Part 1

wisdom

of the sadhu

T E A C H I N G S O F S U N D A R S I N G H

compiled and edited by kim comer

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C O N T E N T S

to the reader vii

I . S C E N E S

the hungry birds 2 dharma • devotion 4

five holy men 9 maya • illusion 4

the saint 0 santi • peace 5

the scholar 0 jnana • knowledge 3

I I . C O N V E R S A T I O N S

the pilgrim 2 darshana • the divine presence 48 avatara • incarnation 1

the lovers 68 karma • bondage 76 moksa • release 85

the prince and the thief 1 dyva vileenam • oneness with god 98 dhyanam • contemplation 15

three seekers 3 seva • service 25 tapas • suffering 1

the king and the farmer 54 amrita • eternity 63 a warning to the west 72

seeker and master 1

background and context 8 sources 196

Seek not to understand so that thou mayest believe, but believe so that thou mayest understand.

Augustine of Hippo

to the reader

As a large, red sun rises from the Punjabi plains, the solitary figure of a sadhu – an In dian holy man – comes into view, trudging along a dusty road. In another frame the figure appears again, this time toiling to reach a remote Tibetan village along a narrow, icy track better suited for goats than for humans. In yet another, the man appears at the edge of an ancient marketplace at dusk, mingling with  the crowd as he seeks a place to sit and rest. Wherever this sadhu appears, those who look into his eyes im mediately sense his extraordinary humility and peace. They discover a mystic…

to the reader

Just as Sundar Singh appeared in such scenes again and again – without prior announcement, with out introduction, without credentials – so he appears in this book. "Scenes," the first section, contains im pressions from key events in his life. It is based both on accounts by Sundar Singh himself, and by writers who knew him. "Conversations," the second, con tains dialogues that draw freely on material from all

six of Sundar Singh's books, as well as interviews and articles. Both sections are interspersed with parables that punctuate the themes. Though structurally un usual, the resulting collage allows us to encounter the sadhu in the way his contemporaries did: not as a sys tematic thinker, but as a personal teacher.

In his teachings as in his life, Sundar Singh offers little by way of rational orientation. He defies catego rization and critical analysis. The impact of his mes sage, however, is always direct and immediate. His voice rings with a clarity that rises from the deepest, clearest sources of life itself.

K. C. 

to the reader

. scenes

P A R A B L E

the hungry birds

Once as I wandered in the mountains, I 

came upon an outcropping of rocks, and as I sat on the highest

the hungry birds

rock to rest and look out over the valley, I saw a nest in the

branches of a tree. The young birds in the nest were crying

noisily. Then I saw how the mother bird returned with food for

her young ones. When they heard the sound of her wings and

felt her presence nearby, they cried all the more loudly and

opened their beaks wide. But after the mother bird fed them

and flew away again, they were quiet. Climbing down to look

more closely, I saw that the newly hatched birds had not yet

opened their eyes. Without even being able to see their mother,

they opened their beaks and begged for nourishment when

ever she approached.

These tiny birds did not say: "We will not open our beaks

until we can see our mother clearly and also see what kind of

food she offers. Perhaps it is not our mother at all but instead

some dangerous enemy. And who knows if it is proper nour

ishment or some kind of poison that is being fed to us?" If they

had reasoned thus, they would never have discovered the

truth. Before they were even strong enough to open their eyes,

they would have starved to death. But they held no such

doubts about the presence and love of their mother, and so

after a few days, they opened their eyes and rejoiced to see her

with them. Day by day they grew stronger and developed into

the form and likeness of the mother, and soon they were able

to soar up into the freedom of the skies. 

We humans often think of ourselves as the greatest living

dharma

beings, but do we not have something to learn from these

common birds? We often question the reality and the loving

nature of God. But the Master has said: "Blessed are those

who have not seen and yet believe." Whenever we open our

hearts to God, we receive spiritual nourishment and grow

more and more into the likeness of God until we reach spiritual

maturity. And once we open our spiritual eyes and see God's

presence, we find indescribable and unending bliss.

dharma

devotion

Candlelight flickers across the worn pages, and the Sanskrit characters dance rhythmically, like graceful maidens chanting ancient hymns. Trans fixed, the young boy follows their motion, and his soul sings in unison with them:

A mass of radiance, glowing all around, I see thee, hard to look at, on every side;

 Glory of flaming fire and sun, immeasurable, without beginning, middle, or end of power. Infinite arms, whose eyes are the moon and sun, I see thee, whose face is flaming fire, burning the whole universe with thy radiance.

dharma

Quietly another voice enters the song. It is a gentle, beloved voice, calling him, calling "Sundar," drawing him out of the chant, away from the dance. Slowly closing his inner eyes, he looks up into the candlelit face of his mother. "Come, Sundar! It is past midnight already. Soon it will be morning. You are only eight years old, my son. You must rest."

Obediently, reverently the boy returns the holy books to their place and seeks his mat. The candle flickers one last time and dies. Later he remembers:

Although my family was Sikh, we had great reverence for the Hindu scriptures. My mother was a living ex ample of the love of God and a devoted follower of Hindu teachings. Every day she awoke before dawn, prepared herself with the cold water of the ritual bath, and read either from the Bhagavad Gita or from one of the other sacred writings. Her pure life and her com plete devotion influenced me more strongly than it did the other family members. From the time of my earliest memories, she impressed upon me one rule above all  others: when I woke from sleep, my first duty was to pray to God for spiritual nourishment and blessings. Only then could I break the night's fast. Sometimes I objected to this rule and insisted on having breakfast first, but my mother would never relent. Usually with coaxing, but when necessary with force, she impressed this rule deep onto my soul: Seek God first and only then turn to other things.

dharma

At that time, I was too young to recognize the true value of this education, and I resisted her. Later, how ever, I came to appreciate her example. Whenever I think back now on her loving guidance, I cannot thank

God enough for her. For she planted in me, and tended in my early life, a profound love and fear of God. She carried a great light within her, and her heart was the best spiritual training anyone could have: "You must not be careless and worldly," she would say. "Seek peace of soul, and love God always. Someday you must give yourself fully to the search, you must follow the way of the sadhu."

With pleading eyes, the boy looks up at his father:

Please help her, Father! She is so old and the weather is  turning cold. I spent all my pocket money to buy food for her, but I did not have enough for a blanket. Please give me money to buy her a blanket.

dharma

Sardar Sher Singh retorts:

Listen, Sundar! Over the years I have given that widow all manner of help. We are not responsible for her. The other people in town should also help look after her. They must also learn charity. You cannot be respon sible for everyone all the time. Others must learn to play their part. Do not worry about her now. You have done more than enough for her.

