knows is a woman, and her tambourine is brown. He would like to go to Chelsea but he's only got twenty-five dollars in his hand and that won't buy him a ticket for an airplane. He doesn't have a cloud of his own. He never received any pictures of Lily, just a drawing of Lee J. Cobb as Willy Loman. His bird doesn't sing. He knew a Lola once, 100% U.S. Female. His coolerator holds no ginger ale. Sloopy let go.

So now he listens to Lite Jazz and covets Kenny G's mane.  

Abdu'l-Baha, and Saffa and Vafa Kinney

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Saffa and Vafa Kinney were pillars of the Faith, immensely blessed by the Master.  Edward was his birth name, but everyone knew him by the name the Master gave him, Saffa -- Serenity; and they called Carrie by the name the Master gave her, Vafa -- Certitude.

When Abdu'l-Baha's ship arrived in New York Harbor, and a multitude was awaiting Him on the dock, He asked Mr. Kinney to come on board, and He spoke with him.  Then He directed everyone to go to the Kinneys' home, and wait for Him there.  His first address on American soil was in the Kinney home:

How are you? Welcome! Welcome!
    After arriving today, although weary with travel, I had the utmost longing and yearning to see you and could not resist this meeting. Now that I have met you, all my weariness has vanished, for your meeting is the cause of spiritual happiness.
    I was in Egypt and was not feeling well, but I wished to come to you in America. My friends said, "This is a long journey; the sea is wide; you should remain here." But the more they advised and insisted, the greater became my longing to take this trip, and now I have come to America to meet the friends of God. This long voyage will prove how great is my love for you. There were many troubles and vicissitudes, but, in the thought of meeting you, all these things vanished and were forgotten.
    I am greatly pleased with the city of New York. Its harbor entrance, its piers, buildings and broad avenues are magnificent and beautiful. Truly, it is a wonderful city. As New York has made such progress in material civilization, I hope that it may also advance spiritually in the Kingdom and Covenant of God so that the friends here may become the cause of the illumination of America, that this city may become the city of love and that the fragrances of God may be spread from this place to all parts of the world. I have come for this. I pray that you may be manifestations of the love of Bahá'u'lláh, that each one of you may become like a clear lamp of crystal from which the rays of the bounties of the Blessed Perfection may shine forth to all nations and peoples. This is my highest aspiration.
    It was a long, long trip. The more we traveled, the greater seemed the expanse of the sea. The weather was brilliant and fine throughout; there was no storm and no end to the sea.
    I am very happy to meet you all here today. Praise be to God that your faces are shining with the love of Bahá'u'lláh. To behold them is the cause of great spiritual happiness. We have arranged to meet you every day at the homes of the friends.
    In the East people were asking me, "Why do you undertake this long voyage? Your body cannot endure such hardships of travel." When it is necessary, my body can endure everything. It has withstood forty years of imprisonment and can still undergo the utmost trials.
    I will see you again. Now I will greet each one of you personally. It is my hope that you will all be happy and that we may meet again and again.

Several important talks in the City of the Covenant recorded in The Promulgation of Universal Peace were in the Kinneys' home.

When the Master fell asleep on John Bosch's shoulder during an automobile drive in New York, that drive ended at the Kinneys' home.

When the Master told Howard MacNutt, who had followed Khayrullah and then came back to the Covenant, and for a bountiful reward was directed to compile all of the Master's addresses into The Promulgation of Universal Peace -- when the Master told Mr. MacNutt to go and tell the people, "I was like Saul, now I am Paul" -- that was at the Kinneys' house, as recounted here.

In the movie of Abdu'l-Baha at the MacNutt home in Brooklyn, Mr. Kinney and Mr. Getsinger at the beginning of the movie are together walking up the sidewalk after the Master does.

This experience of Howard Colby Ives was in the Kinneys' home:

