My roots…
The Persian poet Rumi Mo’avia was asleep one day in his palace. A strange man came and awakened him.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“I am Lucifer.”
“And what do you want?”
“It’s time for your prayer, and you’re still asleep.”
Mo’avia was impressed. But why was the Prince of Darkness, who always wants the souls of men of little faith, trying to help the poet fulfil a religious duty?
Lucifer explained,
“Remember, I grew up as an angel of light. Despite everything that happened in my life, I cannot forget my roots.”
Knowing that something was amiss, Mo’avia desperately began to pray for God to enlighten him. He spent all night talking and arguing with Lucifer, and despite the brilliant arguments he had, Mo’avia could not be swayed.
When the next day was dawning, Lucifer at last gave in, and said,
“Okay, you’re right. When I arrived this morning to wake you, my intention was not to bring you closer to the divine light. I knew that failing to fulfil this obligation, you’d feel a deep sadness, and over the coming days would pray with double the faith, asking pardon for having forgotten the correct ritual.
“In God’s eyes, each of these prayers made with love and regret, is worth the equivalent of 200 ordinary prayers said automatically. You would end up feeling like you are more purified and inspired, that God loves you this much more, and I wouldn’t be the farthest away from His soul.”
