1942_08_09 - Love and Affection

[Nev]

LOVE AND AFFECTION

“The Good Prayer”
Psalm 91
“Prayer of the Kingdom”
“In the beginning was the Word”

I will read the third chapter of the Gospel of John, about Nicodemus, a man who, in the time of Christ, was interested in the new things.

“The Sun Rises”

 

It is a pleasant thing when a person can truly rest. Sometimes listeners cannot really listen, because they are tired. Many things occupy their minds, though not all of them are important. Yet some matters are very important. For example, your knee begins to ache. You sit listening to the lecture, but at the same time another “lecture” is taking place in your knee—and its content is quite absorbing.

Or you have a headache. A headache is simply a dispute in the head—an argument, a settling of accounts. Brothers and sisters inside the head cannot come to an agreement, so they begin to quarrel. I can see them: one standing on one bank, the other on the opposite bank, and the two of them arguing back and forth.

It is like two village women quarreling: one on one side, the other on the other. One keeps talking and talking, while the other remains silent. The first goes on speaking until finally she says, “Say something, woman, or I will burst!”

What could she say? You meet someone and they say to you: “You are ignorant.”
“And you are ignorant. Ignorant… simple… uncultured… still green, not yet ripe…”

Then the accusations continue: “You are not spiritual… you have not yet become divine…”

 

In the chapter we read, it says that Nicodemus was interested in what is new. Christ says: “A person cannot enter the new life unless they are born again.”

Now notice the first thing: one who is born does not remain silent. As soon as a child is born, it begins to sing. When it sings, everyone listens. The newborn always begins with a song, and everyone rejoices. For this song the father and mother celebrate the child’s arrival, because it has “begun to sing.”

People have even told me, “How beautifully this child sings!” And I say, “It comes from the Divine world above—how could it not sing? It has listened to the beautiful songs of the angels; when it comes here, it continues to sing.”

They call it “a little angel.” And truly, it is an angel. But that is the poetry of the father and mother—they see it that way. Someone who is not a parent will say, “That is just a noisy racket.” For the parents it is a song; for those who are not parents it is a clatter. They say, “How can they stand it?”

So I say: life is difficult to understand without love and affection. Anyone who tries to understand life without love finds that all people sound like noise—like rattling and clattering—because no one seems able to speak sweetly. And yet speech must be sweet.

Among the old Bulgarians there were wise elders. A man might have several sons and several daughters-in-law—some older, some younger. Yet the father-in-law often prefers the youngest daughter-in-law. She is plump, round-faced, with small brown eyes, neat and lively. He says to the grandmother: “Tell the young daughter-in-law to knead the bread.” He does not ask the older one—he wants the young one to knead it.

Why the young one? The older one already knows what she will do; everything about her is known. But the younger one has not yet made mistakes. One wants to see what the new will bring.

So the young daughter-in-law kneads the bread—and indeed, the bread she bakes tastes better. Sometimes, when she bakes the bread, if someone in the house is ill, they even recover. But when the older one bakes the bread, people sometimes fall ill. Then the Bulgarians say that one is fortunate and the other is not.

And I say: in the same way, the new life in a person always brings something better. The old repeats what it already knows, but the new carries freshness, strength, and blessing.

 

And so, if someone wants peace and quiet, it may be better that she does not knead bread or cook—let her rest. If they ask her to carry water, she may stumble and break her leg. If they ask her to sweep the yard, she still complains: “Why must I always be the one to sweep the yard?”

 

So I say, the same question stands before us now: a person must be born again. What are the qualities of one who is born? Such a person must know three things: one who is born of God thinks rightly, feels rightly, and acts rightly.

In human life three things play an important role: movement, learning, and work. Movement expresses the human will—how a person walks through life. Learning is the second stage. And work is the highest expression of a person on earth. A person moves, learns, and works. Whoever cannot move cannot learn. Whoever cannot learn cannot work.

The mind must be nourished, the heart must be nourished, and the soul must also be nourished. A person who does not nourish the mind cannot receive enlightenment. One who does not nourish the heart cannot become noble. And one who does not nourish the soul cannot become strong. When the soul is nourished, a person becomes strong. When the heart is nourished, a person becomes noble. When the mind is nourished, a person becomes enlightened.

So I say: enlightenment does not come merely from reading books. A person is born with these possibilities.

Sometimes you stumble and say, “I am getting old.” At times your leg aches; at other times your arms or your back hurt. But this is not old age. When your legs ache, they are telling you: “You must become good.” When your heart aches, it is telling you: “You must become noble.” When your head aches, it is telling you: “You must become wise.”