Not long after that great first experience with 'Abdu'l-Bahá I was again talking with Him. It was in the beautiful home of Mr. and Mrs. Kinney, a family of the friends who seemed to feel that the gift of all which they possessed was too little to express their adoring love. Entering their home the roar of the city, the elegance and luxury of Riverside Drive, the poverty and wealth of our modern civilization all seemed to merge into a unity of nothingness and one entered an atmosphere of Reality. Those heavenly souls who thus demonstrated beyond any words their self-dedication had a direct influence upon my hesitating feet of which they could have had no suspicion. My heart throughout all worlds shall be filled with thankfulness to them.
    In this home I had become a constant habitue. I could not keep away. One day 'Abdu'l-Bahá, the interpreter and I were alone in one of the smaller reception rooms on the ground floor. 'Abdu'l-Bahá had been speaking of some Christian doctrine and His interpretation of the words of Christ was so different from the accepted one that I could not restrain an expression of remonstrance. I remember speaking with some heat:  "How is it possible to be so sure?" I asked. "No one can say with certainty what Jesus meant after all these centuries of misinterpretation and strife." He intimated that it was quite possible. It is indicative of my spiritual turmoil and my blindness to His station, that instead of His serenity and tone of authority impressing me as warranted it drove me to actual impatience. "That I cannot believe." I exclaimed. I shall never forget the glance of outraged dignity the interpreter cast upon me. It was as though he would say: "Who are you to contradict or even to question 'Abdu'l-Bahá!" But not so did 'Abdu'l-Bahá look at me. How I thank God that it was not! He looked at me a long moment before He spoke. His calm, beautiful eyes searched my soul with such love and understanding that all my momentary heat evaporated. He smiled as winningly as a lover smiles upon his beloved, and the arms of His spirit seemed to embrace me as He said softly that I should try my way and He would try His.
    It was as though a cool hand had been laid upon a fevered brow; as though a cup of nectar had been held to parched lips; as though a key had unlocked my hard-bolted, crusted and rusted heart. The tears started and my voice trembled, "I'm sorry," I murmured.
    Often since that day have I pondered on the tragic possibilities of the effect of an expression of the face. I have even thought I should like to write a book on The Glance that Saved the World, taking as a theme the way Jesus must have looked upon Peter after the three-fold denial. What could that glance have carried to the fear-stricken, doubting, angry Peter? Surely not the self-righteous, dignified look in the eyes of the interpreter for 'Abdu'l-Bahá. As surely it must have been something in the nature of the expression of all-embracing love, forgiveness and understanding with which 'Abdu'l-Bahá calmed and soothed and assured my heart.  ("Portals to Freedom," pp. 36 ff.)

Juliet Thompson records in her diary that during her Pilgrimage to the Holy Land in 1906, at which the Kinney family were fellow-pilgrims, these events occurred:

First, with a father's tender care, He came to the carriage with us and watched us start. At the house in Bahji He joined us in a cool, whitewashed room, its door and window-trimmings painted blue, the usual linen-covered divan lining its walls, under three wide windows. Outside stood wonderful trees, like still sentinels guarding the Tomb. Sanctity hung in the air, a brooding spirit. Nowhere else in the world is the beauty of nature so impregnated with the soul of Beauty, a reflection from another world. In the air of 'Akká and Carmel is -- Life.
    On a table was a single photograph, Lua's. Our Lord called me to sit by His side, then, pointing to the photograph, said: "Your friend!"
    I got it and placed it on a little table close to His elbow, between the couch where He sat and my own chair. As I did this His face lit up with a smile of heaven.
    Tea was brought in -- in the little clear glasses always used in 'Akká -- and He served us with His own hands. Then, seating Himself again on the divan, He called the four children who were with us: two of his own little grandsons (Shoghi Effendi and Ruhi) and the two Kinney boys, and with a lavish tenderness, a superabundance of overflowing love, such as could only have come from the very Centre and Source of Love, He drew all four to His knees, clasped them in His arms, which enclosed them all, gathered and pressed and crushed them to His Heart of hearts. Then He set them down on the floor and, rising, Himself brought their tea to them.
`Words absolutely fail me when I try to express the divine picture I saw then. With the Christ-love radiating from Him with the intensest sweetness I have yet witnessed, He stooped to the floor Himself to serve the little children, the children of the East and the children of the West. He sat on the floor in their midst, He put sugar into their tea, stirred it and fed it to them, all the while smiling celestially, an infinite tenderness playing on the great Immortal Face like white light. I cannot express it! In a corner sat an old Persian believer, in a state of complete effacement before his Lord, his head bowed, his eyelids lowered, his hands crossed on his breast. Tears were pouring down his cheeks.