Downcast, the boy turns away. Agony of conscience.

Has not Mother always said we should show compas sion and pity? Has Father no heart? What if no one else helps her? She might freeze in the night. Is there noth ing I can do? Maybe…No, I mustn't! That would be wrong. But then again, Father has so much; he will never miss a few rupees. It is for a good cause; I'm not stealing for myself…

Sundar was wrong. Father does miss it. In the evening, Sardar Sher Singh calls together the house hold and announces that he is missing five rupees. "Has anyone taken money from my purse?" he asks, gently but firmly. Each one answers in turn. Sundar 

quietly says, "No Father, I didn't do it." The day closes somber and unresolved.

dharma

Sundar sleeps fitfully. He tosses and turns. In his dreams, he sees the stern face of his father, hears the disappointment in his voice: "How could you steal from me, your father? How could you secretly dis obey me? Even now, after I ask for the truth, still you lie to me." Sundar knows this is not dharma – devo tion. This is adharma – sin.

It is evil. The holy books speak of karma – the relent less cycle of sin and death by whose law every sinful act

burdens the soul and carries painful consequences. The holy books warn that we will reap what we sow, in this life or the next. How can I escape this karma? How can I undo what I have done? What good is compassion for others in need if my own soul is burdened?

Sardar Sher Singh hears a quiet, frightened voice:

Father! Wake up, Father! Something terrible has hap pened. It was I, Father. I stole your money to buy a blanket for the widow. Forgive me, Father. I want to es cape the karma; I am ready to accept punishment; I am ready to accept it as penance for this sin.

Now awake, Sardar Sher Singh sees the anguish in the boy's face and sees the hours of anguish behind it. He 

takes hold of the boy – not to punish him, but to take him up into his strong arms; not with anger, but with love. Gently he says: "I have always trusted you, my child, and now I have good proof that my trust was not misplaced. Sleep in peace now, for you have shown courage to choose what is right. In this way, you have turned the wrong to good. I, too, am sorry that I refused you money for the widow. I will not refuse you such a request again."

dharma

P A R A B L E

five holy men

Once in Haridwar I met a sadhu lying on a 

bed of nails. I went to him and asked, "To what end do you

five holy men

wound and torture yourself so?" He answered:

You are a sadhu yourself. Do you not know why I do this?

It is my penance. I am destroying the flesh and its desires.

I serve God in this way, but I still feel all too clearly the

pain of my sins and the evil in my desires. Indeed, the

pain of them is far worse than the pain of these nails. My

goal is to kill all desire and so to find release from myself

and oneness with God. I have been exercising this disci

pline for eighteen months, but I have not yet reached my

goal. Indeed, it is not possible to find release in such a

short time; it will take many years, even many lives, be

fore I can hope for release.

I considered the life of this man. Must we torture ourselves

through many lives in order to find true peace? If we do not

reach our goal in this life, why should there be another chance

in another life? Is it even possible in thousands on thousands

of lives? Can such peace ever be found through our own ef

forts? Must it not be a gift from God? Surely we must seek the

life of God, not the death of flesh.

I met another sadhu doing penance. His feet were tied

with a rope and he was hanging upside down from the branch

of a tree. When he had ended his exercise and was resting un

der the tree, I asked him, "Why do you do this? What is the 

purpose of such torture?" He answered:

five holy men

People are greatly amazed to see me hanging head-down

from a tree, but remember, the Creator sets every child

head-down in the mother's womb. This is my method to

serve God and do penance. In the eyes of the world it is

folly, but in this exercise I remind myself and others that

all of us are bound by sin and lead lives that are, in God's

eyes, upside down. I seek to turn myself upside down

again and again until in the end I stand upright in the

sight of God.

It is true that the world is upside down and its ways are per

verted. But can we ever hope to right ourselves through our

own strength? Must we not turn instead to God, who alone

can set right what is wrong and free us from evil thoughts and

desires?

Later, I met yet another sadhu. In the hot summer, he

would continually sit within the five fires – that is, with four

fires around him and the burning sun overhead. In winter he

would stand for hours in the icy water. Yet his whole expres

sion was marked by sadness and despair. I learned that the

man had been undergoing this exercise for five years. I ap

proached him and asked: "What have you gained from this

discipline? What have you learned?" He answered sadly, "I do

not hope to gain or learn anything in this present life, and

about the future I can say nothing." 

The following day I went to see a sadhu who had taken

five holy men

an oath of silence. He was a genuine seeker after truth. He had

not spoken for six years. I went to him and asked him ques

tions: "Did God not give us tongues so that we can speak?

Why do you not use yours to worship and praise the Creator

instead of remaining silent?" Without any hint of pride or arro

gance he answered me by writing on a slate:

You are right, but my nature is so evil that I cannot hope

for anything good to come out of my mouth. I have re

mained silent for six years, but my nature remains evil, so

it is better that I remain silent until I receive some blessing

or message that can help others.

Once in the Himalayas I learned of a Buddhist hermit, an old

lama who lived in a cave in the mountains. He had closed off

the entrance of the cave by building a stone wall – leaving only

a small opening for air. He never left the cave and lived only

from the tea and roasted barley that devout people brought

and passed through the small hole. Because he had lived so

long in utter darkness, he had become blind. He was deter

mined to remain in the cave for the rest of his life. When I

found this hermit, he was engaged in prayer and meditation,

so I waited outside until he had finished. Then I asked if I might

speak with him, and we were able to converse through the

hole in the wall, although we could not see each other. First he

asked me about my spiritual journey. Then I asked him, "What 

have you gained through your seclusion and meditation? Bud

five holy men

dha taught nothing about a God to whom we can pray. To

whom do you pray, then?" He answered:

I pray to Buddha, but I do not hope to gain anything by

praying and by living in seclusion. Quite the opposite, I

seek release from all thought of gain. I seek nirvana, the

elimination of all feeling and all desire – whether of pain

or of peace. But still I live in spiritual darkness. I do not

know what the end will be, but I am sure that whatever I

now lack will be attained in another life.

I then responded:

Surely your longings and feelings arise from the God who

created you. They were surely created in order to be ful

filled, not crushed. The destruction of all desire cannot

lead to release, but only to suicide. Are not our desires

inseparably intertwined with the continuation of life?