And what do people do? They go from one doctor to another, looking for medicine to cure them. But when you become enlightened, the headache disappears. When you ennoble yourself, the pain in the heart disappears. When you nourish your soul, you become strong and everything begins to move forward.

Yet because we do not understand this, we simply complain: “My legs hurt.” They hurt because they need nourishment. “My heart hurts.” It hurts because it too must be nourished. When the mind is not nourished, illness appears.

 

 

What are these new influences people talk about? You might say that lactic acid has accumulated in the brain, or that certain toxins have gathered in the venous blood, or that the muscles have weakened. But there are questions that can be resolved quite simply.

Suppose you pass through a village and the dogs begin to bark at you. After passing that way several times, you start throwing stones at them. Then the dog begins chasing you. Now tell me—does a cultured person throw stones? Of course not. The dog is simply asking where you are going, and you answer by throwing stones at it, saying, “That’s none of your business.” If you were truly cultured, you would explain where you are going. But instead you insist: “It’s none of your business where I go. I go wherever I please.”

When a dog barks at you, throw it a little bread instead. Sometimes they understand very well. If you toss it ordinary bread, or a bagel, or a fine white roll—it knows the difference. When you give it the better bread, its eyes brighten and it looks at you happily. And the next time it sees you, it wonders: “Won’t there be more of that good bread?”

 

 

Now if a dog can show gratitude for a little piece of bread, why should a human being not show gratitude for the good thoughts and the kind words another person can offer?

I observe modern “cultured” people everywhere. The newspapers are extremely uncultured—they do not write properly. Then I read certain essays that people call “very logical.” Yet they are not logical at all; the ideas are not arranged as they should be.

It is like preparing a dish: I may give it a beautiful color, but if the butter is spoiled and the flour is bitter, what good is that? The dish may look very appealing, yet it is unhealthy. Another dish may not look as attractive, yet it is wholesome.

 

Someone asks me, “Tell me about the other world.” Yet they are not the least bit interested in the other world. The other world is this world, and this world is the other world.

I belong to this world; you belong to the other. But when you speak from the other world, you become me and I become you. I speak to you from the physical world, while you are in the spiritual world. When you speak from the spiritual world, you become me, and I become you.

What is the difference between us? I am in the physical world and you are in the spiritual world. When I rise into the spiritual world, you descend here. In one case I am below on the physical plane, while you are above in the spiritual world learning. And when you learn in the spiritual world, then it is I who have learned, and you who have descended.

 

Thus, in the spiritual world there is a kind of movement: going out of the house and coming back in again.

When you enter the house, that is this world. When you go outside, that is the other world.

The physical world is a limited world; the spiritual world is unlimited. And the limited always exists within the unlimited.

Where, then, is the physical world in relation to the spiritual world? Is it outside it? No. The physical world exists within the spiritual world.

 

 

Sometimes we say of someone: “That is an intelligent person.” But where does that intelligence reside? In the head, above. Human beings live in different centers within themselves. The head itself is divided into regions, and reason has its own specific place in the brain. When we speak of a person’s virtue, we say that they live “higher,” not in the lower regions.

What we call the solar plexus is not in the head. When we say that someone lives on the physical plane, we mean that they live in the whole body: they feel their hands, their legs—there is a sense of comfort and vitality throughout the body. When you live in the body, you are on the physical plane. When you live in the heart, you are in the spiritual world. When you live in the mind, you are in the Divine world.

If a person lives mainly in the physical world, they give priority to the body. Others give priority to the spiritual world and say, “We have noble feelings.” Still others give priority to the mind. Yet the human being is formed only when the three are united: human thought, human feeling, and the human soul—or the will.

Suppose you have a thought. If you cannot choose your food wisely, what kind of thought do you truly have? Take the duck, which people consider so foolish. Even it knows how to choose which grains to peck. Give it a coffee bean—it may swallow it, but it soon spits it out. Give it a bean—it tests whether it is edible or not. Give it a kernel of corn, and it swallows it immediately. Yet many people—give them something unsuitable, and they swallow it without discernment, and afterward they suffer inside.

Now I will give you an example. We once had a friend who loved to lecture about spiritualism and communication with the other world. He was eager to prove that spirits exist and that one can communicate with them. One time he gave a lecture in Pleven, and quite a large audience gathered. Afterward he felt very pleased with himself.

But a man from the audience approached him and said, “I want to tell you something in private.” My friend wondered what this man wished to say. The man leaned close and whispered: “You are a great vagabond.” (The word comes from French—it means a wanderer who misleads people.)

“My friend told me, ‘That cut me deeply.’”

But why did you listen to him at all? You could simply have said: “I am not inclined to listen right now. Come another day and tell me.”

