When it comes to Islam many of us are just going through the motions. Even for those who are striving to perform the required acts, something seems to be missing. Allah and Prophet Muhammad (P) instruct us one way, but oftentimes we behave in another. It seems as if the teachings of Islam are having very little affect on our hearts. We think and say that we believe in Islam but we struggle to live by Islam. How can we fix this? What can we do to ensure that our self-professed “sincere beliefs” are transformed into a real and genuine practice of our faith? Ayden Zayn lends a very personal perspective by relating his deeply spiritual journey that took him from a “party-hard” Jewish teenager to a striving Muslim.
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FULL TRANSCRIPT:
I want all of you to imagine that you’re passengers on an airplane, one of those big commercial airliners. The plane took off not too long ago, the pilot brings the plane to a cruising altitude of about 35,000 feet, he switches off the “fasten your seat belt” sign, and you ease your seat back getting settled in for the journey ahead. You’re sitting there feeling safe, feeling secure. Then suddenly there’s a loud booming sound and the nose of the plane drops straight down. All the people around you start screaming, the oxygen masks drop down from the top, and you’re gripping your seat and the g-forces are forcing you back as the plane is in a complete freefall going straight down to the ground. After about five seconds of this sustained freefall, it dawns on you that the pilot is not going to regain control of the plane, and you say to yourself, “This plane is going to crash and I am going to die.”
Now, on this plane there are probably people of all different backgrounds, all different faith groups, but there’s one thing in my opinion that we all share regardless of your religious background, and that is: at that moment we all believe in God, we all believe in the Creator — even the atheist. And I believe that everyone on that plane would experience a level of taqwa that they’ve never experienced in their life. But my question to you, to the Muslims: as a result of that level of taqwa, what would you do? We would hope, insha’Allah, that we would say ashhadu an la ilaha illallah wa ashhadu anna Muhammadan rasulullah, thinking to ourselves that we can die at any second, and so out of desperation we would say that and perhaps we would keep saying it over and over and over again. But there’s no problem whatsoever in also saying to Allah, “O Allah save me, O Allah save us.” There’s nothing wrong with that, because as Muslims we should want life, we shouldn’t want death, because the Prophet — peace and blessings be upon him — said the best of you are those who live long lives and do good deeds. So more life is more of an opportunity to do more good.
So maybe we would raise our hands to Allah, and while we’re saying the Shahada we would also say, “O Allah save me,” and maybe out of desperation, to increase the chances that your du‘a would be accepted, maybe you would say, “O Allah, if you save me I swear to you that I will do more good. I swear to you that I will pray more of my sunnah prayers.” This is assuming that you’re already doing the fard prayers — hopefully we’re all doing our fards — but maybe you’ll make these promises to Allah that you’ll do more good, you’ll be a better Muslim, you’ll volunteer more, you’ll give more in sadaqah if You only save me. Now some of you may be thinking, “Come on, really? This big jumbo jet going straight down to the ground, the pilot has no control — how is that possible?” We all know that Allah is al-Qadir, He is the capable, the powerful, the almighty, and He can do it if He wills.
And as I’m standing here, I’m reminded of a Jumu‘ah khutbah that was given just a few weeks ago right here in this spot, where the khatib stood and told us about his very own heartfelt and personal experience of making a du‘a to Allah in a very desperate time. And that is when his baby son was born — and he was born blue and silent because he wasn’t breathing. Can you imagine that? This moment of joy that you think you’re about to have, and this baby is born not breathing. He tells us how immediately and instinctively he turned to Allah and he said, “O Allah, if You just give my baby breath, just give my baby breath, I promise You, I swear to You, I will never complain again.” And alhamdulillah, Allah answered his du‘a and his baby lived. This shows us how it is within our nature that in times of desperation, where we face great loss, we turn to Allah and we make promises with words; we speak words, praying to Allah, asking Him to help us, asking Him to save us, asking Him to guide us.
Allah subhanahu wa ta‘ala says in the Qur’an in Surah 10, ayat 22 and 23, the English translation of which says: It is He who enables you to travel on land and sea until, when you are in ships and they sail with them by a good wind and they rejoice therein, then there comes a storm and the waves come upon them from everywhere and they assume that they are surrounded. So out of desperation, what do these people do who are on the boat? The ayah continues: they supplicate sincerely saying, “If You save us from this, we will surely be among the grateful.” But when Allah saves them, at once they commit injustice upon the earth without right.
