– Master, tell me, does God love me? – almost in tears, the young man turned to his teacher. His master turned his back on him and stared out of the window, as though he did not deign to notice his disciple. Yet in doing so he was only hiding his compassion, for he sensed that this was a moment of extraordinary sincerity. He held such moments sacred, when a man's truest feelings well up and his soul bathes in the dew of tears. He was grateful to the window, for with his back turned to his disciple, only the blind world outside could see that his eyes, too, had misted over. He mastered himself and spoke calmly:
– Why do you ask foolish questions?
He heard a sound like a drop of ink falling on the page of a copybook. It was not hard to guess its source, but he went on.
– You have been given so much: life, air, stars and sky, two hands, the strength to act, reason, and yes, faith too! He has given you a heart as well, can you not feel it? How can I explain? – he himself was searching for words, but he felt that all at once there was so much he wanted to say. – What kind of God do you need? One who coddles you, who thinks you so weak that he would rather act in your place? One who does not trust you? Remember the woman who grieved that her life was going all too smoothly: could it be that the good Lord did not love her? For whom he loves, he tests, does he not? And you complain?
Another teardrop tapped on the floor, and the master did not dare turn to his disciple. In his heart he had already done it, had already raised the crumpled young man, held him close, wiped away his tears. But he did not move, knowing that this had to be seen through to the end. Unfinished things leave a man unfinished… Still, he went on in a somewhat gentler voice:
– The Lord trusts you. That is why he gave you your good qualities. He expresses his trust not in words but in his blessing. One day you must see this…
– Why can I not be like the others, your disciples? – the young man asked sorrowfully, crumpling in on himself. – They are so devoted, so steadfast… They do not complain.
– Rather be yourself, for that is just as precious as the treasures of others.
– Everything comes so hard to me, and I find the practice difficult.
– Believe me, it is hard for others too, though perhaps for them it only was hard. Every one of them fought his own battles, and won. You will win too.
– Are you not just giving me false hope? – and now bitterness rang in his disciple's words. He knew, without even needing to look, that at such times the young man's face flushed and passion boiled up in him. These are the moments of struggle.
– False hope… That is not my way. You are sincere, and I value that in you. That is why you dare to lay bare your doubts.
He took a deep breath and at last turned to his disciple. His eyes sought out the young man's, and looking at him steadily, he went on.
– I too try to be sincere with you. That is what we agreed, remember! You vowed that you would fulfil your own calling well, and I vowed too that I would strive to be equal to my own calling. And that has not changed.
The resistance in his disciple eased.
– Do not measure yourself against others, you cannot live other people's lives. You are enough in yourself to perfect yourself. Persevere, and grace, too, will not fail to come. God loves everyone, some merely officially, others more. And I think you are among the latter…
The disciple said nothing, only gazed at his master. He felt the warmth radiating from his eyes, and in his thoughts he had already laid his head at his feet, and his tears had welled up, and… he did not move either, but his master understood, felt his every stirring. The magic of the moment remoulded the dimensions. This was the sacred instant in which the irrevocable master–disciple relationship was born.