Abdu'l-Baha and the Kinney family
Copyright © 2010 Baha'i National Archives, WilmetteUsed With Permission
During a meal during that Pilgrimage, Juliet writes:

He called Mr. Kinney's attention to the rice. "Rice. Rice," He said in English, "very good." Then looking at me and laughing: "She is smiling at My English!" "I smile because Your voice makes me happier than anything in the world."
    Soon, sensing my wish to speak to Him, only for the sake of speaking to Him: "Speak. Speak."
    But I had really nothing to say! I brought forth this: "Even this physical food is the best in the world."
"That is because of your intense love. A poison given by a friend is like honey. A Persian poet says: 'The poison which comes from  Thee to me is my antidote. A wound from Thee is remedy.' Certainly these physical dishes are tasteful to you because you have the greatest love."
    I supplicated that He might give me poison and wound me in His Cause, that I might be found worthy of this. "I will. When afflictions and bitter conditions taste sweet to man, this shows that he is favoured in the sight of God." Mr Kinney said: "I am not eating now, but my Master is feeding me." Our Lord: "I, Myself, am the Food." As He spoke His head was bowed, His hands upturned, like cups, in His lap. He sat, the embodiment of Divine humility. A great Mystery flooded the room, and a tremendous Power. "How like Jesus that sounds!" whispered Mr Kinney. "Jesus," said our Lord, His head still bowed, "was the Bread that came down from Heaven, but I am the Food prepared by the Blessed Beauty, Bahá'u'lláh."

Mr. Kinney recounted that the New York Spiritual Assembly met in the Kinney home: Mr Kinney: "The Board of Council has met for three years past in my studio and I am very proud of it."
Our Lord: "It is indeed worthy to be proud of. I hope your home may always be the place of the gatherings; that the beloved of God may always come together there, be engaged in commemoration of God, have heavenly talks and speak through the confirmation of the Holy Spirit. Your home will be one of the heavenly constellations, Insha'llah, and the stars will gather there."
Mr Kinney: "What could I ask for more?"
Our Lord: "There is nothing superior to this."

The Master permitted the Kinneys to remain as pilgrims in the Holy Land for eight months during 1906.  They asked Him for the privilege of returning the favor, imploring Him to visit America, and when He did, to stay as a guest in their home.  He did, and while in their home in New York He told Mrs. Kinney, "I am returning your visit, but while I am in your home I will be the host and you will be the guests."
SAFFA KINNEYCopyright © 2010 Baha'i National Archives, Wilmette
Used With Permission
On the occasion of Saffa Kinney's passing, Shoghi Effendi cabled to the Baha'i world:

GRIEVE PASSING DEARLY LOVED, HIGHLY ADMIRED, GREATLY TRUSTED, STAUNCH, INDEFATIGABLE, SELF-SACRIFICING TEACHER, PILLAR FAITH, SAFFA KINNEY. HIS LEONINE SPIRIT, EXEMPLARY STEADFASTNESS, NOTABLE RECORD SERVICES ENRICHED ANNALS CLOSING PERIOD HEROIC AGE OPENING PHASE FORMATIVE AGE BAHA'I DISPENSATION. BOUNTIFUL REWARD ASSURED ABHA KINGDOM BENEATH SHADOW MASTER HE LOVED SO DEARLY, SERVED SO NOBLY, DEFENDED SO HEROICALLY UNTIL LAST BREATH.  SHOGHI

"Saffa was so human." (Statement by one of Saffa Kinney's friends after his passing.)

That beautiful scene recounted in Portals to Freedom (pp. 50 ff.), when Howard Colby Ives followed the Master up the stairs when the Master was so tired, and asked Him about Renunciation, was in the Kinneys' home.

One day the Master asked Saffa Kinney to walk with Him on Riverside Drive.  He stopped and looking deep in to Saffa's eyes asked in heart-piercing tones,
"Do you love Me?  Do you love Me?  Do you love Me?"

The next-to-last talk of the Master on America's shores was at the Kinneys' home:

I am greatly pleased with you all and rejoice that you have shown me the utmost kindness and affection. It is my desire that Bahá'u'lláh shall be pleased with you, that you may follow His precepts and become worthy of His confirmations. The requirements are that your minds must be illumined, your souls must be rejoiced with the glad tidings of God, you must become imbued with spiritual moralities, your daily life must evidence faith and assurance, your hearts must be sanctified and pure, reflecting a high degree of love and attraction toward the Kingdom of Abha. You must become the lamps of Bahá'u'lláh so that you may shine with eternal light and be the proofs and evidences of His truth. Then will such signs of purity and chastity be witnessed in your deeds and actions that men will behold the heavenly radiance of your lives and say, "Verily, ye are the proofs of Bahá'u'lláh. Verily, Bahá'u'lláh is the True One, for He has trained such souls as these, each one of which is a proof in himself." They will say to others, "Come and witness the conduct of these souls; come and listen to their words, behold the illumination of their hearts, see the evidences of the love of God in them, consider their praiseworthy morals, and discover the foundations of the oneness of humanity firmly implanted within them. What greater proof can there be than these people that the message of Bahá'u'lláh is truth and reality?" It is my hope that each one of you shall be a herald of God, proclaiming the evidences of His appearance, in words, deeds and thoughts. Let your actions and utterances be a witness that you are of the Kingdom of Bahá'u'lláh. These are the duties enjoined upon you by Bahá'u'lláh.
    Bahá'u'lláh endured the greatest hardships. He found neither rest by night nor peace by day. He was constantly under the stress of great calamity -- now in prison, now in chains, now threatened by the sword -- until finally He broke the cage of captivity, left this mortal world and ascended to the heaven of God. He endured all these tribulations for our sakes and suffered these deprivations that we might attain the bestowals of divine bounty. Therefore, we must be faithful to Him and turn away from our own selfish desires and fancies in order that we may accomplish that which is required of us by our Lord.