So what these ayahs tell us is that these people, facing this tribulation, thinking that they were going to die, spoke words that they thought were sincere — but when it came time to perform the action, they were unable, or better yet, they were unwilling. What about us? How many times have we spoken words that we thought were sincere, but with time the case turned out to be something very different?
Let me give a reminder to all of us, and I’m including myself, about the words we say every single day — at least 17 times a day: ihdinas siratal mustaqeem — “Guide us along the straight path.” We say it in our prayer, and Allah gives us the guidance in the Qur’an, gives us the guidance in the example of Prophet Muhammad — peace and blessings be upon him — but we don’t accept it. We reject it. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen Muslims in prayer; they’re on time, they’re in the first rows of the prayer, and what happens? They finish their prayer, and only a few minutes later curse words are flying out of their mouths. What happened to the ayahs you just recited in the Qur’an that say the believers have been guided to the best of speech? What happened to the ayah in the Qur’an where it tells us that in the Messenger you have a good example — and what did the Messenger do? He never uttered a curse word. And what did he say in an authentic hadith? He said that the believer never uses vulgarities.
So what is this? How can we describe this? It is a disconnection between our words and our actions. It’s a disconnection between the faith that we say we have and our behavior. How many times do we say as-salaamu ‘alaykum to our fellow Muslim — “peace be with you, peace be with you” — but then in our hearts we have so much animosity toward them? We harbor ill feelings toward them, we have jealousy, and sometimes we act on those feelings, striving to ruin their reputation, lying about them. What happened to “peace be upon you”? Again, the disconnection: we say peace, but we don’t really mean it.
In my last example: how many times do we say Allahu akbar — Allah is greater, some people translate it as Allah is the greatest — and then we’re sitting at work in that business meeting? Maybe it’s a really important meeting; maybe we’re part of a multi-million-dollar merger or acquisition, and all the high-level executives are there. It’s time for Dhuhr, it’s time for Dhuhr salah. Now alhamdulillah, Allah gives us a time slot to pray — there’s a beginning time and there’s an ending time — but this particular meeting is going on three, four hours long, and you only have 15 minutes left to pray. What do we do? Many of us sit there in that meeting and we don’t move. What happened to Allahu akbar?
If we are sincere and we are true to our faith — the faith that we claim with words — we would get up, excuse ourselves, and go pray. Why? Because Allahu akbar: Allah is greater than that meeting, Allah is greater than my job, Allah is greater than my paycheck, Allah is greater than my boss. What if I’m the boss? What if I’m the one conducting the whole meeting? What if I’m the one presiding over that multi-million-dollar merger? Then I would say to the people in that room: “I have to excuse myself to attend a more important meeting.”
So my point is: there is a disconnection — a very clear disconnection — in many of us, not all of us, but many of us, between our words and our actions, our faith and our behavior. So we pray to Allah: “O Allah, make our actions consistent with our words, and forgive us for every single time that we were a hypocrite, that we didn’t perform our actions according to what we say, according to what we believe. And please, Allah, give us a contented heart, a sound heart. Bless this gathering and bless all the Muslims. Ameen.” Ask Allah for forgiveness.
(End of first khutbah)
Alhamdulillah, alhamdulillah rabbil ‘alameen. Ashhadu an la ilaha illallah wa ashhadu anna Muhammadan rasulullah, sallallahu ‘alayhi wa sallam. Ya ayyuhal ladhina amanu, sallu ‘alayhi wa sallimu taslima.
I want to tell you a story of an American teenage boy. This American teenage boy was living what I consider to be the typical American teenage life. He was born into a family that identified with a particular religion, but they didn’t practice it. And because they didn’t practice it, they didn’t pass that on to him; they didn’t teach him anything about it. And so as a result, this boy grew up not really thinking religion was important. But he believed in God — that was still left intact — you know, the original fitrah that we all have. He was never taught “don’t believe,” he was never taught to believe — he was just taught really nothing: “This is what we are, this is our religion, but we don’t really practice it.” So he was raised with that understanding.
So he believed in God — which a lot of Americans do — but he was primarily concerned with just having fun. He wanted to live the teenage life. And so he would go to parties, he would have a girlfriend, he would drink a little bit, go to clubs, dance. He would also gamble: slot machines, casinos, bet on football and basketball games — $50 here, $50 there — playing the lottery. If most of you observed his behavior, you would say, “My gosh, look at that darkness — up in the clubs dancing, using crazy language,” and most of you would probably say, “There’s no way he would ever see the truth of Islam.” But as the story would go, that’s exactly what happened: he discovered Islam and he accepted Islam. Now this story is a true story. How do I know it’s true? It’s my story. I was that teenage boy doing those things.
