By: Ustadh Ubaydullah Evans I have always maintained that our context makes a full embrace of the Prophet Muhammad (upon him be peace) difficult. Within our sacred history, Jesus Christ of Nazareth (upon him and his blessed mother be peace) is the direct predecessor of the Prophet Muhammad (upon him be peace). Relative chronological proximity as well as being the central religious figures of the two largest religious communities in the world have linked inextricably the Christ and the Prophet (upon them be peace). When prophethood is understood as a continuous process, beginning with Adam and culminating in the Prophet, the differences between the various Prophets of God (upon them be peace) are appreciated as alternations in form but not essence. In fact, speaking of Jesus and the Prophet Muhammad (upon them be peace), their lives and respective ministries, offer the perfect complement to one another. But where the wise see connection and harmony, those with less expansive understandings see contradiction and sometimes (due to being chronologically later) attribute inauthenticity to the Prophet Muhammad (upon him be peace). Thus, the Prophet has been misunderstood among many Americans. In my estimation, this is not because any single aspect of his life is demonstrably out of favor among modern Americans. Rather, the towering influence of Jesus (upon him be peace) has so effectively colored the religious and social imaginary of Europe—and by extension America—that Prophet Muhammad (upon him be peace) is mostly judged as an ersatz Jesus (upon him be peace). There is certainly a better way to understand the Prophet (upon him be peace). Whenever the Prophet (upon him be peace) is evaluated and understood on his own merit, our neighbors of other faiths (or no faith at all) find greater appreciation for his life and teachings.
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 In his seminal work on Islamic history, Conversion to Islam in the Medieval Period: An Essay in Quantitative History, Prof. Richard Bulliet makes a startling assertion: During some of the most fecund periods of Islamic history (the period sometimes romantically referred to as the “Golden Age” of Islamic civilization), Muslims were a religious minority within some of the central lands of Islam. Moreover, what we term classical “Islamic” civilization was in fact built by Jews, Christians, Zoroastrians, and Hellenistic philosophers inter alia. Stated more directly, Islam thrived in pluralistic societies. It had to define itself vis-à-vis traditions that were historically more established and numerically stronger. And yet, when considering our minority status in the US we hardly draw inspiration or even parallels from Muslim activity during that period. Why not? As opposed to seeing ourselves on the cusp of a renaissance, our community appears to harbor fears of being dissolved into the dominant culture. What can be said to account for this? More importantly, can this trend be reversed or at the very least staunched?
 Calibrate: verb/ cal.i.brate/ `ka-lǝ-brāt/to adjust precisely for a particular function.
I don’t use the word kāfir; well, at least not in public. My particular grasp of the term notwithstanding, the risk its user assumes of being regarded a bad neighbor is simply too great for me. Indeed, this word has come to represent much of what both American Muslims and non-Muslims find unsettling about public religion: Intolerance and chauvinism. Salvific exclusivism is the idea that the adherents of only one religion will attain salvation in the Hereafter. Although I’ve neither conducted nor read any empirical research on the matter, anecdotally I can reference a number of stories in which Muslims (particularly millennials) expressed strong opposition to Islamic salvific exclusivism. “What about saints like Mother Teresa, freedom fighters like Martin Luther King Jr, and good people like my best friend—how can they go to Hell?” Each time I hear this I’m taken aback by the directness of the question itself. Where does the presumption that an Islamic understanding of exclusivism does, in fact, consign Mother Teresa, Martin King Jr., and their best friend to Hell come from?  By: Ustadh Ubaydullah evansRelevance is an important factor when assessing authority within religious communities. However, in the case of Sunni Islam it possesses added significance: In the absence of centralized, religiously binding authority (e.g. the Catholic Church) relevance can quickly become the sine qua non of religious authority. For many, pedigree and certification become meaningless if the authority in question is deemed “out of touch.”