‘Abdu’l-Bahá seated in the Kinneys Home, New York City, 1912Copyright © 2010 Baha'i National Archives, Wilmette Used With Permission

‘Abdu’l-Bahá Farewell at New York Harbor, December 5, 1912
Copyright © 2010 Baha'i National Archives, Wilmette Used With Permission

The House of 'Abdu'llah Pasha

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THE HOUSE OF 'ABDU'LLAH PASHA
The house in 'Akká that 'Abdu'l-Bahá rented in 1896 and that served as His residence until He moved to Haifa in 1910. Historical photograph from media.bahai.org

"Some of the most poignant, dramatic and historically significant events of the Heroic Age of our Faith are associated with this house, which derives its name from the Governor of 'Akká who built it and used it as his official residence during his term of Office, from 1820 to 1832.... It was in this house that ['Abdu'l-Baha's] celebrated table talks were given and compiled, to be published later under the title "Some Answered Questions." In this house and in the darkest hours of a period which the beloved Guardian describes as 'the most dramatic period of His ministry,' 'in the heyday of His life and in the full tide of His power' He penned the first part of His Will and Testament.... In this house was born the child ordained to hold the destiny of the Faith in his hands for thirty-six years and to become its 'beloved Guardian,' the child named 'Shoghi' by his Grandfather, who grew up under His loving and solicitous care ...."
[As Thornton Chase, the First American Baha'i, wrote of his Pilgrimage, when he visited Abdu'l-Baha in this house:] 

'We did not know we had reached our destination until we saw a Persian gentleman, and then another and another, step out at the entrance and smile at us. We alighted and they conducted us through the arched, red brick entrance to an open court, across it to a long flight of stone steps, broken and ancient, leading to the highest story and into a small walled court open to the sky, where was the upper chamber assigned to us, which adjoined the room of 'Abdu'l-Bahá. The buildings are all of stone, whitewashed and plastered, and it bears the aspect of a prison.'

"As we contemplate the extraordinary focusing of powerful forces and events upon this house, we eagerly anticipate the day when it will be restored and made ready for pilgrims, who may inhale from its atmosphere, its grounds and sacred walls, the fragrances of a glorious past."(The Universal House of Justice, Messages 1963 to 1986, Message 157)

"Freedom is not a matter of place. It is a condition. I was thankful for the prison, and the lack of liberty was very pleasing to me, for those days were passed in the path of service, under the utmost difficulties and trials, bearing fruits and results. Unless one accepts dire vicissitudes, he will not attain. To me prison is freedom, troubles rest me, death is life, and to be despised is honour. Therefore, I was happy all that time in prison."(`Abdu'l-Baha in London, p. 120)

~ ~ ~
O House! Who climbed your stairway? When the Master was a prisoner our spiritual forbears came to you in the night, hearts pounding, souls reaching and hoping: Lua and Sarah, and Phoebe and Robert, and Louis, and Laura, and Thornton -- the first in the West to hear the voice of their Shepherd, Christ, in His "New Name."
We hear their footsteps now, the dust crackling beneath their feet. We hear their spirits, crushing doubt, opening the doors of their hearts to the Light of the New Jerusalem.
A child was born here, too --one promised by Isaiah. He ran up and down your stairs, his praises of God filling the courtyard.
- The courtyard? His voice filled the earth, and fills it still, and will for ages to come!
O Palm Tree, witness of servitude and grandeur, bearer of beauty and joy! How sweet your form, how dear your shadow, caressing the room of the Beloved! We, too, would press our cheek against that wall, feel its coolness against our face, inhale its fragrance, and seek to hear the soul-uplifting Voice within, charting destinies, answering questions, granting certitude.