Even the idea of eliminating desire is fruitless. The desire

to eliminate all desire is still itself a desire. How can we

find release and peace by replacing one desire with an

other? Surely we shall find peace not by eliminating de

sire, but by finding its fulfillment and satisfaction in the

One who created it.

The hermit closed our conversation, saying, "We shall see

what we shall see." 

five holy men

maya

illusion

The sunlight speckled with jungle shadows paints leopard spots on the hermit's yellow robe. The hermit, the old sadhu, the holy man sits cross-legged on a leopard skin, one with the skin, one with the leopard, one with the jungle.

At the feet of the sadhu sits Sundar, a boy fleeing maya – illusion – and hungry for certainty and knowl edge – jnana. The boy is devout. He is a Sikh, a devout  Sikh, a devout among the devout, a lion among the li ons. But he is restless.

maya

Sikh priests have taught him all they know, but he is not satisfied. He can recite the entire Guru Granth Sahib, the holy book of the Sikhs, but it does not quench his thirst. He can recite the Upanishads, the Darsanas, the Bhagavad Gita and the Shastaras of the Hindus; the Qur'an and the Hadis of Islam are known to him by heart. His mother fears God and sees in him a pilgrim; she sees in him the making of a sadhu. His father is worried. He asks Sundar: "Why do you tor

ment yourself over religious questions? You will twist your brain and ruin your sight." The boy answers, "I must have santi. I must have peace."

In his quest, the boy has come to the old sadhu in the jungle:

Sadhu-ji, you say my hunger and my thirst are illusion, tricks of maya. Only Brahma is truth. Brahma is the di vine source of all things, you say; Brahma is God. You say I will see that I am part of Brahma, and that once I do, my needs will cease to concern me. Forgive me, Sadhu-ji, and do not be angry with me, but how can this be? If I am Brahma or have even a part of it, how then can I be deceived by maya? How can illusion have  power over me? For if illusion has power over truth, then truth is itself illusion. Is then illusion stronger than truth? Is illusion stronger than truth?

maya

Sadhu-ji, you say I must wait. You say I will gain knowledge of spiritual things as I grow older. My thirst will be quenched. But can it be so? Is not food the an swer to hunger? Is not water the answer to thirst? If a hungry boy asks for bread, can his father answer, "Go and play! When you are older, you will understand hunger and you will not need bread?" If you, Sadhu-ji, have found the understanding I seek, if you have found certainty and peace, please tell me how I can find it. If

not, then tell me so, and I will continue my search. I cannot rest until I have found peace.

Something is wrong. Why do the Shastaras no longer come alive before my eyes? Why does our holy book now seem so distant? Why do I return from the peace of yoga meditation to find my heart still burdened with unrest?

An adolescent boy struggles to hold onto all that his mother taught him. It was so natural and so simple while she was alive, but since her death the spiritual  exercises require so much effort. Faith has become clouded by doubt. The words of the old sadhu in the jungle sound like hollow promises, with boldness he questions the sadhu's teaching. The words of the Vedas and of Guru Granth Sahib no longer answer his seeking. Instead, question after question stumble over one another, and all is confusion. The lives of those around him seem fraught with hypocrisy. Where is the fire and clarity of the early Sikh believers? And now Christian missionaries bring still another truth, but their arrival brings Sundar only further, deeper confusion.

maya

This is not the truth of my mother, of our ancestors, of our culture. This is a foreign truth, one brought to us by outsiders who do not understand our ways. But why then does Father make me attend the Christian school? I would rather go to the state school at Sanewal. I am ready to walk the six miles through the desert. I am a Sikh. I will show them. I will show Father what I think of these colonialists and their western ways, their for eign faith…

When the elders come to him, Sardar Sher Singh can not believe his ears. There must be some mistake. Quiet, respectful Sundar throwing stones at his teach ers, disrupting classes, and mocking the missionar-  ies – impossible! When Sardar Sher Singh goes to see for himself, he cannot believe his eyes. Yet there, in the courtyard of his own house, a group of teenage boys gather around his son, who first tears the Christian's holy book to shreds and then, in a frenzy of rage, hurls it into a fire. Never in the history of the village has anyone publicly burned a sacred book of any faith! And his own son! He rushes out in confu sion and anger. He seizes Sundar:

maya

Are you insane? Why would you do such a thing? Is this the respect for sacred things you learned at your mother's breast? Is this your thanks to those who teach

you? You will not commit such blasphemy in my pres ence. As your father and head of this household, I com mand you to stop such insanity. There will be no more book burning here!

Peace is gone. No one is left. Mother is dead. Father is shamed. The sadhu in the jungle has no more to say. The holy writings are remote and foreign. Meditation offers escape, but no resolution, no realization. The ritual bath cleanses the body, but all is still dark within. The familiar words of the scriptures whirl in  his mind. There is Guru Nanak: "I cannot live for a moment without you, O God. When I have you, I have everything. You are the treasure of my heart." And there is Guru Arjim: "We long only for you, O God. We thirst for you. We can only find rest and peace in you." That is the only hope. If there is a God, then let him reveal the way to peace. If there is no God, then there is no point in living.

maya

The fifteen-year-old boy rises long before the sun. With solemn ritual he bathes and chants the an cient invocation as he has done every morning for as long as he can remember, just as his mother taught

him. This morning will be the last time. He thinks of his mother and wonders if he will find her in the world beyond. At : A.M. the express train to Ludhiana will pass. It will pass over the tracks near the edge of Sardar Sher Singh's property. It will pass over the body of a desperate, confused young man. It will crush all doubts and drive all questions from his heart and head.

The prophecy of the Sikh priest nears fulfill ment, for had he not said to Sardar Sher Singh: "Your son is not like the others. Either he will become a great man of God, or he will disgrace us all by going insane." 

maya

P A R A B L E

the saint

Many years ago there was a saint who after 

finishing his daily round of duties would go to a cave in a jungle

the saint

to pray and meditate for hours. One day a philosopher hap

pened to come across the cave. Finding the saint on his knees,

he first stood there in amazement. Then he went up to the en

trance of the cave and tapped, but the saint was so absorbed

in contemplation that he did not respond. The philosopher

waited at least half an hour and was on the point of leaving

when the saint rose and called him in to sit down. Both re

mained silent for a few moments. Then the philosopher broke

the silence.

Philosopher: Do you know that this cave is known as a

den of robbers?