Never allow words without substance to enter your mind.

Now I ask you: what is truly offensive when someone calls another person a pig? Can a person become a pig merely because they are called one? We must understand where the offense really lies.

The pig seeks the answer to everything with its nose. Wherever it goes, it keeps rooting and digging. Take a pig under a pear tree: it eats the pears that have fallen, and then it begins to dig in the ground, wondering why there are no more pears. It imagines that perhaps it can dig some up.

 

Well then, someone among you may act in the following way: things are not going well for you, and you want to know why. So you begin digging into your past. But if you keep rummaging through your past, you will never make progress. No digging! To dig in order to sow wheat or corn—that I understand. But do not dig into your past.

If things become buried, it simply means the conditions are not favorable. And how often does it happen that when we begin rummaging through our thoughts, we end up forgetting what we were looking for? You dig and dig, yet nothing comes to light. If we keep turning back to the past—asking whether we were spiritual or not—we gain nothing. There is a whole vocabulary that needs correction.

We do not even know whether the first pig that God created was like the pigs we see today. Do you think the first pig looked the same as those now?

 

An Italian painter once wished to paint the face of Christ. He began searching for a suitable model. At last he found a young man, invited him to his studio, and painted the image of Christ. The painter was pleased with the result and paid the young man generously.

Ten years later the painter decided to paint Judas. Again he searched for a model and found a man whose appearance suited the role. He painted Judas. When the portrait was finished, the man said to him:
“Sir, ten years ago you painted Christ—and now you are painting Judas Iscariot. I am the same person.”

I say this: for someone to resemble Judas Iscariot, they must not have lived well. Ten years earlier he had lived a life that reflected something of Christ; ten years later he was living the life of Judas—a coarse and degraded life.

 

I say that the thoughts, desires, and actions that pass through us shape the outward form of our life.

What must it look like when God sees you spending the whole day dissatisfied, angry, and severe? Why is that? You say, “I’m not in the mood.” But what gives you reason to be angry? Things must have a sound basis. You are angry—why? Because you were not paid as much as you expected for your work? Perhaps the person you worked for is not wealthy and has given you what they can. Perhaps they are even sincere and truly appreciate your effort.

 

Some people love to own paintings. Sometimes a painting is worth five or six thousand; sometimes ten thousand, a hundred thousand, even two hundred thousand.

In America, during the last century, an exhibition was held. A European painter displayed several of his works. When he was offered very little money for one of them, he became angry and slashed the painting in two with a knife.

When the Americans heard that he had cut the painting in half, they offered him twice as much for it. Wealthy collectors began bidding for it. The painter said:
“I should have cut it sooner.”

But things do not always happen this way. Such comparisons do not always help a person improve.

 

 

 

 

Let me give you another example to show that cutting up a painting does not always help.

Two friends once lived together. One of them married and decided to teach his beloved a lesson—that she must listen to him, and that only in this way could they live well together. Soon after the wedding a cat passed by, and he tore it apart. The young bride thought to herself: “I am lost! If he can tear a cat apart like that, what might he do to me?”

And so they lived very well for ten years.

Later the other friend married, but he and his wife could not live peacefully—they quarreled constantly. He asked his friend:
“How is it that you live so well together?”

“I will tell you the secret,” the first replied. “I tore the cat apart. That cat helped me. From that moment on, my beloved listened.”

So the other friend went home that evening. A cat passed by, and he tore it apart as well. But his bride said to him:
“You are too late.”

You cannot go to the village square to dance when you are already old. If people see you then, they will only laugh. In old age you cannot dance the way the young do. If you did not learn to dance properly when you were young, what will you do later in life?

In this present life you should know that God is watching you—and you should feel a sense of reverence before Him. When anger arises, you must regain yourself at the very first moment of anger.

 

It is told in Genesis that when Cain became dissatisfied with his brother, he began thinking how he might kill him. The Lord asked him:
“Why are you so downcast? Where is your brother?”

Cain replied:
“Am I my brother’s keeper?”

And the Lord said:
“Your brother’s blood cries out.”

Whenever you make a mistake, something within you says:
“What you are doing is not good.”

 

Musicians always love the violin that produces a beautiful tone. Every painter loves good paints, good canvases, and fine brushes. Everyone appreciates a tailor who sews well. We always prefer well-written works, good food prepared with care—everywhere we value what is well made.

And yet we ourselves are not prepared.

You say: “It is not worth living beautifully.” But there is nothing better than to nourish the mind with bright thoughts. There is nothing better than to nourish the heart with noble feelings. And there is no greater state than to nourish the soul as it should be nourished.

