There are as many pathways on the journey to the recognition of the truth of the Bahá’í Faith as there are Bahá’ís. My name is John Machin and this is my story. 

It begins in the early 1950s, when I became a choir boy at St. Chad’s church in the city of Lichfield, in the county of Staffordshire, England. 

I attended choir practice weekly and sang at both morning and evening services every Sunday, and at weddings. For five years every Sunday I was a chorister, and listened as the reverend delivered his sermon. I found myself becoming confused as, based on what I knew or understood of the Bible, the sermons did not always make sense. 

One Sunday the sermon was about the ill effects of alcohol. After the service I stayed behind to talk to my friends for a while before walking home. I usually just walked past the public house, but I was curious after the sermon, so I lifted myself up to look in the window. To my surprise, I saw the reverend sitting at the bar drinking what appeared to be beer. I was so shocked! I said to myself, “That’s it with religion! If that man can’t practise what he preaches, I don’t want to know about religion anymore!” 

However, I still wanted to know why I am here and what life is about. So, I looked into other Christian beliefs, but none of them appealed to me. 

Now, fast forward a few years, I had left school and was working for a company in a position which required me to travel. 

After many years of travelling for work, the company sent me to the east of England. While there, I had a very vivid dream. I can only describe what I saw as a vision; a man dressed in a flowing robe, all in white, with a white beard, and on his head sat a round white hat. He said to me, “Go west. There you will find what you are seeking, and you will find a flower from another land”. 

When I awoke, I thought he would be sitting on the end of my bed, the dream was so real.  But of course, he was not. I tried to think about what the dream meant, and for days it puzzled me. Go west — to where? And what did it mean, “a flower from another land”? Why would I want a flower from another land? I thought about my dream from time to time over the years, but I never could work out the meaning; it made no sense to me at all. 

Some years later, in 1969, my work took me to Hereford, which is in the west of England. Having been there a few days, I asked one of my work colleagues—who was local—where the fun was to be had in the city. He told me that every Saturday night they had what he termed “the top bands”, such as Hot Chocolate, Deep Purple etc. playing at the local dance hall. I asked if he could show me the way, and he said not only would he show me, but that we could go together. 

We duly arrived on the Saturday evening, and as we walked around the room, I noticed two girls sitting in a comer. I continued on to the bar, where I ordered a drink and began a conversation with the man standing next to me, who was a stranger. As I talked, I began to feel that someone was standing behind me, so I turned around to find it was the two girls I had noticed earlier. The man said one of the girls was his sister. She said, “Hi, my name is Janet, and this is my friend Farah”. Being polite, I asked if they would like a drink, and Janet said, “Yes please.” But when I asked Farah, Janet quickly said, “No, she doesn’t drink. She is a Bahá’í”. 

From that moment on, I wanted to know what this “Bahá’í” was about. So, I started asking questions about it. Over the loud music, Farah said she had only arrived in Hereford a few days earlier from Iran. Indeed, she could speak very little English, but what she did say made sense to me. 

At the end of the night, we all went outside. It was raining heavily, so I offered to take the two girls home. On our way, I asked Farah if I could see her again, and she gave me an address. Fortunately, Janet had said that Farah was a student nurse, and the next day I asked my friend if he knew the address I had been given. He looked and said it was a false address. So, I said, “I think this girl works at the hospital”. He laughed and told me he knew where the hospital was. I went there and found Farah. We talked more about the Faith, and by now it was definitely making sense to me, as I had always believed what I was hearing. 

Over the next few months Farah Amini and Gloria Faizi, who were pioneers in Hereford at the time, would teach me at weekly firesides. 

During this time, Farah and I developed a close friendship. One Sunday, I asked her if she would like to go for a drive with me. She said she would, but could I wait in her dormitory room while she got ready. While sitting there, I looked at a picture of an old man. Not knowing who he was, I said to Farah when she came in, “Who is this man? Is he your grandfather?” She said, “No! I wish He was. This is ‘Abdu’l-Bahá”. 

At that time, I thought nothing more of it. But, as we were driving along, something strange happened; I had a most peculiar feeling come over me, such that I had to stop the car. I said to Farah, “I know the man in the picture in your room”, and she said, “How could you know Him? He died a long time ago.” I then told Farah about the dream I had had many years before, that he was the man in the dream, and I described everything to her. Suddenly I began to put together the instruction to “go west”. I had gone to Hereford to find what I was looking for—the Bahá’í Faith—and the flower from another land was the girl sitting beside me in the car! 

I kept going to the firesides for many weeks after that. In due course I found out that Farah had arrived in Hereford the very same day that I had arrived, and that we both independently had made the decision to go to the dance that Saturday night. 

Gradually as we spent the time together at firesides, we became closer and fell in love. One evening I said to Farah, “I would like us to visit Gloria Faizi.” She asked why, and I replied, “Let’s just go and you will see”. That evening it was bitterly cold and pouring with rain. When we arrived, Gloria was happy to see us but asked why we would come out to see her on such a foul night. 

I said, “I have something to say to you both. I want to become a Bahá’í. Can I sign the declaration card?” Gloria started to cry tears of joy, then composed herself and asked me, “Are you wanting to become a Bahá’í because you want to marry Farah?” 

I said, “No, I want to become a Bahá’í because that is what I have been all my life without knowing it. But ‘Abdu’l-Bahá knew.” 

Thank you, Master.  

———————-

John Machin

(Moreton Bay, Queensland, Australia)

Written as a memoir some years ago, now published in 2025

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