Saint: Yes, sir, I know it well. This cave is a meeting place

for robbers but it is a shelter for me. When I am in the city

in the midst of so many people, when I have done my

work and want to pray and meditate, I find obstacles and

impediments that disturb my worship and distract me so

that neither I nor others receive any real benefit from my

spiritual exercise. So I retire from the disturbances of city

life to this quiet place and rest here in the presence of my

God and worship him in the beauty of his holiness. Here I

spend my time in prayer and offer intercessions on behalf

of others. This spiritual exercise has done much good not

only for me but for others as well.

Thieves often visit this place, but they never trouble

me. One of them once said to me, "See, honorable saint, 

we are not blind and stupid. We rob those people who,

the saint

though not called robbers, yet rob others as much as we

do." I will not report them to the authorities, because I

know a worldly government cannot reform them. It can

only punish them and further harden their hearts. But I

pray to God, who can change them and grant them new

life. Some of them have already changed and become

good citizens. So by the grace of God, my spiritual work

is being carried on in this solitude in the same way as it is

done among the multitudes.

Philosopher: You truly believe that you are helping oth

ers by sitting here silently and praying?

Saint: Some people equate watching and praying with

laziness or carelessness. This is wrong. As a matter of fact,

it means diving into the ocean of reality and finding

pearls of divine truth that will enrich not only the diver,

but others as well. As a diver holds his breath while he is

diving, so a man of contemplation and prayer shuts him

self in a chamber of silence, away from the distractions of

the noisy world. Then he is able to pray with the Holy

Spirit from above, without which it is impossible to lead a

spiritual life.

My meaning is clear: God works in silence. No man

has ever heard him speak or make any sound. To hear his

voice, we must wait for him in silence. Then, without

voice or words, he will speak to the soul in the secret 

room of the heart. As he himself is spirit, he addresses the

the saint

soul in spiritual language, fills it with his presence, and fi

nally revives and refreshes it forever.

Philosopher: Silence is important. I, too, know that if I do

not concentrate silently, I cannot think. But I am not con

vinced about your silent God. What proof do you have

for his existence?

Saint: Remember that though millions experience his

presence, he exists above and beyond all human compre

hension. He dwells only in the heart of those who have a

childlike faith. As putting our hand near the flames and

experiencing the warmth of the fire proves the existence

of fire, so experiencing God in spirit is the only strong and

solid proof of his existence. I know of a woman who,

when she was twelve, was told by her teacher about God

and his love. It was the first time she had ever heard of

God, yet as her teacher spoke, she said, "Yes, I have known

this already. I just did not know his name."

Philosopher: But why is it that you renounce the world?

Do you hate the world and regard yourself as superior to

others?

Saint: I do not hate the world, and I would never dare to

regard myself superior to others – God forbid. I am only a

weak and sinful man, but grace saves and helps me. Nor  have I renounced the world. I renounce only its evil and

the saint

everything in myself that hinders my spiritual life.

As long as we are in this world, it is impossible to re

nounce it. If we leave the city and go to live in the jungle,

we will find that the jungle is also part of the world. It is

ridiculous to think of renouncing the world. No one can

renounce the world except through death. God put us on

this earth to live and move and be. His holy will is that we

may use the things of this world in the right way – to pre

pare ourselves for our true spiritual home.

Philosopher: If you are so weak and sinful, why do

people call you a saint?

Saint: The Greek philosopher Socrates once said that in

all his life, he had learned only one, single lesson – namely,

that he knew nothing. Whenever people asked him what

then the difference was between him and other folk, he

replied that he differed from others only in one respect:

he accepted that he knew nothing, while they obstinately

clung to the belief that they knew something.

Let people think what they will, but I am no saint –

they are mistaken. I only desire intimacy with God. In fel

lowship with him I experience a peace that is unknown to

the worldly. I know that I am weak and sinful, but most

people do not even know that they are sinners. Hence,

they do not know the cure for their sin, and they die

without ever finding the peace that I have found. 

the saint

santi

peace

Though at the time I had considered my self a hero for burning the Gospel, my heart found no peace. Indeed, my unrest only increased, and I was mis erable for the next two days. On the third day, when I could bear it no longer, I rose at : A.M. and prayed that if there was a God at all, he would reveal himself to me. Should I receive no answer by morning, I would place my head on the railroad tracks and seek the an  swer to my questions beyond the edge of this life.

I prayed and prayed, waiting for the time to take my last walk. At about : I saw something strange. There was a glow in the room. At first I thought there was a fire in the house, but looking through the door and windows, I could see no cause for the light. Then the thought came to me: perhaps this was an answer from God. So I returned to my accustomed place and prayed, looking into the strange light. Then I saw a fig ure in the light, strange but somehow familiar at once. It was neither Siva nor Krishna nor any of the other Hindu incarnations I had expected. Then I heard a voice speaking to me in Urdu: "Sundar, how long will

santi

you mock me? I have come to save you because you have prayed to find the way of truth. Why then don't you accept it?" It was then I saw the marks of blood on his hands and feet and knew that it was Yesu, the one proclaimed by the Christians. In amazement I fell at his feet. I was filled with deep sorrow and remorse for my insults and my irreverence, but also with a wonderful peace. This was the joy I had been seeking. This was heaven…Then the vision was gone, though my peace and joy remained.

When I arose I immediately went to wake my fa ther and tell him what I had experienced – to tell him that I was now a follower of Yesu. He told me to go back to bed. "Why, only the day before yesterday you 

were burning the Christians' holy book. Now you say you are one of them. Go and sleep, my child. You are tired and confused. You will feel better in the morning."

santi

Sardar Sher Singh tried to be understanding and pa tient, for he felt the boy was still distraught from the loss of his mother. So he discreetly avoided discussing Sundar's strange experience. Sundar in turn spent most of his time in solitude and meditation, seeking penance and wondering how to atone for his mockery of the One who had revealed himself to him. Deep within, he sensed that release would only come if he

was prepared to serve Yesu as one serves a master – to publicly declare himself a follower of the very being he had publicly insulted.

No one could have foreseen the outcry that fol lowed. Robbed of their ringleader, Sundar's peers turned on their Christian teachers (and on Sundar himself ), hurling abuse, accusing them of forcibly converting the boy, despite Sundar's repeated asser tions that the teachers knew nothing of what had hap pened. Feelings ran so high that the school had to be closed, and the missionaries escaped to Ludhiana.