With no divinely sanctioned body to confer authority upon them; historically, the scholars of Islam won positions of influence through a combination of ascendance within institutions whose source of authority was meritocratic rather than divine and personal charisma and forcefulness. With regard to the latter, it was the endorsement of the ‘people’ that raised a scholar from obscurity and gave their words weight. Unsurprisingly, not being “out of touch” was key in earning that endorsement. That a scholar deployed the correct religious language, embodied an ethic of conscientiousness (marūwwa or futūwwa), and that he or she at least appeared to retain a popular religious outlook all presumably contributed to their relevance and by extension authority. As Dr. Umar Faruq Abd Allah brilliantly put it: “Ijtihād (critical and analytical deduction) from the texts (i.e the Qur’ān and ḥadīth) was reserved for the scholars but ijtihād of the scholars has always been for everyone.” By Ustadh Ubaydullah evans Photograph by Stephanie Strasburg / Pittsburgh Post-Gazette AP Why did one straw break the camel’s back? / Here’s the secret/ the million other straws underneath it/ it’s all mathematics —Yasiin Bey (Mos Def).
Islamic law predates the creation of the modern nation-state. As such, the kind of legal monism (idea of there being a single “law of the land”) and centralization of power enjoyed by modern nations was unfathomable to Muslim political theorists in the classical period. By comparison, theirs was an ethic of non-domination and personal liberty vis-à-vis the State—at least with regard to a matter like the right to bear arms. Interestingly enough, it appears that this incidental feature of the pre-modern world (non-domination vis-à-vis the State) is an intentional moral commitment for those who refuse to countenance any nullification of their 2nd Amendment rights. However, our tradition subjects all moral commitments to an assessment of their impact on the Maqāṣid (objectives) of the Shari’ah. The preservation of: Faith, life, family, human cognitive ability, wealth, and dignity. Stated differently, where the will of God is concerned, no moral commitment that can be shown to harm or jeopardize the aforementioned values can be regarded as sound. By Ustadh ubaydullah evans Photograph by Blaine Ohigashi / The New Yorker “I was once riding behind the Prophet (upon him be peace) and I recited to him one hundred couplets from the poetry of Umayyah ibn Abī aṣ-Ṣalt al-Thaqafī. Each time I recited a couplet, the Prophet (upon him be peace) would say to me, “Recite more!” until I recited one hundred couplets, whereupon the Prophet said, ‘He nearly embraced Islam.’”
By now, it appears the whole world knows that Will Smith assaulted Chris Rock during the live broadcast of the Oscars. And if it weren’t for one of the most strenuous branding campaigns in modern show business, the public might have taken the unfortunate incident at face value: Will Smith lost control over his emotions and unjustly slapped Chris Rock for an ill-conceived joke. However, in the process of building a multi-media empire, the Smiths have opened intimate and sometimes unsettling details about their personal lives. As a result, social commentary on the incident has framed Will Smith as everything from a vengeful cuckold trying to reassert his masculinity to a tutored soul, reliving the trauma of watching his mother suffer domestic violence. The carousel of public opinion continues to spin: biting, satirical, pseudo-therapeutic but very rarely introspective. For the Muslim community, I see two issues of interest here. First, should we even care about this? Does concern about what happened between Will Smith and Chris Rock represent an unjustifiable descent into the inane and vulgar? Secondly, as opposed to either aimless schadenfreude or psychological quackery, is there anything we can learn about ourselves and our tradition from this incident? Ustadh Ubadullah evans Ta’ḍhīm ash-Shari’ah or esteem for the law has always defined the Muslim community. Familiarity with the language of the law and its categories among non-specialists is a unique feature of our community. If truth be told, as a student of Shari’ah, I express a quiet joy each time I encounter Muslims who negotiate the realities of day-to-day life through the use of terms like: ḥarām, halāl, makrūh, obligatory, permissible, recommended, etc. Whether we have training in Islamic law or not; deploy the language of the law with precision and clarity or not; simply invoking the law expresses some of our deepest moral commitments. Namely, that the God we serve is concerned about us and has given us guidelines by which to lead good lives. Additionally, a concern with law articulates a faith that is relevant in the lives of believers.