 

When you enter the invisible world, God will ask you only two words:
“How did you live?”

That is all He will ask. He will not wait for explanations. The moment He asks the question, your whole life will appear before you like a film. You will not need to tell anything—your life itself will speak.

You will see everything: every gesture, every hidden act you believed no one had seen. Everything will come to light.

What will you say then?

God will send you back to correct the film.
“This was not made as it should have been.”

A dish needs a little salt, a little pepper. Without salt it cannot be good; without pepper it lacks flavor. But half a kilogram of salt in a dish, or a hundred grams of pepper—that is too much. Only a pinch is needed—taken with three fingers, not a whole handful.

 

So when you arrive in heaven, God will ask you again:
“How did you pass your life on earth?”

What will you say then?

Things will appear that you never even dreamed of. Many times a person does something and later forgets it.

A priest once told me:
“I sit and preach to people, but sometimes a harmful thought comes into my mind: why did I become a priest, going around sprinkling holy water here and there for a few coins? Why didn’t I become a merchant and make money instead? Sometimes I even think of becoming a judge—condemn someone and take twenty or thirty thousand leva.”

I told him:
“Drive that devil away. If you had twenty or thirty thousand leva, would your food taste any sweeter? If you were a merchant—or anything else—would you really be any better off?”

 

 

 

 

Everything rests in those bright thoughts we acquire each day, in those luminous feelings, and in those radiant deeds. These are the great joys of life; they are the eternal blessings that glorify the human being. Every bright deed honors you—it is the one that loves you and walks beside you. A bright thought accompanies you as well. When you depart for the other world, these come as witnesses. Those that appear against you are not the ones that love you.

Bright thoughts and bright feelings—these are a person’s true wealth. They are one’s culture; they are one’s strength. That is why Christ said: “Unless one is born of water and of Spirit…” And again: “For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son.”

 

I see God’s Love every day. The world as it is made—the rising of the sun, the shining of the stars, the growth of plants, the flowing of rivers, the blowing of the wind—all this, for me, is the manifestation of God’s Love.

That gentle breeze that caresses the head and the face; that quiet light which enters the eyes; those beautiful fruits that quench hunger; the water that quenches thirst—everywhere I see God’s blessings. Yet sometimes we forget and ask: “Where is the Lord?”

 

A Bulgarian priest once told me:
“I was very quick-tempered.”

He was a noble priest, but quick to anger—he could flare up in an instant. Through this lack of restraint he created many troubles for himself.

Once the first bishop of Varna arrived, accompanied by a deacon. During the service the deacon made a small mistake. Immediately, there in the altar, the priest slapped him, saying:
“That is not how the service is done!”

Later that same deacon became a bishop and returned to the very diocese where the priest was serving. For twenty years he made the priest’s life difficult.

So I say: never allow yourself to strike a deacon in the altar.

 

Learn not to complain. Sometimes you say:
“God has forgotten me.”

That is not true. It is not God who has forgotten you—you have forgotten Him. You place your own mistake upon the Lord. The only One in the world who never forgets is God. Sometimes, when you forget Him, He simply remains silent.

Therefore I say: learn to be sincere.

You are rich, yet I see people lack self-restraint. A traveler walks along the road, reaches a spring, and immediately bends down to drink. Do not hurry. Wait ten or fifteen minutes. Look at the water, wash your hands, and then drink. Rejoice in the water—there is no need to rush.

Or you pass by a garden. First find the owner of the garden. Speak with them a little, and then say:
“May I taste the fruit from your garden?”

But often you enter the garden without asking anyone. There must be relationship. First meet the one who tends the garden; first become acquainted.

Or when you enter a library, find the best book and read it.

The food that leaves strength within you, that awakens warm feelings, that provides nourishment for thought—this is the good food.

 

“Unless you are born again of water and Spirit…”

Every morning when a person rises, they should awaken the radiant image of God within themselves. Each morning they should awaken a warm feeling in the heart. Each morning they should imagine the finest nourishment that God sends for their soul.

When you rise today, rejoice that the Lord has prepared for you three blessings:
a beautiful thought,
a beautiful feeling,
and a beautiful nourishment for your soul.

Rejoice in these three gifts.

Yet often, in that very moment, you forget and think of other matters. But when the bright thought comes, when the bright feeling comes, when the bright deed comes into your soul—then think of other things, and life will come into order.

 

A person who cannot love has come too late.
A person who cannot cherish love has come too late.

 

“This is eternal life: to know You, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom You have sent.”

 

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15th Lecture by the Master
August 9, 1942 — Sunday, 5:00 a.m.
Sofia, Izgrev