The Tell-Tale Sign You're An Aged Rock Star

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Each generation is presented with new, never experienced before challenges. Think of the cohort who invented the wheel, then had to cope with their teenagers taking the first ever joy rides. Or the first Catholics who suddenly had to get culinarily creative on a Friday night. Or Morse's peers who had to deal with the first prank telegraph messages (just what is the dot-dash configuration of "Do you have Prince Albert in a can?"?). Obviously, the daunting, never-before-have-people-had-to-face-this challenge of the present generation is, what to do with aging rock stars. It's amazing to think of it, but many of the Founding Fathers (or Queens, and here's to you, Little Richard) of Rock'n'Roll are still alive--Chuck Berry, Jerry Lee Lewis, and the previously mentioned Mr. Penniman. Hell, Elvis would be/is only 77. All hail them and the rest, but still, we as fans are faced with several thorny issues concerning how to deal with these former paragons of youth now that they ain't that young anymore.

For years now we've rather naturally taken in stride the gradual steps of an aging career: the balding, the hearing loss, the myriad "comeback" tours and albums (when you've got at least three of each on your resume, you know you're getting old, Mr. Rock Star), the Rock Hall induction, the Super Bowl gig, the tribute albums and concerts, the third or fourth box sets, the ironic singing of lines penned in youth--and all of that's just the last thirty years of Pete Townshend's life. Like Medicare, senior coffee at McDonald's, and EZ Lift chairs for the rest of us, an entire network of safety nets has been erected to ease the once callow, rebellious rocker into senescence. There's Unplugged, and Storytellers, the duets album, the album of standards, the greatest hits live album, the hook-up with the hip young producer album, the songwriters in the round concerts, the rock cruises, and the inevitable writing of the memoirs (David Ritz thanks you all). Say what you will about Elvis's tragic death, but the man put out a lot of schlock when he was alive, and, all the merchandising since his death notwithstanding, imagine the crap he would have made lo these last 35 years!

But, accustomed as I am--and I'm sure you are--to all of this by now, the question that has bugged me for some time is, what's the Rubicon, what's the jump the shark/couch moment, the definitive dividing line between being an aging rock star--where we can salute the career, bask in past glories, honor, if a bit sadly, the god while he or she is still alive --and being an aged rock star, where the whole thing is just downright depressing and should be kept away from the public? Well, like Steve Jobs must have felt years ago when he realized, "Phones, my God! Who knew? The future is phones!" yesterday I had a eureka moment concerning this aging/aged rock thing. I now know the exact moment when it is clear that our beloved aging rock star, the hero of our youth, has landed at the bottom of the slippery slope and is now not simply completely irrelevant but is dangerous to our collective joie de vire and should be put out to pasture for good--however you want to define that euphemistic idiomatic phrase.

But first let me qualify things. I love the Rolling Stones. It might be an oldies station playing it, but whenever I hear "Jumpin' Jack Flash," or "Brown Sugar" or "The Last Time" on the radio, they all still sound like the freshest, nastiest thing on any airwaves. If I were a pugilistic sort, I'm sure by now my oft-repeated, and oft-scoffed at, statement of incontrovertible fact that the Stones were/are/and ever shall be greater than the Beatles would have gotten me engaged in many a fisticuffs over the years. It's such a foundational truth, that I guess only the hoariest, most despicable cliche applies--you look up Rock'n'Roll in the dictionary, and you'll find a picture of the Stones.

Of course, duh, I'm speaking of the Rolling Stones only in the first 20 years of their by now 50 year existence (sic). Go ahead, name three great songs the Stones have made in the past thirty years; here's a hint, I'll be beyond aged by the time you can even muster an argument for the third one. Hell, they've made a grand total of six, 6! albums in the past thirty years. (By the way, the answer is one. One great song in the last thirty years: "The Worst," off Voodoo Lounge; a Keith song, ironically, from 1994!).

Now I won't bother going through yet again the "pathetic parodies of themselves," "only in it for the (huge amount of ) money" arguments. You've read them all before. And will undoubtedly read them again as they mount whatever becomes their 50 Year Celebration, i.e., hopefully, Swan Song, in the next few months. No, my beef at the moment is with Keef. The Human Riff. The alleged poster boy of all things Rock. Mick is Mick, always was, always will be. God save him. Ronnie's just a hired gun. Charlie is irreproachable; always was and always will be the coolest guy Rock has ever created. But Keith. My God. Years ago I thought it, and I still do, now more fervently than ever--every day he lives he gets less cool. For thirty years now he's been trading on the lovable bad guy schtick. Now he's Goofy Grandpa, professionally raconteuring rather than rocking and touring. We love you Keith, always have and always will, but shut up and go away already.