Ustadh Ubaydullah Evans ALIF. LĀM. MĪM. The first verse of Sūrat al-Baqarah and perhaps one of the most well-known of the Qur’ān is simply three seemingly unrelated letters. The ḥurūf al-muqaṭṭa’āt, the disjoined letter combinations which begin twenty-nine separate chapters of the Qur’ān are considered a mystery by the vast majority of classical authorities. Although exegetical literature reveals much speculation about these letters, nothing definitive is offered in the Qur’ān nor attributed to the Prophet (upon him be peace). The subtle irony is that this scripture, which contains verses such as:
{“We have sent it down as an Arabic Qur’ān so you may understand.” Quran 12:2} {“And we have revealed the Book as an explanation of everything.” Qur’ān 16:89} {“Those to whom we have given the book (the Qur’ān) study it as it should be studied: they are the ones that believe therein: those who reject faith therein the loss is their own.” Quran 2:121} Ustadh Ubaydullah Evans My friends, Imam Dawood Yasin and Imran Malik named the Clubhouse room “Evergreen Soul.” I had recently returned from a family hiking trip in Utah—for which Imam Dawood graciously assisted me with my equipment—and I agreed to share some stories. This trip, organized by my wife Hadiyah and with her careful, meticulous planning, was a first for our family. I entered the room prepared to offer standard fare: Funny anecdotes about my children and the stale bon mot about the gaping mouths and curious glances generated by a Black, Muslim family in rural Utah. What I encountered, however, was a deeply impassioned conversation led by two erudite Muslims who were also experienced outdoorsmen. The spiritual and intellectual vistas that were explored during the session—by the hosts as well as the attendees—prompted a reflection. Ustadh Ubaydullah Evans The American Learning Institute for Muslims (ALIM) condemns in the strongest possible terms the violence that has been perpetrated against the Palestinian people by the Israeli regime and its enablers. It is at once harrowing and humiliating for the American community to watch passively as the lethal machinery of modern warfare is deployed against a defenseless, civilian population. Contrary to some uninformed opinion, ALIM has never defined itself as apolitical or quietest. Over our more than twenty year history, ALIM has offered an unrestricted platform to our faculty and guest contributors. This means we’ve learned from scholars and activists who have broadened the scope of our political awareness, challenged us to identify with the oppressed, and agitated concerning our complicity with injustice. Stated unequivocally, solidarity with our brothers and sisters suffering oppression is a core tenet of our faith. As such, to deny the imperative of advocating for them would violate our mission of empowering the American Muslim community through literacy. What Islamic literacy can our community claim if we fail to recognize the centrality of condemning injustice to Islam? How can our community claim empowerment if we can’t voice disapproval with the fact that our tax dollars are used to fund the unjustifiable deaths of our co-religionists?
Ustadh Ubaydullah Evans "Souls are like conscripted soldiers. Those familiar with each other get on easily while those who don’t know each other feel mutual estrangement.” From the very moment Imam Sohaib Sultan and I met we got on with easy familiarity. Something about his posture and demeanor immediately disarmed me. Usually, a kind of ritual “feeling out” takes place when Muslims with public profiles meet. In addition to the semiotics regularly associated with dress and presentation; the manner in which a person deploys classical Arabic, the scholars they cite, their take on certain contemporary issues, etc. places them in some category or another: Traditional, progressive, Sufi, reformist, liberal, conservative, woke, apolitical…whatever. My encounters with my brother Sohaib were never degraded by the issuance of such litmus tests. We always spoke as friends.