Now every story — at least the interesting ones — contains conflict. You know, we as converts get the question all the time: when I tell people I converted or reverted to Islam, they don’t ask why, they usually ask, “What did your parents think?” Because they assume that’s where the conflict is. And yes, I had some conflicts — but that wasn’t the greater conflict. The greater conflict for me came three years before that, when I knew nothing about Islam, had never even heard of Islam, didn’t know any Muslims — I was a blank slate. Let me describe the conflict I had. Let me set the scene for you.
I had just purchased two bottles of alcohol — hard liquor, not just beer — stuff that if you drink a little bit, you’re out. I had two bottles, and I stashed them underneath my bed, hiding them from my mother, who I was living with, because she didn’t know that I liked to drink. She didn’t know I went out on weekends with my friends drinking. But one thing she did know: she knew that I gambled. How did she know? Because she helped me with my gambling. Now maybe it was a way for her to monitor me and keep limits on it, but she assisted me in placing bets — $50 here, $100 there — on basketball and football games. She would call the local bookie — they would take the bets over the phone — and at the end of the week you’d settle accounts: if he owed you money, he paid; if you owed him money, you paid.
So the situation was: I found myself losing. I had a few games that I thought I would win, and I didn’t. I was down $200. Now, $200 might not be a lot for many of you doing well economically — relatively speaking — but put yourself in my shoes: at 16 years old, I didn’t have a job, and I was down $200. And the time was coming — the end of the week — where I had to pay up. And my mom said to me: “You know what? I’m not gonna cover for you. You’re on your own. Let this be a lesson to you. Make better bets next time.” So I was down $200 and I said, “Mom, there’s a game on the schedule — Michael Jordan’s Bulls against the Milwaukee Bucks” — for basketball fans, this is the late ’80s and the Bulls were up-and-coming — “Mom, this is a sure bet. We can’t lose. Let me bet the $200. We’ll win it, I’ll break even, and I’ll be done.”
Now back then we didn’t have satellite TV and the internet like today. I was watching the game on the ESPN ticker that scrolls across the screen. In the second quarter, the Bulls were losing. Third quarter — still losing. I had $200 on the Bulls, and I became extremely desperate. Fourth quarter — still losing. That meant I’d be out $400 and I couldn’t pay that money. My mom wasn’t going to cover it. What was I going to do?
What did I do? I went upstairs to my room, closed the door, got on my knees, and prayed. I said to God: “Oh God, if You win this bet for me, I swear to You, I promise You, that I will take those two bottles of alcohol from under my bed and I will flush them down the toilet if You just do this for me.” And so I said my prayer, I got up, went downstairs, turned the TV back on. My mom had a smile on her face because the Bulls started winning. Long story short: I ended up winning. And my mom and I were jumping up and down celebrating: “Yes! We’re free and clear! We don’t owe the bookie anything!” I was so happy, so grateful. But then the smile left my face. Why? Because I remembered the promise I had made.
So I went upstairs, shut the door, got down on my knees, reached under the bed, grabbed the two bottles of alcohol, went to the bathroom, unscrewed the caps, was about to pour it — and I stopped. “What am I doing? Why would I waste this alcohol? I paid money for this. I can’t waste it.” I screwed the caps back on, walked back to my bed, got on my knees, slid the bottles back under the bed — and then I stopped again. “What am I doing? I made a promise to God. And He came through for me.” So I got up, walked to the bathroom, opened the toilet again, and dumped the alcohol in the toilet.
Look at all the problems facing this Muslim Ummah: Islamophobia, stereotypes, misrepresentations in the media, in many places poverty, in many places persecution and oppression — persecution and oppression of Muslims and in some cases by Muslims — and the list goes on. When you think about it, it can get overwhelming. Where in the world do we begin to find a solution?
It’s a human tendency that when we want a solution, we first look outside ourselves. And this includes blaming others for our problems. We’re quick to ask: “What are other people doing wrong? What are other organizations doing wrong? What are other governments doing wrong?” But we should also be asking: “What are we doing wrong?” There’s so much ignorance in our Ummah — so much disunity, so much racism, so much corruption. And what do we do when we have these problems? We raise our hands to Allah and we plead and pray and ask Allah to help us, ask Allah to change our condition. But Allah tells us famously in the Qur’an — in a verse everyone here knows — that He will never change the condition of a people until they change what is within themselves. So the onus is on us to make a change.