And what has brought me to such apostasy today? What has me so sacrilegiously blaspheming the mighty Keith Richards? The eureka moment I experienced yesterday. The discovery of the tell-tale sign that the aging rocker has become aged. The end of the living rock god's relevant life: At the bookstore where I work, we received two remaindered (duh) copies of Keith's autobiography, Life, IN LARGE PRINT! Trust me, I know the book retailing business. Keith's audience is not the LARGE PRINT audience. Unless he's ditched Patti and is shacking up with Debbie Macomber, Danielle Steel, or Barbara Taylor Bradford, Keith Richards has no place in the LARGE PRINT section of a bookstore. Good God, Keith, I know you've raised reckless nonchalance to an art form, but why in the name of Robert Johnson did you sign a publishing contract that allowed them to print your book in LARGE PRINT? If you do ever tour again, you better have a special ring of seats for AARP members, where earplugs, Depends, and seat cushions are included in the senior discount price. You never even made a standards album, Keith! How can you go LARGE PRINT on us?

R.I.P. KEITH. IT'S ALL OVER NOW.

An Oldster Re-Fashions A Youngster's Song

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Well, the toe bone is connected to Epsom Salts
And the foot bone is connected to ongoing litigation involving Medicare, the insurance industry, and Payday Loans, Inc.
And the ankle bone is connected to God only knows what.
The shin bone is connected to the slings and arrows of absurd misfortune
And the knee bone is connected to Dial-A-Prayer
While the thigh bone is connected to a heating pad.
The hip bone is connected to Mother Nature's storm center
And the tail bone is connected to this EZ Lift Chair.
The back bone is connected to Edvard Munch's psyche
And the breast bone is connected to the hopes of Ponce de Leon.
The shoulder bone is connected to Advil
All the arm elbow wrist hand and finger bones seem to be connected to someone else's nervous system
And the neck bone is connected to Meyerwitz, Meyerwitz, and Pane and Sons.
The jaw bone is connected to Ensure
The nose bone is connected to a sink of dirty dishes at the moment
The ear bone has been disconnected
And the head bone is looking to connect with a soft pillow.

Theme 197 - Runaway

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From @flirtingshadows: It’s late Sunday night but you’re edgy, consumed by insomnia,Monday morning blues and creeping, nagging self-thoughts that have parkedthemselves in the head for the night. You try your utmost to rein in thoserunaway emotions, the fears and the self-doubts. But you feel yourself drowninto a troubled sleep, shielded by droopy eyelids. 
From @vidulachakradeo: My hands touch the ‘ektara’. The strings sing a melody unheard.My feet swirl on the ground of ecstasy. My mind lost in the reverie of hismemories.  My eyes see none but him. Mybody whirls in the air of love. They call me Merabai. But, I am a bride in arunaway marriage. 
From @DNRamki: The calendarread ‘Vacation @ Home’, but that was hardly the mood. They seemed to besquabbling, almost perennially. There was hardly any excitement remaining. Itseemed like he wasn’t welcome anymore. It just didn’t feel right. Even at home, he wasn’t really home. He wanted to run away. 
From @SugarsNSpice: My eyes were wet and hands moist. Sweat trickled down from my head. This was no anxious fear, but a phobia. I was supposed to be happily excited, but than Raul was someone I met just a while back. He was perfect for the family. But, what about me? Hence, I became the 'Runaway Bride'.
From @zoarcher: The formidable walls, the air thick with breathsof callous indifference suffocated him. He knew he didn’t deserve to be in thishole-in-the-wall cell. He didn’t have blood on his hands. He had to escape. Butthen, how would he ever clear his name? He would always be identified as the convictwho ran away.

The House of 'Abdu'llah Pasha

To contact us Click HERE
THE HOUSE OF 'ABDU'LLAH PASHA
The house in 'Akká that 'Abdu'l-Bahá rented in 1896 and that served as His residence until He moved to Haifa in 1910. Historical photograph from media.bahai.org

"Some of the most poignant, dramatic and historically significant events of the Heroic Age of our Faith are associated with this house, which derives its name from the Governor of 'Akká who built it and used it as his official residence during his term of Office, from 1820 to 1832.... It was in this house that ['Abdu'l-Baha's] celebrated table talks were given and compiled, to be published later under the title "Some Answered Questions." In this house and in the darkest hours of a period which the beloved Guardian describes as 'the most dramatic period of His ministry,' 'in the heyday of His life and in the full tide of His power' He penned the first part of His Will and Testament.... In this house was born the child ordained to hold the destiny of the Faith in his hands for thirty-six years and to become its 'beloved Guardian,' the child named 'Shoghi' by his Grandfather, who grew up under His loving and solicitous care ...."
[As Thornton Chase, the First American Baha'i, wrote of his Pilgrimage, when he visited Abdu'l-Baha in this house:] 

'We did not know we had reached our destination until we saw a Persian gentleman, and then another and another, step out at the entrance and smile at us. We alighted and they conducted us through the arched, red brick entrance to an open court, across it to a long flight of stone steps, broken and ancient, leading to the highest story and into a small walled court open to the sky, where was the upper chamber assigned to us, which adjoined the room of 'Abdu'l-Bahá. The buildings are all of stone, whitewashed and plastered, and it bears the aspect of a prison.'

