Sheikh Ebu’l Vefa (also spelled Ebu’l Vefâ, Abu’l Wafa) was a highly respected Sufi master, scholar, and spiritual guide in the Islamic world — particularly remembered and honored in Ottoman history and Turkish Sufism.
Basic Information: Full name: Sheikh Ebu’l Vefa el-Kebir
Birthplace: Konya, in Anatolia (modern-day Turkey)
Death: 1490 in Istanbul
Era: Late 15th century (during the reign of Sultan Mehmed II, a.k.a. Fatih Sultan Mehmed)
Sufi Order: Likely associated with or influenced by Bayramiyya or Vefaiyye (sources vary)
Long ago in the heart of Istanbul, there lived a revered Sufi master named Ebu’l Vefa — a man whose wisdom and humility would leave a lasting mark on the city. Though his exact birth date remains unknown, he was born in Konya, a land of saints and scholars, and passed away in Istanbul in 1490. Today, the district that holds his tomb and spiritual lodge still bears his name. Ebu’l Vefa was no ordinary teacher. His words were full of insight and humor, and his gatherings were known for their warmth and depth. People from all walks of life, especially those uninterested in worldly pleasures, flocked to sit in his company. Even influential political figures of the time patiently waited for the honor of joining his spiritual circles. Among those who held him in high esteem were Sultan Mehmed the Conqueror (Fatih Sultan Mehmed) and his son, Sultan Bayezid II. Both admired the sheikh deeply and often sought his guidance. One day, Sultan Bayezid II invited Ebu’l Vefa to officiate the wedding of his daughter — a high honor. Along with the request, the Sultan sent a generous gift of 40,000 coins to the sheikh’s lodge. But true to his nature, Ebu’l Vefa gently declined both the request and the gold. Instead, he advised the Sultan:
“Give this money to Muhyiddin Konevi Efendi. He is poor, yet an honorable man. Let him lead the ceremony.”
In that simple response, Ebu’l Vefa reminded the Sultan — and all who heard the story — that honor, humility, and service outweighed wealth or royal privilege.
During the era of Sultan Fatih, one of the most respected scholars and Sufi masters was Sheikh Ebu’l Vefa. He was known not only for his wisdom but also for raising his family with deep moral and spiritual care. Yet, despite this, his young son developed a troubling habit. The boy had taken to mischief — he would sneak up behind the water carriers in the city, who delivered water to homes, and use a piece of nailed wood to puncture small holes in their leather water bags. Water would leak out, wasting their effort and causing loss. At first, the watermen, knowing the boy was the son of a revered religious man, kept silent out of respect. But when the mischief continued, they felt they had no choice and finally went to Sheikh Ebu’l Vefa with their complaint. The sheikh was deeply shocked and saddened. “How could a child raised in a home so careful about what is lawful and pure cause such harm to innocent people?” he wondered. He turned to the watermen and said: “I understand the situation now. I will do what must be done, and your losses will be compensated.” But before taking any action with his son, Ebu’l Vefa began by looking inward. He questioned himself: “Did I ever feed my son anything forbidden (haram) that might have corrupted his character?” Finding nothing in his own actions, he turned to his wife. “Tell me honestly,” he said, “while you were pregnant or nursing this child, did you ever eat anything doubtful or unlawful? Please think carefully. This could be the cause of his behavior.” His wife paused. Then, with a look of realization, she recalled a moment long ago. While she had been pregnant, she once visited a neighbor. On the table, she saw a plate of fresh oranges. She craved them deeply but was too shy to ask. When the hostess briefly left the room, temptation overtook her — she took a needle, pierced one of the oranges, and sipped its juice. Though she only took a small taste, it was without permission. Hearing this, Sheikh Ebu’l Vefa said with a heavy heart: “O my wife, this explains it. Please go to that neighbor, confess what you did, and ask for her forgiveness.” She did as he asked. Meanwhile, Ebu’l Vefa called the water carriers, paid them for their loss, and asked for their forgiveness on behalf of his son. Then he sat down with the boy and gently explained why his actions were wrong — how even small injustices could hurt others, and how our deeds, even from the womb, shape who we become. After this, the boy never repeated the behavior. The mischief stopped, and in time, he too followed the path of virtue his father had laid before him.
Sultan Mehmed II, known to history as Fatih (the Conqueror), was not only a great warrior and ruler — the one who brought down the mighty walls of Constantinople — but also a man of deep faith and love for the saints of his time. Among those revered figures was Sheikh Ebu’l Vefa, a renowned Sufi master in Istanbul. One day, the Sultan felt a strong desire in his heart to visit the Sheikh. Accompanied by his close advisors and guards, he set out for the dervish lodge where Ebu’l Vefa lived. But when they arrived, something unexpected happened. The door to the lodge — a door that was open to everyone, even to the poor and the sinners — was firmly closed. The Sultan was stunned. He, who had conquered empires, could not enter a humble spiritual retreat. Saddened and confused, he turned away in silence. Inside the lodge, the dervishes were also puzzled. No one dared ask the Sheikh about what had just happened, but all were filled with curiosity. Why had the door, which welcomed even drunkards and beggars, refused entry to a beloved Sultan, a man praised even by the Prophet ﷺ in their belief? Some time later, Sultan Mehmed tried again. He returned to the lodge, his desire to meet the Sheikh still strong. But once again, the door did not open. This time, the Sultan turned to his aide and said, “Go to the Sheikh with full respect. Ask him, what is this mystery? Why am I not allowed to enter?” The aide entered the lodge and humbly stood before Sheikh Ebu’l Vefa, delivering the Sultan’s question. The Sheikh, with a heart full of love and sorrow, replied: “Our Sultan has a heart that is sensitive, eager, and deeply spiritual. If he were to enter this lodge and taste the sweetness of divine love and the peace of our circles, he would never want to return to the affairs of the state. But the land and the ummah have been entrusted to him. If he stays here, who will rule justly over the people? Who will protect them? And if he gives his wealth in charity to this lodge, as I know he would, then the orphans, widows, and needy would lose what was meant for them. Worse still, love for worldly gain could enter the hearts of our dervishes, and this path of ours would collapse. So we keep the door closed — not out of rejection, but out of mercy and responsibility. We are always praying for our Sultan. His heart is never far from ours.” When the aide returned and relayed the message, the Sultan listened in silence. Then he asked: “And how was the Sheikh while he spoke these words?” The aide replied with emotion: “My Sultan… as he spoke, tears streamed down his face. His voice was heavy with sorrow. It was clear — his heart carries deep love for you.” The Sultan bowed his head, deeply moved, yet he never insisted again on seeing the Sheikh. That meeting, destined by fate, never happened. Years later, when the news of Sultan Mehmed’s death reached the city, Sheikh Ebu’l Vefa quietly made his way to the palace. He, who had once kept the door closed, now stood before the departed ruler — and with love and prayer, led the funeral prayer for the great Sultan.