At home Sardar Sher Singh tried everything he could to dissuade his son from his new-found faith. At  first he exercised patience. Then he appealed to the boy's honor:

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My dear son – light of my eyes, comfort of my heart – may you live long! As your father, I appeal to you to consider your family. Surely you do not want the family name to be blotted out. Surely this Christian religion does not teach disobedience to parents. I call on you to fulfill your duty and to marry. I have chosen your bride, as is our custom, and everything is prepared. As an en gagement present I will give you a legacy of , rupees that will provide enough interest for you and

your family to live comfortably for a lifetime. Your uncle will add to it a chest of gold.

I am not an unreasonable man, my child. But if you refuse me, I will know that you are determined to dis honor your family and I will have no alternative but to disown you. You wear the bracelet of the Sikh, you wear your hair uncut as is the sign of the Sikh, you bear the name of a Sikh. Have you forgotten the meaning of the name that our fathers adopted? Have you forgotten what it means to be a Singh?

No, Father; the name means "lion." You know the meaning of your name, yet act like a jackal of the desert. Why? The time has come for you to make your choice. 

Sundar Singh returned to his room and prayed. Then he cut off his hair.

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The face of Sardar Sher Singh was dreadful to behold. Rage born of frustration, desperation and shame red dened his eyes. In the presence of the entire house hold, his heart heavy with grief, he led his son to the door as darkness was falling. Already death had taken his wife and one son; now he was to lose his beloved

Sundar. But he saw no choice: the boy had made his decision. Now he spoke the fearful curse: "We reject you forever and cast you from among us. You shall be no more my son. We shall know you no more. For us, you are as one who was never born. I have spoken." The door closed behind him.

I will never forget the night I was driven out of my home. I slept outdoors under a tree, and the weather was cold. I had never experienced such a thing. I thought to myself: "Yesterday I lived in comfort. Now I am shivering, and I am hungry and thirsty. Yesterday I had everything I needed and more; today I have no shelter, no warm clothes, no food." Outwardly the  night was difficult, but I possessed a wonderful joy and peace in my heart. I was following in the footsteps of my new master – of Yesu, who had nowhere to lay his head, but was despised and rejected. In the luxuries and comforts of home I had not found peace. But the pres ence of the Master changed my suffering into peace, and this peace has never left me.

santi

P A R A B L E

the scholar

After his death, the soul of a German schol- 

ar entered into the world of spirits. From a distance he saw the

the scholar

indescribable glory of heaven and the unending joy of those

who dwell there. He was overwhelmed by what he saw, but

his intellect and his skepticism stood in his way and blocked

his entrance to the realm of bliss. So he began to argue with

himself:

There can be no doubt that I see all this, but how can I be

sure that it is real and not just a subconscious illusion? Let

me apply the critical tests of science, logic, and philoso

phy; then we will see whether this apparent heaven really

exists.

Now, the angels who dwelt in that place knew his thoughts

and approached him, and one addressed him:

Your intellect has warped your entire being. If you want

to see the world of the spirit, you must look with spiritual

eyes. You must apply spiritual insight, not the rational ex

ercise of logic. Your science deals with material reality. In

this realm, however, you can only apply the wisdom that

arises from love and reverence. It is a pity that you do not

take to heart the words of the Master: "Unless you

change completely and become like a little child, you

shall not enter the heavenly realm."

Clearly you long to see spiritual truth. If you didn't – if

your life and thoughts were only evil – you would not  even see heaven from afar, as you do now. But until you

the scholar

tire of your folly and turn around, you will continue to

wander the world, banging your philosophical head

against reality. Only then will you gain true insight and be

able to turn with joy to the light of God.

In a certain sense, all of space and time is spiritual. God's pres

ence pervades everything. Thus all people live in the spiritual

world. Each of us is a spiritual being clothed in a mortal body.

But there is another level of reality where our spirits go and

dwell after physical death. This can be understood as a kind of

misty twilight between the glorious light of heavenly bliss and

the frigidity and darkness of death. Already in this life we set

the course that determines where we shall enter into the world

beyond death. From there, we either turn joyfully toward the

light, or rebelliously toward the darkness.

the scholar

jnana

knowledge

Cast out of my father's house, I sought the advice of my former teachers at the missionary school. They provided for my material needs and ar ranged for me to go to the Christian Boys' Boarding School in Ludhiana. The people there received me very kindly and protected me in every way. But I was shocked to see the godlessness of some of the students, and of some of the local Christians. I had believed that  Christians would be like living angels; in this I was sadly mistaken.

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A newly captured tiger prowls restlessly, while a tiger that has been caged for a long time sprawls lazily, awaiting the next feeding. Sundar's thoughts fled the comfortable confines of the missionaries' kindness. Everything was available to him: a good education, a position in the colonial establishment. Everything would be given him if he accepted the cozy life of a good Christian boy. Yet on his sixteenth birthday, he disappeared into the jungle. He reappeared thirtythree days later in the saffron robe of a beggar-monk.

No more a lion, he had become a tiger – a tiger that seeks the thorny tracks of the jungle. His pilgrimage had begun.

Two sadhus sit cross-legged and converse with one another. One is old, very old, the picture of wisdom with a long, gray beard and faded saffron robe. The other, Sundar, is young and strong – a slight hint of fuzz on his chin. The one is a tranquil hermit at Varanasi, where the brown water of the Ganges slowly flows in its ageless, unchanging course past masses of bathing pilgrims. The other is a wanderer seeking the source, seeking the mountains where the sacred river dances and leaps in rushing, unpredict able torrents.

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Old sadhu: The ancient rules laid down for the way of the sadhu are wise. A man follows first the order of the student, gaining the knowledge and skills for a produc tive life. Next he takes on the order of father, caring for family and property to exercise responsibility. Then, when his duties of the second order are fulfilled, he retires from the affairs of family and household, adopting the ascetic order of the sadhu and renouncing the comfort

and pleasures of this world. In this way, he can offer penance for the failings of this life and all the lives that have gone before; he can restore his karma.

Young sadhu: I am not opposed to the ancient customs, but my motive in becoming a sadhu is different from yours. I have not become a sadhu because I think that there is any merit or salvation to be gained by it. I long only to serve God the Master with all my heart and soul and mind and strength and to love my fellow men and women even as I love myself. If we allow this principle to guide our lives, then selfishness will flee from our hearts and we shall be like children of God. We will find in every man and woman our own brother and sis

 ter. This is the only salvation; this is the only release from karma, from the cycle of sin and death. So I lay aside all worldly encumbrances and lead the life of a sadhu not to gain release from karma, but in thankful ness to God, who has already released me.