So what is it? What can we change to have hope of seeing change in ourselves, in our families, in our communities, in the Muslim Ummah, and ultimately in the world? My entire first khutbah was about the disconnection between our words and our actions. In my humble opinion, this is what needs to change. It’s not the only thing — we have many issues — but in my mind it is paramount. Too many words, too little action. Faith that we say and claim and think is sincere, but actions that often contradict that faith. We’re not being truly sincere Muslims because we’re not striving to put that faith into action.
So what can enable a better connection between our words and our actions? If there’s only one thing you remember from this khutbah, remember this: it is feeling. For many of us, what is lacking — or missing altogether — is feeling. The Prophet Muhammad — peace and blessings be upon him — said there will arise a people who recite the Qur’an and it won’t go past their throats. What does that mean? If you understand this one hadith, you’ll understand the whole message of my khutbah. What do you recite the Qur’an with? Your tongue, your mouth — with words. And it doesn’t go past their throat. What’s past the throat? The heart.
So we recite words, we say words — but they don’t touch our hearts. They don’t affect us. We don’t feel anything. What does this mean? It shows the disconnection between the words we say and our actions. Because if you don’t feel anything in your heart, you’ll be less inclined to act.
When I was on that floor pushing those bottles of alcohol back under my bed, I felt something. I felt fear — taqwa! I felt awe. I felt humility. I felt faith!! And those feelings compelled me to act! And at the risk of repeating myself: where did I have those feelings? In my brain? My head? No — that’s where thoughts are! On my tongue? No — that’s for speech. I had those feelings in my heart. And those feelings motivated me to act! And as difficult as it was, I dumped those bottles of alcohol in the toilet.
Now I want to pause to make two quick remarks. Am I saying that words, thoughts, and speech don’t motivate? No, that’s not what I’m saying. Don’t misunderstand me. You can read ayahs in the Qur’an, you can hear a lecture, you can read a lot of hadith, and yes — they can motivate you, even without strong feeling. Let’s say you read something that says you’re required to do something — for example, you’re required to pray, and you’ll get certain rewards and certain punishments if you don’t. You can intellectualize that. You can say, “Okay, it’s a bargain — if I do this, I’ll get rewards; if I don’t, I’ll get punishments.” Those are words — that’s information, that’s knowledge. You don’t necessarily have to feel it to do it, because you understand it as a bargain and that can motivate you. But devoid of feeling, in my opinion, that action will eventually become robotic — it’ll become ritualistic — because it’s in your mind; it’s something you just conceptualize, often doing the acts simply to satisfy the religious obligation. But if you have feeling, if you feel something, that feeling can last a lifetime, because feeling comes from a deeper understanding — a deeper understanding of the purpose of things. So if you understand why we have to pray, why we do the things that we do, if you understand why these obligations were given to us — fasting, zakat, prayer, etc. — you will develop a deep appreciation for it and you’ll have feelings of joy for it, and that can last a lifetime.
When we get up in the morning to go to work, what’s our motivation? Are we motivated by money only? If so, then that work will become a ritual. But if we’re also motivated because we enjoy our work, because we enjoy our job, how much easier does that make it? Enjoyment — joy — is a feeling. How many of us can say that we have a joy for Islam? So I’m not saying that words don’t motivate, but feelings motivate far above and beyond that and are far more lasting.
The second remark I want to make is a qualification about the types of feelings I’m talking about: positive feelings. There are negative feelings too, and the best example of a negative feeling is uncontrolled anger. The Prophet — peace and blessings be upon him — said, “Do not get angry.” One prescription he gave if you get angry is to make wudu. Why make wudu? Because when you get angry you get hot — you lose control — and that kind of anger leads people to commit injustice and perhaps violence. That is the kind of anger the Prophet warned us to avoid. I’m not talking about developing those negative feelings. I’m talking about positive feelings that result in productive outcomes: empathy, constructive anger that motivates you to act lawfully and righteously, love for the oppressed that motivates you to write letters, start movements, build websites, protest peacefully, or engage your representatives. That’s positive anger.
So what I’m talking about is developing positive feelings — more empathy, more love, more feelings for Allah, for the Prophet — peace and blessings be upon him. These are the feelings we need in our hearts to motivate us to do more good and to act on the faith we claim with our words. I’ve spoken about what we need, where those feelings reside — in the heart — and why we need them. The next natural question is: how do we do this? How do we inculcate these feelings inside our hearts so they motivate us to act?