"As we contemplate the extraordinary focusing of powerful forces and events upon this house, we eagerly anticipate the day when it will be restored and made ready for pilgrims, who may inhale from its atmosphere, its grounds and sacred walls, the fragrances of a glorious past."(The Universal House of Justice, Messages 1963 to 1986, Message 157)

"Freedom is not a matter of place. It is a condition. I was thankful for the prison, and the lack of liberty was very pleasing to me, for those days were passed in the path of service, under the utmost difficulties and trials, bearing fruits and results. Unless one accepts dire vicissitudes, he will not attain. To me prison is freedom, troubles rest me, death is life, and to be despised is honour. Therefore, I was happy all that time in prison."(`Abdu'l-Baha in London, p. 120)

~ ~ ~
O House! Who climbed your stairway? When the Master was a prisoner our spiritual forbears came to you in the night, hearts pounding, souls reaching and hoping: Lua and Sarah, and Phoebe and Robert, and Louis, and Laura, and Thornton -- the first in the West to hear the voice of their Shepherd, Christ, in His "New Name."
We hear their footsteps now, the dust crackling beneath their feet. We hear their spirits, crushing doubt, opening the doors of their hearts to the Light of the New Jerusalem.
A child was born here, too --one promised by Isaiah. He ran up and down your stairs, his praises of God filling the courtyard.
- The courtyard? His voice filled the earth, and fills it still, and will for ages to come!
O Palm Tree, witness of servitude and grandeur, bearer of beauty and joy! How sweet your form, how dear your shadow, caressing the room of the Beloved! We, too, would press our cheek against that wall, feel its coolness against our face, inhale its fragrance, and seek to hear the soul-uplifting Voice within, charting destinies, answering questions, granting certitude.

Theme 196 - Rage

To contact us Click HERE
From @flirtingshadows: She shielded herself from the newspapers, the television and Twitter.  She was seething but felt highly inadequate. Mere rage was not enough. She itched to be brave, to shirk off her cozy existence and take to the streets like her counterparts in the capital had done. But she also knew that courage counted for nothing

From @realfartshady:

"No one cares. NO ONE!"

"Please let us go!"

The dark man swooshed in rage looking at his spiel "NO! Y"ALL ARE GOING NOWHERE! Watch. Listen. Enjoy."

The hostages cried for help as the artist picked up his glock-en-spiel to play.

From @DNRamki: TV anchors were shouting, ministers made statements, papers screamed about the incident in bold letters. Anguished women and men stood up to sticks, water cannons, teargas and brutal force. They shouted, cursed, and somehow held fort.  But he wasn’t among them. His rage was directed against his keyboard. He had an assignment to finish.

The Tell-Tale Sign You're An Aged Rock Star

To contact us Click HERE

Each generation is presented with new, never experienced before challenges. Think of the cohort who invented the wheel, then had to cope with their teenagers taking the first ever joy rides. Or the first Catholics who suddenly had to get culinarily creative on a Friday night. Or Morse's peers who had to deal with the first prank telegraph messages (just what is the dot-dash configuration of "Do you have Prince Albert in a can?"?). Obviously, the daunting, never-before-have-people-had-to-face-this challenge of the present generation is, what to do with aging rock stars. It's amazing to think of it, but many of the Founding Fathers (or Queens, and here's to you, Little Richard) of Rock'n'Roll are still alive--Chuck Berry, Jerry Lee Lewis, and the previously mentioned Mr. Penniman. Hell, Elvis would be/is only 77. All hail them and the rest, but still, we as fans are faced with several thorny issues concerning how to deal with these former paragons of youth now that they ain't that young anymore.

