Where Love is, There God is Also Page #2

"Where Love Is, There God Is Also" is a poignant short story by Leo Tolstoy that explores the theme of love as a divine force. The narrative follows a humble carpenter named Martin who grapples with feelings of isolation and despair. Throughout the story, he encounters a series of people in need, prompting reflections on compassion and the significance of kindness. Ultimately, Tolstoy illustrates that true understanding of God's presence comes through acts of love and selflessness, emphasizing the interconnectedness of humanity through the lens of spirituality. The tale serves as a reminder of the profound ways in which love can manifest in everyday life.

• Short story

								

and wiped them with the hairs of her head. Thou gavest me no kiss: but
this woman since the time I came in hath not ceased to kiss my feet. My
head with oil thou didst not anoint: but this woman hath anointed my
feet with ointment."

When he had read these verses, he thought:

"He gave no water for His feet; he gave no kiss; he did not anoint His
head with oil."

And again Avdyéich took off his glasses and placed them on the book, and
fell to musing.

"Evidently he was just such a Pharisee as I am. He, no doubt, thought
only of himself: how to drink tea, and be warm, and in comfort, but he
did not think of the guest. About himself he thought, but no care did he
have for the guest. And who was the guest?--The Lord Himself. Would I
have done so, if He had come to me?"

And Avdyéich leaned his head on both his arms and did not notice how he
fell asleep.

"Martýn!" suddenly something seemed to breathe over his very ear.

Martýn shuddered in his sleep: "Who is that?"

He turned around and looked at the door, but there was nobody there. He
bent down again, to go to sleep. Suddenly he heard distinctly:

"Martýn, oh, Martýn, remember, to-morrow I will come to the street."

Martýn awoke, rose from his chair, and began to rub his eyes. He did
not know himself whether he had heard these words in his dream or in
waking. He put out the light and went to sleep.

Avdyéich got up in the morning before daybreak, said his prayers, made a
fire, put the beet soup and porridge on the stove, started the samovár,
tied on his apron, and sat down at the window to work. And, as he sat
there at work, he kept thinking of what had happened the night before.
His thoughts were divided: now he thought that it had only seemed so to
him, and now again he thought he had actually heard the voice.

"Well," he thought, "such things happen."

Martýn was sitting at the window and not so much working as looking out
into the street, and if somebody passed in unfamiliar boots, he bent
over to look out of the window, in order to see not merely the boots,
but also the face. A janitor passed by in new felt boots; then a
water-carrier went past; then an old soldier of the days of Nicholas, in
patched old felt boots, holding a shovel in his hands, came in a line
with the window. Avdyéich recognized him by his felt boots. The old
man's name was Stepánych, and he was living with a neighbouring merchant
for charity's sake. It was his duty to help the janitor. Stepánych began
to clear away the snow opposite Avdyéich's window. Avdyéich cast a
glance at him and went back to his work.

"Evidently I am losing my senses in my old age," Avdyéich laughed to
himself. "Stepánych is clearing away the snow, and I thought that Christ
was coming to see me. I, old fool, am losing my senses." But before he
had made a dozen stitches, something drew him again toward the window.
He looked out, and there he saw Stepánych leaning his shovel against the
wall and either warming or resting himself.

He was an old, broken-down man, and evidently shovelling snow was above
his strength. Avdyéich thought: "I ought to give him some tea;
fortunately the samovár is just boiling." He stuck the awl into the
wood, got up, placed the samovár on the table, put some tea in the
teapot, and tapped with his finger at the window. Stepánych turned
around and walked over to the window. Avdyéich beckoned to him and went
to open the door.

"Come in and get warmed up!" he said. "I suppose you are feeling cold."

"Christ save you! I have a breaking in my bones," said Stepánych.

He came in, shook off the snow and wiped his boots so as not to track
the floor, but he was tottering all the time.

"Don't take the trouble to rub your boots. I will clean up,--that is my
business. Come and sit down!" said Avdyéich. "Here, drink a glass of
tea!"

Avdyéich filled two glasses and moved one of them up to his guest, and
himself poured his glass into the saucer and began to blow at it.

Stepánych drank his glass; then he turned it upside down, put the lump
of sugar on top of it, and began to express his thanks; but it was
evident that he wanted another glass.

"Have some more," said Avdyéich; and he poured out a glass for his guest
and one for himself. Avdyéich drank his tea, but something kept drawing
his attention to the window.

"Are you waiting for anybody?" asked the guest.

"Am I waiting for anybody? It is really a shame to say for whom I am
waiting: no, I am not exactly waiting, but a certain word has fallen
deep into my heart: I do not know myself whether it is a vision, or
what. You see, my friend, I read the Gospel yesterday about Father
Christ and how He suffered and walked the earth. I suppose you have
heard of it?"

"Yes, I have," replied Stepánych, "but we are ignorant people,--we do
not know how to read."

"Well, so I read about how He walked the earth. I read, you know, about
how He came to the Pharisee, and the Pharisee did not give Him a good
reception. Well, my friend, as I was reading last night about that very
thing, I wondered how he could have failed to honour Father Christ. If
He should have happened to come to me, for example, I should have done
everything to receive Him. But he did not receive Him well. As I was
thinking of it, I fell asleep. And as I dozed off I heard some one
calling me by name: I got up and it was as though somebody were
whispering to me: 'Wait,' he said: 'I will come to-morrow.' This he
repeated twice. Would you believe it,--it has been running through my
head,--I blame myself for it,--and I am, as it were, waiting for Father
Christ."

Stepánych shook his head and said nothing. He finished his glass and put
it sidewise, but Avdyéich took it again and filled it with tea.

"Drink, and may it do you good! I suppose when He, the Father, walked
the earth, He did not neglect anybody, and kept the company mostly of
simple folk. He visited mostly simple folk, and chose His disciples
mostly from people of our class, labouring men, like ourselves the
sinners. He who raises himself up, He said, shall be humbled, and he who
humbles himself shall be raised. You call me Lord, He said, but I will
wash your feet. He who wants to be the first, He said, let him be
everybody's servant; because, He said, blessed are the poor, the meek
the humble, and the merciful."

Stepánych forgot his tea. He was an old man and easily moved to tears.
He sat there and listened, and tears flowed down his cheeks.

"Take another glass!" said Avdyéich.

But Stepánych made the sign of the cross, thanked him for the tea,
pushed the glass away from him, and got up.

"Thank you, Martýn Avdyéich," he said. "You were hospitable to me, and
have given food to my body and my soul."

"You are welcome. Come in again,--I shall be glad to see you," said
Avdyéich.

Stepánych went away. Martýn poured out the last tea, finished another
glass, put away the dishes, and again sat down at the window to

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