Where the Soul Remembers: A Pilgrimage to the House of the Bab

At twelve, I found myself in a hallowed space—the room where the Prophet of God graced existence in the mid-nineteenth century. How readily, in sacred places, the soul perceives the love of God and grasps the mystery of sacrifice. How easily the enchanted soul inhales the sweet-scented air perfumed with the fragrance of the Beloved’s garment and discerns the tranquil harmony of creation.

On the first day of spring, in the morning twilight, a group of Baha’is—including my parents and their children—began a glorious and unforgettable pilgrimage to that sanctified spot. The small group, who had the honor of having Mr. Afnan as their guide, walked in quietude and reverence toward the House of their Beloved—the House of the Bab.

Shiraz, breathtaking in spring, with its hills and gardens bursting into color, where jasmine and roses compete to perfume the air, became the chosen spot on earth where the call of God was raised—in May of 1844. A city that had given birth to poets such as Saadi and Hafiz was favored by God as the seat of Joseph of Love, His youthful Prophet, Siyyid Ali Muhammad, the Bab.

The gale of God’s grace wafted over the land of nightingales and flowers, making Shiraz the host of the Spiritual Nightingale. On that spectacular and historic night, the earth—jubilant and waiting, the celestial sphere poised to receive—witnessed the unveiling of the Prophet’s station and heard His message. The mantle of accepting the mighty Revelation of God through His new Messenger that night fell upon a young scholar, the first believer, Mulla Husayn.

O thou who art the first to believe in Me! Verily I say, I am the Bab, the Gate of God.

More than a century later, on that spring day, our small group of pilgrims—like thousands from all over the world—journeyed to the sacred House where the call of God had caused every atom on earth to be rejuvenated. Eager to see the House of the Prophet, this child with imaginative expectations envisioned a palatial home surrounded by grand gardens. After all, the most precious gift of God to humanity, His Messenger—the builder of a new civilization—had dwelled and walked in that place.

With no trace of gardens or imposing homes, the narrow alley, high walls, and closed wooden doors framed the path to the House of the Bab. And then, it appeared: an unassuming and small house. This was the abode of the Beloved of the world—a gleaming point in the vast universe that had sheltered the Most Exalted Point, the Primal Point, the initiator of the Baha’i era in the realms of existence.

How these Words echo in every receptive heart, encompassing time and space for eternity:

I am the Primal Point from which have been generated all created things. I am the Countenance of God Whose splendor can never be obscured, the Light of God Whose radiance can never fade. Whoso recognizeth Me, assurance and all good are in store for him, and whoso faileth to recognize Me, infernal fire and all evil await him…

Thus, every brick of that House had a tale to tell, as “…the Countenance of God…, the Light of God…” appeared there.

We entered the courtyard and ascended into the upper chamber—the room privileged to hear the call of the Divine, where these Words were raised:

…that night, this very hour will, in the days to come, be celebrated as one of the greatest and most significant of all festivals. Render thanks to God for having graciously assisted you to attain your heart’s desire, and for having quaffed from the sealed wine of His utterance.

The white walls, with niches for Holy Books and ornamental objects; the stained-glass windows; the Persian carpets; and the ornate oil lamp in the center formed the room’s simple beauty. I knelt on the floor, following others. My parents, deep in prayer with closed eyes, seemed free of this world—even of the parent-child relationship. I remember the harmony of colors, the quiet atmosphere, the way it all called for life to be celebrated.

I recited prayers in silence, but they were loud in my heart. How this beautiful prayer of the Bab describes the longing of every soul:

O my God, my Lord and my Master! I have detached myself from my kindred and have sought through Thee to become independent of all that dwell on earth and ever ready to receive that which is praiseworthy in Thy sight. Bestow on me such good as will make me independent of aught else but Thee, and grant me an ampler share of Thy boundless favors. Verily, Thou art the Lord of grace abounding.

Elated and feeling close to our Lord, we descended the opposite steps and returned to the yard, where the orange tree the Prophet Himself had planted stood as a witness. Seeing that tree lifted the imagination to joyful days when the youthful Prophet and His wife might have sat beneath it, enjoying its blossoms and fruit.

The House evoked a luminous reflection of that joy—brief though it was—when the Bab and His wife lived there. It transported the mind to scenes where the first believers, the Letters of the Living, frequented the House and carried the mighty message of the Prophet of God to the world.

In the depth of emotions awakened in that Holy House, one could easily recall the significance of the call of the youthful Prophet—who ransomed His life on the altar of existence just six years after His Declaration. His call prepared the hearts of His followers for the even greater call of “Him Whom God Shall Manifest”—Baha’u’llah.

How prophetically the Bab foresaw that future with these words:

…I have sacrificed myself wholly for Thee; I have accepted curses for Thy sake, and have yearned for naught but martyrdom in the path of Thy love…

At twelve, I could not have known how life would be forever changed by that experience. That sacred spot on earth brought unforgettable moments beyond words.

These stirring words of Baha’u’llah come to mind:

Holy places are undoubtedly centers of the outpouring of Divine grace, because on entering the illumined sites associated with martyrs and holy souls, and by observing reverence, both physical and spiritual, one’s heart is moved with great tenderness.

The destruction of the House of the Bab by the Islamic regime in Iran in 1979—following many prior attempts—echoes the fear of hearts opening to the breeze of Divine Springtime. It reveals the torment some feel at the newness, the fresh air of spiritual renewal that calls humanity to unity:

Ye are the fruits of one tree, and the leaves of one branch.

Today, longing souls around the world are deprived of beholding that sacred edifice. Yet the soul of the universe, and the worlds of God, preserve that Holy Spot—whether its bricks and walls remain in the material world or not.

These exquisite words of Baha’u’llah bring solace and hope:

Blessed is the spot, and the house, and the place, and the city, and the heart, and the mountain, and the refuge, and the cave, and the valley, and the land, and the sea, and the island, and the meadow where mention of God hath been made, and His praise glorified.

In the Revelation of Baha’u’llah, no soul is deprived of the experience of “…the outpouring of Divine grace…”