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Let one of your disciples come with two mangoes, one ripe and juicy, the other skin and stone with all the juice sucked out. What would you say if he gave you the withered fruit and sat down to enjoy the delicious fruit himself?

Old sadhu: Such behavior would be inexcusable. It would be an insult and the height of disrespect.

Young sadhu: Well, if in the days of our youth we waste ourselves in our own pleasures and then, in the weakness of old age, offer in service to God only the bones and skin of our former strength, have we not also acted selfishly and treated God with disrespect?

Where the wild, rushing Ganges leaves the Himalayas near Rishikesh, there is the thick, wild jungle of Kajliban, a place of complete seclusion that few pil grims penetrate. Two bamboo cutters discovered there the collapsed form of a sadhu in a clearing, too  weak to speak or move. They took him to a village where he was nursed back to health with milk and broth and sago.

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After several years of service, I felt led to go into the forest, where I would be free from interruption. I could fast for forty days even as the Master had done, and I could seek blessing on my past work and strength for my future work. Soon I was so dehydrated and ener vated that I could not even move into the shade. But my spiritual awareness grew correspondingly sharper. Through this I discovered that the soul does not fade and die with the body, but goes on living, and I sensed

the presence of God and the fullness of the Spirit, a re ality that cannot be expressed in words. I also had a vi sion of the Master, though this time with spiritual – not physical – eyes.

Throughout the fast, I felt a remarkable enrichment of the peace and bliss that I had known in varying de grees since my first vision of the Master. Indeed, so great was this sense of peace that I was not at all tempted to break the fast. The experience has had a lasting effect on me. Before it, I was frequently assailed by temptations. Especially when I was tired, I often grew annoyed when people came to talk to me and ask me questions. I still grow irritated at times, but not as often as I used to. Moreover, I used to toy at times with 

the thought of giving up the self-denial required of a sadhu – of getting married and living in comfort and ease. Now, however, I see clearly that my calling is dif ferent, and that the gift of ecstasy God has given me is far better than any home, and far greater than any hard ship I might endure.

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"He's back! The Sadhu has returned!" The news ran like wildfire through the dingiest alleys of Kotgahr. No adult took notice; few even heard the excited cries

above the din of the marketplace. But the children – the dirty toddler with the bloated stomach; the girl with the maimed foot; the boy with the scarred face; the scrawny offspring of the lepers, shunned even by the Untouchables – they heard the cries. Sundar Singh was back – and he was there again for them. And so they hurried – running, scuffling and limp ing – to his cave. It would be impossible to imagine a happier band of children.

Meanwhile, many miles away, among the students of the Christian Boys' Boarding School, Sundar Singh was changing the lives of other children too. C. F. Andrews, a close friend of the Sadhu, remembers: 

Whenever Sundar Singh was in town, he spent most of his spare time visiting the boys in the school. They sat up with him into the long hours of the night and be came intensely eager to go to Kotgahr and live with him there, so that they might catch something of his brave spirit.

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The changes that resulted were marvelous to witness. One of the students, a cricketer and athlete, gave up assured prospects in government service for a life of Christian service. Another made up his mind to enter the ministry of the Church for a life of sacrifice and devo tion. When one of the school sweepers, an Untouchable,

fell ill, one of the boys who had come most under the influence of the Sadhu, went into the sweepers' quar ters, stayed with him and nursed him through his ill ness. Such a thing had never happened in the history of the school.

One of the senior students returned late one evening, carrying on his back a man from the hills who was in the last stage of a terrible infectious disease. The boy had found him in an unfrequented place at the edge of the jungle, where he had been lying neglected, possibly for some days. Without a thought he loaded the man on his back and carried him for nearly two miles along a mountain track. Even the physical feat was remarkable; but the moral stamina that made him ready to risk a 

dangerous disease while others had passed by was more noteworthy still. Only because he was living with the Sadhu, did the inspiration come to this young man with such compelling force as to make him act in this man ner. Still further, the humility and reticence with which this brave deed was done were themselves a reflection of the Sadhu's spirit.

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What, it may be asked, was the attraction that made such a wonderful change? Nothing that was merely second-rate could possibly have effected it. No mode of living, half in comfort, half in self-denial, could have worked such a miracle. Indeed, those of us who

did our work surrounded by too much outward com fort did not impress the young people. We did not think it possible for us to change our style of living, though we often talked the matter over. But Sundar Singh's life could stand the test. It was reckless in its self-spending. He had counted the cost. The Cross was not preached only, but lived – and that made all the difference.

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. conversations

P A R A B L E

the pilgrim

There is a deep and natural craving in the 

human heart that can be satisfied nowhere except in God. Our

the pilgrim

being in this world is a test, a preparation for the deepest state

of spiritual communion. But most of us, suppressing our deep

est longings and disdaining God, seek satisfaction from this

world. Such a path can only lead to despair.

The story is told of a man who made it his goal in life to

find peace and to satisfy all his desires. He thought that if he

wandered the world, he would be sure to find a place where

he could live a life of peace and rest without having to work or

worry or suffer pain. Having made careful preparations, he set

out on his journey. For months he wandered from place to

place but could not find what he was seeking. One day he saw

an old man sitting by the edge of a new grave. The traveler

came closer and asked the old man whose grave it was. The

man told him a remarkable story:

Two woodcutters from my village went out into the

nearby jungle to cut wood. By chance, I was also walking

that way. I saw them and greeted them from a distance.

They were seated near a bush in conversation and did not

notice me. So I approached them, and as I came closer,

one of them saw me and quickly covered something with

a cloth. I asked him what was under the cloth. At first,

the men tried to evade my question and keep their secret

hidden. So I asked again. Finally, they told me their story,

saying that I was to be the judge of what had happened,  and I was to give them my advice.

the pilgrim

One of the men told me that as they were walking

through the forest, they noticed something glittering un

der the bush. Coming closer, they found two gold ingots.

When I arrived, they were debating what to do with this

treasure. I told them that these bars were death traps in

the guise of gold and they should be left under the bush

and forgotten. I explained to them that I had heard about

a banker in a nearby town who had been killed by bur

glars in his house. If the thieves were somewhere about

and discovered the woodcutters with their treasure, they

would not hesitate to kill them. Moreover, if the wood

cutters kept the gold and were discovered, they would

surely be accused of the theft and the banker's murder.

They nodded in agreement and said they would do as I

suggested. Then I went on my way.