For years now we've rather naturally taken in stride the gradual steps of an aging career: the balding, the hearing loss, the myriad "comeback" tours and albums (when you've got at least three of each on your resume, you know you're getting old, Mr. Rock Star), the Rock Hall induction, the Super Bowl gig, the tribute albums and concerts, the third or fourth box sets, the ironic singing of lines penned in youth--and all of that's just the last thirty years of Pete Townshend's life. Like Medicare, senior coffee at McDonald's, and EZ Lift chairs for the rest of us, an entire network of safety nets has been erected to ease the once callow, rebellious rocker into senescence. There's Unplugged, and Storytellers, the duets album, the album of standards, the greatest hits live album, the hook-up with the hip young producer album, the songwriters in the round concerts, the rock cruises, and the inevitable writing of the memoirs (David Ritz thanks you all). Say what you will about Elvis's tragic death, but the man put out a lot of schlock when he was alive, and, all the merchandising since his death notwithstanding, imagine the crap he would have made lo these last 35 years!

But, accustomed as I am--and I'm sure you are--to all of this by now, the question that has bugged me for some time is, what's the Rubicon, what's the jump the shark/couch moment, the definitive dividing line between being an aging rock star--where we can salute the career, bask in past glories, honor, if a bit sadly, the god while he or she is still alive --and being an aged rock star, where the whole thing is just downright depressing and should be kept away from the public? Well, like Steve Jobs must have felt years ago when he realized, "Phones, my God! Who knew? The future is phones!" yesterday I had a eureka moment concerning this aging/aged rock thing. I now know the exact moment when it is clear that our beloved aging rock star, the hero of our youth, has landed at the bottom of the slippery slope and is now not simply completely irrelevant but is dangerous to our collective joie de vire and should be put out to pasture for good--however you want to define that euphemistic idiomatic phrase.

But first let me qualify things. I love the Rolling Stones. It might be an oldies station playing it, but whenever I hear "Jumpin' Jack Flash," or "Brown Sugar" or "The Last Time" on the radio, they all still sound like the freshest, nastiest thing on any airwaves. If I were a pugilistic sort, I'm sure by now my oft-repeated, and oft-scoffed at, statement of incontrovertible fact that the Stones were/are/and ever shall be greater than the Beatles would have gotten me engaged in many a fisticuffs over the years. It's such a foundational truth, that I guess only the hoariest, most despicable cliche applies--you look up Rock'n'Roll in the dictionary, and you'll find a picture of the Stones.

Of course, duh, I'm speaking of the Rolling Stones only in the first 20 years of their by now 50 year existence (sic). Go ahead, name three great songs the Stones have made in the past thirty years; here's a hint, I'll be beyond aged by the time you can even muster an argument for the third one. Hell, they've made a grand total of six, 6! albums in the past thirty years. (By the way, the answer is one. One great song in the last thirty years: "The Worst," off Voodoo Lounge; a Keith song, ironically, from 1994!).

Now I won't bother going through yet again the "pathetic parodies of themselves," "only in it for the (huge amount of ) money" arguments. You've read them all before. And will undoubtedly read them again as they mount whatever becomes their 50 Year Celebration, i.e., hopefully, Swan Song, in the next few months. No, my beef at the moment is with Keef. The Human Riff. The alleged poster boy of all things Rock. Mick is Mick, always was, always will be. God save him. Ronnie's just a hired gun. Charlie is irreproachable; always was and always will be the coolest guy Rock has ever created. But Keith. My God. Years ago I thought it, and I still do, now more fervently than ever--every day he lives he gets less cool. For thirty years now he's been trading on the lovable bad guy schtick. Now he's Goofy Grandpa, professionally raconteuring rather than rocking and touring. We love you Keith, always have and always will, but shut up and go away already.

And what has brought me to such apostasy today? What has me so sacrilegiously blaspheming the mighty Keith Richards? The eureka moment I experienced yesterday. The discovery of the tell-tale sign that the aging rocker has become aged. The end of the living rock god's relevant life: At the bookstore where I work, we received two remaindered (duh) copies of Keith's autobiography, Life, IN LARGE PRINT! Trust me, I know the book retailing business. Keith's audience is not the LARGE PRINT audience. Unless he's ditched Patti and is shacking up with Debbie Macomber, Danielle Steel, or Barbara Taylor Bradford, Keith Richards has no place in the LARGE PRINT section of a bookstore. Good God, Keith, I know you've raised reckless nonchalance to an art form, but why in the name of Robert Johnson did you sign a publishing contract that allowed them to print your book in LARGE PRINT? If you do ever tour again, you better have a special ring of seats for AARP members, where earplugs, Depends, and seat cushions are included in the senior discount price. You never even made a standards album, Keith! How can you go LARGE PRINT on us?

R.I.P. KEITH. IT'S ALL OVER NOW.