For many Muslims, Ramadan means different things. It comes around once a year, and each year we find ourselves in a different place than we did the year before. We may be in different surroundings – it may be somebody’s first year as part of a married couple; someone else’s first year as a divorcee. Perhaps it is someone’s nervous first fast in a strange town where they are away from their family, and maybe someone else across the road is feeling reluctant to deprive themselves of food for 30 days.
Somehow though, we always find ourselves hoping that this year will be better than the last. We always promise ourselves in the days leading up to Ramadan that this year we will take the opportunity to be much more pious, we will sit and read Qur’an, we won’t engage in gossip or slander, we really will keep ourselves from getting angry and we will be sitting on that musallah each time the Azaan sounds, five times a day.
By the last week of Ramadan, reality has bitten hard and I think most of us feel quite ashamed to look at ourselves in the mirror because we are all dying for the last ten days to go by already. What amazes me is that there are those who lie through their teeth and say that they are enjoying the last blessed ten days just because that’s what everybody says. Fasting is not the Oxford definition of fun - it’s supposed to be a test that gets harder as your body gets older and more decrepit each year.
Every year we tell ourselves that this is the year we are going to make that positive change for good, that when the month is over, that the Qur’an won’t ever be gathering dust again up on the top shelf, that those skinny jeans will not win over more modest clothing, that we really will indeed this year stop smoking for good.
Then Eid day comes around, and by the time the Zuhr Azaan sounds, we have already forgotten that we promised ourselves we would become permanent five-time namazis.
Round and round we go, each year, making the dizzying transition from gangsta rap to Qari Ziyaad Patel and back again in a matter of weeks. Where does it all end? Will we just stop making the effort one of these years?
There are a number of things that I personally don’t do during Ramadan. I don’t rush through the Arabic Qur’an, with no idea of what I’m reading, just so I can khatam it x amount of times in the month. I don’t spend my day slaving over a stove so that I can lay on a fantastic spread for my family that will go to waste because our eyes are bigger than our stomachs. I don’t spend the month pretending to be more pious than I usually am on any other month in the year. I think those kinds of things defeat the object of what it’s supposed to be about.
To me, Ramadan means a lot of things. Indeed, for me, Ramadan takes on a different meaning every time it comes around. Every year it has taught me a singular, clear lesson, and I believe it does so for everyone who allows themselves a little genuine introspection instead of mindlessly going through the motions and rituals just because everyone else is doing it. If you use Ramadan as a true litmus test for your faith, Allah will surprise and reward you every time.
The fasting month is the holiest of all months in the Muslim calendar. The first surahs of the Holy Qur’an were revealed in this month to the Prophet Muhammad (s.a.w.) and it continues to be a month where problems are resolved, truths are revealed and beliefs strengthened.
Even if you didn’t accomplish all those things you said you would do during this month and after it, if you came out of it with your imaan strengthened, even if only slightly, wouldn’t you consider your spiritual self to have won a victory against your physical self, even if it is only a small victory? It means you live to fight another day; that you continue to strive towards the Creator despite the difficulties you face.
The philosophical essence of Islam is “surrender” – complete and utter acknowledgement that Allah is the disposer of all our worldly affairs and that He will not forsake us if we ask Him for help, nor give us a burden greater than we can bear. There can never be peace without trust.
I hope that all of you have a blessed Ramadan this year wherever you are. Asalaamu alaikum!
2 comments:
Ameen!
Some criticise others for being 'Ramadan Muslims' (or 'seasonal Muslims') only - while others take the view that it's good that those people are at least upping their deen for one month, so they're to be commended.
It is a very sad, continuously repeating pattern that we see and hear about: how, we build up all this goodness in the month, and come Eid day, it all goes out the window.
Maybe the nafs come back too strongly after Ramadan; or maybe it's the shayateen who are too strong. Or maybe the person just hasn't been able to build enough spiritual strength and patience to withstand the assaults that will definitely come their way after the month is over. But when we see the same things happening every year, on a personal level, we need to learn from our mistakes and plan to make the next year (if we live to see it) different - even if it's a small, incremental change.
It is, perhaps, common to set these high expectations for yourself during the month; then think you're going to maintain it after the month is gone. And that kind of thinking is almost always just a fantasy. The better route -with regard to permanent change - is to be realistic. During the month, the momentum is high, and you find yourself more capable than you are at other times.
So, at that opportune time, plan out a few small, achievable things that you can carry through on a CONSISTENT basis. Then when Eid day comes, you know that those are things that you promised yourself you'll continue. And they won't be massive, burdensome things. So they'll be easier to carry through.
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