However, they continued to argue over the gold, ig

noring my advice. The first woodcutter demanded two-

thirds share, because according to him, it was he who

had discovered the gold; the other insisted that they

should divide it equally. Finally, the first agreed. To cel

ebrate, one of them went into the village to buy some

thing to eat.

Once separated, however, both men burned with such

greed that each plotted to kill the other. When the wood

cutter who had gone into the village returned, the one

who had remained to watch over the gold attacked him 

and killed him. But the murderer did not live to enjoy the

the pilgrim

gold, because – not knowing that his companion had

poisoned the food he had bought – he ate of it and fell

dead. Now both of them lie in this grave.

Looking over to another grave with a marble headstone, the

traveler asked the old man, "Whose grave is that there?" The

old man shook his head thoughtfully and said:

That man was exceedingly rich. But now he is dead, and

what use is his fancy monument? And look over there.

Do you see that mound? That was a man who was proud

and cruel, using violence and smooth words to take over

a kingdom. Once he was in power, he demanded that all

the citizens should satisfy his desires and worship him as a

god. Then he was stricken with a fatal disease, and

worms fed on him till he died. A few days after his burial,

wild animals dug his body from the grave and feasted on

it, scattering his bones over the graveyard. The head that

had borne a crown was now a bare skull on the ground.

As the traveler was pondering the meaning of what was being

said, the old man continued:

These stories illustrate human depravity, but there is also

a solution. There is a stream of love in this world that

gives health, joy, and peace. Those who live in this current

of love (which is God) always try to do good to others and

never return evil for evil. 

There was once a widow who, after mourning the

the pilgrim

death of her husband, had a dispute with her sister over

the distribution of the property. Finally, the widow's sister

became so angry that she took the widow's son and

abandoned him in a basket in the river. A fisherman who

found the child took him home and brought him up as

his own son. The boy grew into manhood. One day, while

selling fish in the marketplace, he unwittingly met his

mother. Though she did not recognize the young man as

her son, she felt pity for him, and invited him and the old

fisherman to come and live with her.

Not long afterwards the widow noticed among the

fisherman's possessions a basket she recognized as her

own. She also noticed, on the boy's elbow, a familiar scar

that identified him as her son.

Confronting her sister later, the widow, however, wrung

a confession from her. Her anger knew no bounds. Thank

fully, she was kept from taking revenge, for the boy held

his mother back and prevented her from retaliating. Serv

ing both his mother and his aunt for the rest of his days,

he showed, by his acts of kindness and mercy, how evil is

overcome only with good.

The traveler thanked the old man for his stories and set off

down the road. On the way he met an athlete and a leper talk

ing together. "How did you get leprosy?" the athlete asked. "I

have been told that it is because I lived in evil and immorality,"  the leper replied. "You have kept yourself in good health and

the pilgrim

your body is strong. But in the end, your body and mine shall

be the same – dust in the earth."

The traveler continued on his way, thinking. He saw now

that his longing for a life of comfort and ease was mere selfish

ness, and that only a life lived for others and for God would

bring him true freedom. To live selfishly, he saw, is to flap like a

bird that has escaped its cage, only to realize it is still tethered.

The harder it struggles, the more entangled it becomes.

It has been well observed that though nations may differ

from nations, communities from communities, and people

from people, human nature is the same everywhere. As there

is but one sun that warms and gives light to the earth, there is

but one God who teaches us to love one another and care for

each other.

It is not just the widows, orphans, the poor, and the

needy that are unhappy. Kings in their kingdoms, the wealthy

in the midst of their luxury, and the learned with their wisdom

are also restless and unfulfilled. As with Noah's dove, which

found no place to rest in the world, so it is with us. As strang

ers and pilgrims on the earth, we can find no rest without the

Master who said, "Come to me, all who labor and are heavy

laden, and I will give you rest."

darshana

the divine presence darshana

Seeker: Sadhu-ji, I am searching for inner peace, but the many religions and philosophies I have studied fill me only with doubts and questions. I am no longer even sure if God exists. Can you help me find spiritual truth?

Sadhu: Only the fool says in his heart, "There is no God." Such a thought says nothing about the exist  ence or non-existence of God, but only about the skeptic's own spiritual blindness and inability to rec ognize God. Indeed, atheists deny the existence of God altogether, but they cannot prove their claim that God does not exist. Even if we assume for the sake of argument that they are correct, we would only further the cause of ignorance, not the cause of truth, because what could be a greater waste of time than to try and prove the non-existence of something that doesn't even exist? Time would be better spent on more worth while pursuits. Yet if God does exist, as all spiritually

darshana

enlightened souls know, then it would be still greater foolishness to try and prove God's non-existence. Though many argue that the belief in God is a harm ful superstition that must be eliminated for the sake of human progress, the opposite is the case. Uncounted spiritual blessings have enriched the lives of those who believe.

Unlike atheists, agnostics believe neither in the ex istence nor in the non-existence of God. They claim that we cannot know whether God exists. But again this is a mistake. We have an innate longing in our hearts to know God, and every race in every age has shown in some form or another its deep craving for  God. Is God simply a human invention, as an ancient philosopher once said? He argued the following: "In the primeval age of disorder and violence, as always, laws could punish crimes committed in the open day, but they could not touch the secret crimes hidden in the gloomy depths of conscience. So the best way to make people lead moral lives was to make them afraid by inventing gods who could see and hear all things, not only all human actions, but also the inmost thoughts and intentions of the human heart." Yet, even this argument actually acknowledges that the hu man soul is incomplete and unfulfilled without God.

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Some claim that God is unknowable, but this is ut ter nonsense. Such an assertion can only be made on the basis of some kind of limited knowledge of God. If God is completely beyond our knowing, how can we know that he is unknowable?

Seeker: Can no one prove to me whether God exists, so that I can know the truth?

Sadhu: God has no need or desire for anyone to prove his existence. Our arguments are feeble, our minds limited. God could have provided proofs con

 vincing enough, way beyond anything we could imagine. God desires rather that we should enjoy his life-giving presence and so bear witness to something far more sublime and convincing than anything the rational mind can produce.

darshana

Our spirits live and grow in our human bodies much like the chick develops inside the egg. If it were possible for the chick to be told that a great world waits beyond its shell, that this world is filled with fruits and flowers, rivers and great mountains, and that its own mother is also there waiting for it to be set free and to experience this splendor, the chick could

still neither comprehend nor believe it. Even if one explained that its feathers and wings and eyes were developing so that it could fly and see, still it would not be able to believe it, nor would any proof be pos sible, until it broke through its shell.

