Losing My Religion

After a long hiatus, I entered the air conditioned confines of the prayer space. I greeted the woman at the door, taking the offered plastic bag. I pushed my shoes into the bag and then into my handbag. I made my way to the back, stopping at the bookshelf. I slid onto the carpet, folded my legs, and arranged my skirt to touch the floor, blanketing my crossed limbs. Properly situated, I opened the book, turning the pages back and forth to locate the appropriate chapter to be read on Fridays.

I began to read the words fluidly. The familiar rhythm and intonations of the chapter reverberating within, putting my heart at ease as the meaning skirted across my mind with faint purpose. A number of minutes past in this way. I finished off and returned the book to its crowded shelf and sat back to wait for things to begin. It is the first Friday of the holy month and available room to sit will be in short quantity. I silently watched as women were instructed to shift their bodies together in order to make room for others, in a vain attempt to make sure no one would be pray on the heated pavement beyond the comfortably chilled walls of the mosque. My fingers busily moved over the wooden beads in my hand, as my lips followed in sync. The call was finally made. The booming male voice filled the room, loud and boisterous. I was tempted to cover my ears with my hands as I often do in the crowded platforms of the subway but I knew this would draw unwanted attention.

Finally the voice began. A mouthful of Arabic supplications and verses which I’m sure were not understood by the majority of the congregation. Next, he delivered the verse on which the lecture would be based upon.

‘Fasting was written for you as it was written for those before you so that you may have taqwa’.

Ignoring those around me, I shook my head, quite unintentionally. Not quick enough to catch myself, I hoped that if anyone saw me they would think that the spirit within me was positively moved, and not consider me false. Yet, my heart felt empty. I was tempted to get up and leave, a second sense making me feel as though what was to follow couldn’t be that good. It wasn’t only the halting English of the preacher, though it puzzled me that in 2012 given all that Muslim Americans claim to be and have accomplished we can’t have someone to communicate with us in an a clear matter. It was this, coupled with the fact that in we have not reached a level of innovation (be easy, I don’t mean the ‘b’ word) or creativity that allows us to engage with the verses from the Qur’an in a way that are fresh and action inducing. I remained still, hoping that I would be wrong. That it would be proven to me that my abstention from the mosque was in error and I would feel a burst of rejuvenation to my spirituality. He continued on…

What is taqwa my dear brothers? Fear of Allah is taqwa. Fasting the month of Ramadan is having taqwa. And when we fast the month of Ramadan all of our sins will be forgiven. We will get jannah. And jannah is more than what we could possible imagine my dear brothers. You know in jannah you have the hour-ul-ayn and your wives. These women are better than any women. They are mutaharra (pure). Pure from mensuration, pure from defecation, pure from backbiting, and they are obedient.

I was stunned. Really?! I looked at the faces of the women around me. I couldn’t read any expression. Perhaps we were all experts at hiding our emotions in the face of speeches that eat at our femininity and humanity yet demand our adherence. I dropped my head as tears started to form at the corners of my eyes. Was this it?!? The rest of what he said was a mixture of sentences put together with no clear message. The congregation was encouraged to forgive people, go tell the brother or sister that you are sorry. To stop doing bad things. Remember the gates of hell are closed. The devils are chained. Don’t sleep with someone who is not your wife or husband. Empty the beer, cigarettes, and dirty magazines from your stores. Stand up for prayer late at night. The Prophet stood to the point where his feet were swollen. (Not sure how I’d walk to the subway, board the train, walk up all the steps, and run back and forth to meetings all day in this condition.) He juxtaposed this noble act with the taxi drivers who drive for hours on end and sometimes have back aches or other problems when they finish for the day. Imagine if they put that same effort into their prayers. (I would expect it would have to be one or the other.) It is discouraged to completely read the Qur’an in less than 3 days, but in Ramadan it is okay to read the holy book in its entirety everyday. Because each letter is not worth 10 reward, but Allah says ‘fasting is for me and I give the reward’. Lastly make dua. And he summarily went into a supplication, asking for help for the Muslims in Palestine and the Levant, particularly, but also in general, those everywhere else. May our prayers and fasts be accepted. And into the prayer we went.

W e gave our salutations to the angels on our shoulders and it was done. Not one minute later were we urged to give honour to a guest. The city’s comptroller. You have got to be kidding me?! The switch was so jarring. So we do live in the 21st century? I tried to block out his political Ramadan greetings as I prayed two additional prayers. I just wanted out. I hurriedly made my way to the door, pushing my way through the crowd, avoiding the children littered on the floor. I burst out into the heat and brilliance of the sun. Despite the heat I breathed a sigh of relief. I then spotted a friend I hadn’t seen in some time. We were joined by other friends and acquaintances and stood chatting for some time catching up. God had saved me from retreating home alone, to sob and ponder the feeling of being pushed away from Him.

This narrative is by no means a judgment on the preacher. Actually, no, I take it back. Perhaps, it is. It is time that we start holding our leaders accountable for what they are feeding us. Food that provides no means of nourishment, but keeps us hooked, coming back for more temporary feel good moments (if perhaps we are male) as we reflect on the Prophet and his companions and the glory days of suffering and expansion. Don’t get me wrong, yes, the expansion of the religion is what has me here today as a Muslim, but is there no more? No room for progress. The companions relied on the Prophet. The successors on the companions and the next generation on the other then the other, generation after generation. What will our children rely on? Their grandchildren? Is there to be no evolution of ideas? No building upon the foundation we have to provide a way to contend with new life challenges in an age of globalisation, continued economic despair with an increased cost of living, and the continued changes of a technological age?

I recently read an article that hits on this very notion, which has bothered me for years. Where is the Muslim creativity? Where are the scholars providing new plans and ways to execute the verses for the average Muslim in present day America. The 50hr/wk office working Muslim, the fasting Muslim, the street vendor Muslim, the taxi driver Muslim, the working Muslim mother and wife, the single Muslim woman living on her own, the divorced Muslim woman, the stay at home mom Muslim, the unmarried over 30 years old Muslim woman living at home with her family, the Muslim father who was laid off, the abused Muslim, and the list goes on. How does Ramadan speak to them? How can it work for their lives? Fast, be patient, and make dua doesn’t cut it. Our leaders need to do what their title claims. LEAD people to solutions to deal with the complexities of their lives, not souping up followers on iman gummy berry juice ever few months. Can we move past the guilt centered delivery where we feel like ‘bad’ Muslims and come to a place of love where we struggle to get closer to God, appropriately balancing between love and fear?

In the interim state, I remain cautious and vigilant. Maintaining my own unmediated communication with God and critical of the admonitions and encouragements by the holy rollers on both the local and Muslim Hollywood circuit.

As I end, the words of a R.E.M song, a memory of my youth and an ever present place in my current psyche, continue to dance in my head…

That’s me in the corner

That’s me in the spotlight

Losing my religion

Trying to keep up with you

And I don’t know if I can do it

Oh no I’ve said too much

I haven’t said enough