The audacity of faith

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The Prayer Has Never Been this Hard
Libraries are like studios. No sound goes unheard. No noise passes
without someone looking up or, in this case, a librarian hissing and
excitedly shushing the disturber of the peace, silencing the noise
polluter.
Nervously flitting and creeping about the bookshelves, I was
endeavoring to be as quiet as such can be.
Every footfall, every little brave breath was carefully measured toan
exact decibel level, no more, no less.
The only dynamics that I failed to control were the thumping of
myheart and a much more subtle tone that somehow made it past all my
enacted sound barriers, mymental matrix-built firewall, my muffled
mind. It was similar to a flute in that it was both soft and gentle.
Yet at the same time, it was piercing and bold, a constantanthem
striking out through my internal environment. It was my soul, my
little life-giving charge.
It was calling to me, chanting a sweet Athaan that only I could hear
in this muted world of books. And oh how I loved it, yet dreaded it!
I had to find a place to make prayer, somewhere in this
collegelibrary, in my first term ever of a higher education. But I was
so afraid to do so, so shy to bow myface in the presence of others, so
worried about the impression of expression. What if some malicious
person attacked me? What if I was held in contempt because I was
"fanatical," a loon?Newspaper headings flashed through my mind's eye:
Terrorist Plot in University Campus Exposed! Homicidal Ritual
Offeredin Campus Library! Al Qaeda's Hand Reaches the Countryside! And
Librarian Tasers Student Fanatic.
Passing the atomic clock on the wall no less than 10 times, the minute
hand began to drive into my mind, each tick sounding like a deafening
beat on a kettledrum. The situation was getting desperate. I could not
miss my Prayer. But what about the people? What about all the possible
pain, the potential outcomes, internal and external?
I felt as though I had to breathe. I had to go make Prayer. It was a
bodily function. I silently battled on, pretending to read random
books on politics. If the librarianscould hear my insides now, what
with all the furious debating and intense fracas going on, they would
probably eat me alive. How bad it was, this predicamentof mine.
Dragging myself just in time, I found a relatively secluded,
undisturbed spot and began to perform my Prayer. Every noticeable
motion was a huge movement, a draining operation for me. I felt as
though my waist,that corporal hinge that enables us to bend and bow
down, was rusty. I really needed some spiritual WD-40.
This was a ground-shaking test, at least to me. I've been reflecting
on it all week. It took all my will to simply make Prayer,to express
my piety, my gratitudeto God the Magnificent Being behind my organic
architecture, my magical physique, my creativeexpression, my artistic
passion—my nafs, that invisible soul thatmakes me who I am. And now,
fire-tested and gauged, I realize that my soul, the gift from its
Crafter, has not been thanked for properly, in the right fashion in
the wrong situation.
I look at the creation around me—the horses and the birds, the trees
and the falling snow, the little springs and hills —and know that I
have seen authentic, whole worship. Flapping, loping, growing,
falling, bubbling up, all these creatures worship their Creator in
their own unique, prescribed ways. The bird flies and fulfills its
Prayer, its bodily functions. Our equine companions thunder about the
plains around the world.
They fulfill their purpose, express their worship, and provide
momentum not only to their graceful forms, but also to their tender
souls. The trees reach intothe heavens. The rills gurgle fromthe
earth. Everything worships Allaah Almighty.
One creature among all creations that live in the world, we are in no
way exempt from fulfilling ourfunctions to completion. Being creatures
composed of minds, souls, and bodies, we must satisfy all these
individual aspectsto remain healthy, to possess that spunk, that
bounce that keeps us in full blossom, at full tilt, if you'll pardon
the idiom.
We eat, drink, exercise, make love, and many more things to meet our
bodily needs. In order to quaff our intellect, we go to school, read
instruction manuals,take on mathematical concepts, and memorize.
But what do we do for our spirit, our internal core that inspires all
the other parts of our body? We make Prayer. A simplistic answer?I
think not.
Worship opens our entire being to a refreshing breeze from the
outside, cools our hot interiors, and inspires the mind, the body, and
the soul. Would you live in a house of stifled air? Would you swim in
a stagnate marsh, no spring or current to wash it clear? Would you
have your wings clipped?
The Prayer to us has become an outstanding act, a massive struggle,
five battles a day. Floating about the stratosphere of modern secular
life in our hot air balloons, it is tempting to justthrow those canvas
sacks of Prayer, those weighty responsibilities, overboard.
For in the eyes of my rising generation, the Prayer has been demoted
to spiritual baggage, to an audacious act of faith. But without it,
how can we be healthy?
Now, if we have to fight ourselves on something as basic as the
Prayer, with what might must we strive simply to survive? Worship
should be a thing to be proud of not to boast, but to be full with.
The Prayer that we know—this Prayer of Islam—is the ultimate paradox,
the real irony, for it brings us literally down to earth and makes us
humble. Yet at the same time it elevates us just as unambiguously to
the heavens and, behold, we metamorphose into sublime beings, better
than the angels. And that is somethingworth not fighting for.
Surrender.