In the same way, there are many people who cannot comprehend the spiritual life or the existence of God because they cannot see beyond the confines of their bodily sense. Their thoughts – like delicate wings – cannot yet carry them beyond the narrow confines of logic. Their weak eyes cannot yet make out those eternal treasures that God has prepared for his chil dren. The only condition necessary for us to break out  of our material limitations and attain spiritual life is that we accept the life-giving warmth of God's spirit, just as the chick receives its mother's warmth. With out that warmth, we will not take on the nature of the Spirit and we may die without ever hatching out of this material body.

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We have been endowed with spiritual senses so that we can feel and enjoy God's presence. But the influ ence of irreverence and sin deadens these senses till we are no longer able to see beyond ourselves, nor be yond the material world. As long as we follow this path, we cannot believe that God exists, and so we

starve ourselves until in the end we have committed spiritual suicide. Our end is total enslavement to the material world.

Seeker: If we cannot prove that God exists, then how can we ever know God or any spiritual truth?

Sadhu: God is the author of creation and provides all that is necessary for our wellbeing. If it were helpful or necessary for us to know God perfectly already now, then God would have provided the means to meet that need. Quite the contrary, it is important for

 our own spiritual growth that we persevere in trying to know more of God. True and satisfying knowledge of anything is always the fruit of mental exertion and the exercise of our own consciousness.

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God is infinite while we are finite. We can never fully comprehend the infinite, but we do have within us a spiritual sense that allows us to recognize and en joy God's presence. The ocean is vast beyond our imagining, and it would never be possible for a person to fathom it or take in all its great treasures. But with the tip of our tongues we can recognize at once that the ocean is salty. We have not understood even a

fraction of all there is to know about the ocean, but with our sense of taste we can experience its essence.

In the end, how can we expect to have full knowl edge of the creator, when even our knowledge of cre ated things is limited? We know a little about the physical characteristics of the created world, but we know next to nothing about the unseen spiritual world. Indeed, we know next to nothing about our own spiritual lives. If we had complete knowledge of our own spiritual nature, then perhaps we would be capable of knowing the nature of God, for we were created in his image.

From the moment of birth, every child loves its  mother dearly in its own way, but the child cannot know and love the mother as the mother loves the child. With age, the child grows to know the mother better and to enjoy her company in new, fulfilling ways. Our knowledge and age would have to be infi nite if we were to truly comprehend God who is infi nite. But at every age and level of knowledge we can appreciate and enjoy some aspect of God's presence. Why do we need to know more than this? As we grow spiritually, we will come to know more and more of God, but there is no need to be impatient. Eternity stretches before us.

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One day I saw a flower and began to contemplate its fragrance and beauty. As I thought more deeply, I recognized the creator of such wonders – not with my mortal eyes but with my spiritual eyes. This filled my heart with joy, but my joy was still greater when I recognized that same creator at work within my own soul. How wonderful is God, separate from creation and yet ever filling it with his glorious presence.

Seeker: Since we know so little about God's nature, how is it even possible to recognize his divine presence?

Sadhu: Many people experience the Master's pres ence without actually seeing him. When we apply medicine drops to our eyes, we experience the healing effect, but we cannot see the drops. In the same way, we recognize the presence of the Master and his work of cleansing our inner eyes and aiding our spiritual sight even though we cannot see him.

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Those who turn to the Master with open hearts will feel his power and experience peace. It is like some thing sweet on the tongue. Both our sense of taste and the sweetness of the sugar are invisible to the eye. Similarly, the Master sustains us with unseen nourish ment – wisdom that the five senses cannot grasp.

God is revealed in the book of nature for God is its author. Yet we only comprehend this book if we have the necessary spiritual insight. Without reverence and perception we go astray. We cannot judge the truth fulness of any book merely by reading it. Agnostics and skeptics, for example, find only defects instead of perfection. Skeptics ask, "If there is an almighty cre ator, why then are there hurricanes, earthquakes, pain, suffering, death, etc.?" This is like criticizing an un finished building or incomplete painting. When we see them fully finished, we are embarrassed at our own folly and praise the skill of the artist. God did not shape the world into its present form in a single day,  nor will it be perfected in a single day. The whole cre ation moves toward completion, and if we see it with the eyes of God moving toward the perfect world without fault or blemish, then we can only bow hum bly before our creator and exclaim, "It is very good."

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Seeker: From what you say, Sadhu, it seems to require patience and great effort to recognize God's presence. What do we actually gain by seeking God?

Sadhu: A mother once left her child for a time play ing in the garden. When her little son noticed she was

not there, he searched the whole garden over. He looked everywhere but could not find her. Finally he cried and called out, but still she did not appear. The gardener saw him crying and tried to calm him, say ing: "Do not cry! Look at these beautiful flowers and delicious mangoes. Shall I pick some for you?" But the child answered: "No! No! My mother has better food than these mangoes and her love is far sweeter than all these flowers. I want my mother." When his mother heard these words, she rushed out, embraced him, and smothered him with kisses. At that moment, the garden became a paradise. This world is like a great garden full of wonderful and beautiful flowers,  but we cannot find true joy in it until we meet God.

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Seeker: So how do I find the path to spiritual truth and to knowledge of God?

Sadhu: God never discourages a seeker by judging his or her beliefs to be wrong. Rather, God allows each person to recognize spiritual error or truth by degrees. The story is told of a poor grass cutter who found a beautiful stone in the jungle. He had often heard of people finding valuable diamonds and thought this must be one. He took it to a jeweler and

showed it to him with delight. Being a kind and sym pathetic man, the jeweler knew that if he bluntly told the grass cutter that his stone was worthless glass, the man would either refuse to believe it or else fall into a state of depression. So instead, the jeweler offered the grass cutter some work in his shop so that he might become better acquainted with precious stones and their value.

Meanwhile, the man kept his stone safely locked away in a strongbox. Several weeks later, the jeweler encouraged the man to bring out his own stone and examine it. As soon as he took it out of the chest and looked at it more closely, he immediately saw that it  was worthless. His disappointment was great, but he went to the jeweler and said: "I thank you that you did not destroy my hope but aided me instead to see my mistake on my own. If you will have me, I will stay with you and faithfully serve you, as you are a good and kind master." In the same way, God leads back to truth those who have wandered into error. When they recognize the truth for themselves, they gladly and joyfully give themselves in obedient service.

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