We said that feelings reside in the heart, so we must focus on our hearts. Strengthen your heart by giving it sustenance, just like you strengthen your body with food. The spiritual heart has sustenance. Many scholars say that the sustenance of the heart is authentic, beneficial knowledge. I’m not referring to the shallow content you see on social media that rips verses out of the Qur’an and misrepresents them. I mean authentic, beneficial knowledge — the truth — that will strengthen our hearts. But there’s a problem: many hearts are not receptive to knowledge because they have diseases that prevent them from benefiting. One of the most dangerous diseases is arrogance.
Allah tells us in the Qur’an that it is not the eyes that are blinded but the hearts within the breasts. The arrogance of Pharaoh, despite witnessing the signs, blinded him. Knowledge without humility didn’t benefit him. This shows that it’s not only about knowledge; it’s about purifying the heart. The heart is the first thing seen in the embryo and the only thing that will matter on the Last Day. Allah tells us that neither wealth nor children will benefit you; only a sound heart will. The Prophet said there is a lump of flesh — the heart — and if it is right the whole body is right, if it is corrupt the whole body is corrupt. Real richness is the benevolence of the heart.
I will make the argument — my humble opinion, not that of a scholar — that every teaching and practice in Islam can be connected back to the heart. Feelings are key, and these feelings reside in our hearts. But be careful: some may have feelings for Islam yet lack knowledge or practice — a kind of romantic attachment rooted in emotion but lacking understanding. That can be the result of spiritual diseases like laziness, greed, arrogance, etc. We must not deceive ourselves by thinking we “love” Allah if our actions contradict that love. Loving the Prophet means striving to follow him, as the Qur’an instructs: “If you love Allah, then follow me.” Allah will love you and forgive your faults.
Wrapping up, I have some practical homework — seven steps. Number one: recognize the importance of the heart. Number two: protect the heart by avoiding sin and increasing good deeds; sin stains the heart and can lead to spiritual darkness. Number three: strive to purify the heart of diseases, beginning with purifying your intentions — make the pleasure of Allah your primary aim. Purification of the heart is a vast science; a good starting point are lectures like Islamic Revivalism by Abdullah Hakim Quick and Islamic Psychology of the Self by Moktar Maghraoui — you can find them on YouTube.
Number four: cultivate humility by reflecting on the signs of Allah in creation and turning to Him in sincere du‘a. Number five: give the heart its sustenance — authentic, beneficial knowledge — and do not wait to be perfectly pure before seeking it; grow simultaneously in knowledge and purification. Number six: if you properly focus on your heart, feelings will naturally arise; you don’t have to search desperately for them. And number seven: once these are in place, acting — or refraining from sin — becomes much easier. Positive feelings for Allah, the Prophet, and Islam make it easier to wake for Fajr, to give zakat, and to perform required deeds.
By the way, the wisdom of the order in which Allah revealed the ayahs of the Qur’an supports this: early Meccan verses focused on faith and belief, later Medinan verses focused on laws and actions, so the beliefs were solidified in people’s hearts first, making the commands to act more natural and welcome.
We must be careful with new Muslims: many convert but aren’t yet ready to give up old habits because their deep love and feelings for Islam have not fully developed. We should be patient with them and help them, not burden them with unreasonable expectations.
In conclusion, I want to address the person who says, “Action is not necessary; belief is enough; Allah knows my heart.” It’s true that ultimately only Allah knows the heart, and we enter Paradise by His grace. But action is the proof of your faith. The Prophet taught that the first thing people will be questioned about on the Day of Judgment is their prayer — an action. If your heart is sound and your faith sincere, it will manifest in trying to pray. Striving to act sincerely, motivated by deep feeling, is what makes us worthy of Allah’s grace. We are not perfect; we make mistakes and need forgiveness, but the key is sincere striving.
When I faced that choice about honoring my promise — dumping the alcohol — I cannot prove anything to you, but I believe that decision helped make my path to Islam easier. Three years later Allah blessed me to discover and embrace Islam.
So we ask Allah to make our paths easy, to cleanse our hearts, to grant us sound hearts, and to make our actions consistent with the words we preach. Forgive us for our shortcomings, bless the Muslim Ummah, guide the sincere seekers to the truth, and shower mercy and blessings upon Prophet Muhammad, his companions, and his family until the Day of Judgment. Ameen.