Ustadh Ubaydullah Evans “The Third Resurrection” refers to Blackamerican engagement with the scholarly
tradition of Islam. It is not simply about learning the tradition. To be sure, classical training is an essential point of departure. However, the Third Res, cannot be realized until we deploy tradition in ways that are both authentic and relevant. This requires a subtle balance. On the one hand, tradition places a premium on precedent and on the other, many of the realities confronting Blackamerican Muslims are unprecedented. Ustadh Ubaydullah Evans I was actually in a relationship when I decided to embrace Islam. Not only did I not assume any tension between my relationship and newfound religious beliefs, I was proud of both! So it wasn’t uncommon, on the Fridays we didn’t have school, for me to invite my girlfriend to the mosque. And although she could never quite summon the nerve to enter, we’d often stroll about arm-in-arm afterwards; checking out the various vendors and their tables. Thinking back to that time, all I can say is: If I WAS doing something wrong, no one would’ve been able to guess. I walked as confidently among the community as I would have if she and I had been married. Now that isn’t to say, at that time, my girlfriend and I were doing other things married people do. I was familiar with abstinence as a religious virtue. In fact, among all the different social groups that existed within my high school, there was a group of popular, attractive, very outspoken evangelical Christian girls. They dressed modestly, threw their own chaperoned parties or attended the parties of others as a group. Perhaps the most curious thing about them was that they all wore rings on their ring fingers. And it seemed like they never missed an opportunity to hold up their left hands and tell all the hormonally charged young “heathens” lusting after them that sex would only happen, “when this ring is replaced by a wedding ring.” In retrospect, I can see their profound impact on me. They had chastity rings, an admirable solidarity, and they were completely unapologetic about who they were. As silly as it sounds now, for me, those young girls represented the ne plus ultra in terms of religious commitment as a teenager. And even they dated! It was normal to see one of them at homecoming with some clean-cut type who shared their conviction. Or you would see them at the movies with one of “the guys” who had been feigning an interest in devotion so he could test their virtue—only to report some hand-holding and maybe even kissing but ultimately, “that she wasn’t budging.” Hence, after embracing Islam the highest ideal of piety I could imagine was “not budging.” But there wasn’t anything wrong with hanging out. At that point, I’m not sure I understood there was anything wrong with making out. Just don’t have sex before marriage.
 Last week over dinner, Aasiyah, my fourteen year old, announced to everyone: “I’m never going to have children!” The initial response that formed in my head was, “I totally feel you but unfortunately it’s too late for me!” Trying to outdo a teenager in sarcasm is both futile and inadvisable so I settled on a sympathetic, “why not?” “What’s the point?” she retorted flippantly. I felt a strange sensation: On the one hand, I knew that she, like the rest of us, had been confined to the house chasing her younger siblings for the past nine months. We were hearing frustration with Najashi and Makeda, I thought to myself. On the other, this was actually a good question—one that I had never really considered… What is the point? I’m not sure there is a definitive answer. However, it is important for us, as parents, to be anchored somewhere. When the task becomes difficult, as it most assuredly will from time to time, our fortitude is the direct consequence of the meaning we give to parenting. As such, I try to remember what one teacher many years ago mentioned about the Qur’an. After offering many disclaimers to ensure he wouldn’t be perceived as irreverent, he said, “The Qur’an, in all of its astounding beauty, is really a book about dysfunctional families.” The lives of the Prophets of God and the righteous (upon all of them be peace) are examples for us. The Islamic doctrine of ‘iṣma (to be divinely protected from committing willful sins), which is shared by both Sunnis and Shi’is, maintains that the Prophets (upon them be peace) represent the highest moral possibility for human beings. And yet, when we look at them, we see lives that were not only unable to avoid familial conflict, but were, as a matter of fact, defined by it. What are we to say about Abraham (upon him be peace) and his well-documented struggle with his father—which resulted in the latter making an attempt on his son’s life. The sons of Adam, Cane and Abel (Hābil and Qābil); what are we to make of the bloodshed between them? What can be said of the blessed Aasiyah (upon her be peace), the wife of Pharaoh, who disavowed the evil of her husband? Joseph (upon him be peace) suffered an attempt on his life at the hands of his brothers. For that matter, Jacob (upon him be peace) was deceived by his sons and made to believe that his dearest son had been killed in an accident. The marital difficulties of both Job and Lot (upon them be peace) are visited in the Qur’an. And perhaps most relevant to us here, what are we to make of Noah’s (upon him be peace) inability to ensure the safety of his son and guide him to salvation? We encounter the Divine through our relationships with those closest to us. Family teaches us many lessons. In the case of children, perhaps the most important lesson we learn is tawakkul (reliance upon God.) To be sure, we are reminded that even personal piety is not the outcome of merit but rather grace. Nonetheless, the secret of free-will creates within us the sense that we enjoy a locus of control with regard to the personal. With kids…all bets are off! One is keenly aware that God is in control at all times. Hannah (upon her be peace), the mother of the Blessed Mary (upon her be peace) prayed, {“…O my Lord, I have vowed to You what is in my womb, to be dedicated to Your service, so accept this from me. Indeed, You are All-Hearing, All-Knowing.’ Then when she delivered her (Mary) she said, ‘O my Lord, I have delivered a female,’ and God knew best what she had delivered, ‘And the male is not like the female, and I have named her Mary, and I seek refuge with You for her and for her children from Satan’”} [3:33-36] Hannah solicits God for protection for her daughter and for her daughter’s children as Mary (upon her be peace) is still an infant. Her prayer is answered, {“So her Lord fully accepted her, and gave her a good upbringing and put her in the care of Zechariah…”} [3:37] In the verse, the good upbringing of Mary is attributed to God. This in no way absolves us of responsibility to our children; however, it is a potent reminder that matter is not entirely in our hands. The farmer must apply himself with both skill and industry when planting but it is God that causes the seed to grow: {“Have you considered what you plant? Is it you who cause it to grow, or is it we who do so?”} [56:63-64] {“Our Lord, Grant us the delight of our eyes in our spouses and children and make us leaders of the pious”} [25:74] The Quran also anchors “the why” of parenting in the immense delight and reward that are experienced in children. Accomplishment is always vindicating. One may attain a professional degree, successfully launch a company, build something beautiful with your hands, obtain something that you’ve longed for, etc. However, nothing approaches the joy of seeing your children become people you admire. My wedding anniversary is on New Year’s Eve. Brothers, this is forgetfulness insurance! Usually, Hadiyah and I plan an experience and the kids either go to grandma’s house or are placed with a sitter. This year, as I’m sure everyone knows, nothing follows precedent. So for the first time in eight years, my wife and I prepared to celebrate our anniversary and bring in the New Year loafing around in pajamas all day and buying the kids confetti and noise makers from Party City. It won’t be the beaches of Trinidad or a bed and breakfast on Lake Geneva, but at least we’ll be able to bring in the New Year with the kids, we said. To my surprise, when I returned from a morning workout, I saw all three of my children dressed in formal clothing, milling about the kitchen. Aasiyah instructed me to get cleaned up and to return for breakfast “dressed fancy.” With me, the dress fancy part registered instantly but I was still trying to figure out everything else! Once upstairs, my wife explained to me that the kids had awakened her with a hand-illustrated menu and were treating us to a surprise anniversary breakfast. Subhanallah, the preparation was done with so much good taste and attention to detail that at some point I remember thinking to myself, “Did my children do this? Wait a minute, can my children do this!?” After breakfast, Hadiyah and I were led away to the basement and treated to manicures and spa treatments. Here’s an anecdote: While massaging my shoulders, Najashi, my precious six year old son, hilariously said to me in a soothing voice, “Think about things that make you happy. Think about when you had hair!” After an intermission, they served us dinner and this was undoubtedly the piéce de résistance. By this point, I was completely “bought-in” and dressed in black-tie while Hadiyah accompanied me in a formal dress. My children had shown so much competence and character in putting this day together—and in the midst of a pandemic!—and we wanted to honor their efforts. Aasiyah had arranged for us: shrimp fettuccine, freshly baked French bread, Cesar salad, a wide assortment of our favorite sparkling drinks, and our favorite chocolate torte for dessert. During the meal she handled all the service and even acted as our halal sommelier—keeping our glasses filled but without impeding the conversation for the duration of the entire meal. I was floored. My eldest had led her siblings in honoring and serving their parents, esteeming and elevating marriage/family, and displaying the competence, generosity, and consideration required to flawlessly execute such an exquisite day. Unequivocally, I say, it was the best wedding anniversary we’ve had yet. Of course, I can’t take any of the credit! Aasiyah is learning from my wife and some of the phenomenal sisters Hadiyah has brought into her orbit. Nonetheless, my eyes are cooled just the same. This is why I wanted to have children. Aasiyah, I pray that you one day have children that make you as proud as you’ve made me. Dad Chicago 2021   One of the most insightful religious reflections I ever heard was mentioned by an atheist. During the Q and A that directly followed my lecture, a questioner from the audience rose to speak. He was a middle-aged white man of slender build, dressed in business casual clothing (chinos and a plaid button down shirt), and wearing glasses. I got the sense that he was faculty at the small college at which I was presenting. After thanking me for my remarks, which, if I recall correctly, were about Islam and Post-Modernity or something like that, he sought my permission to venture slightly off topic and ask a ‘personal’ question. Not knowing what to I expect, I forced a laugh and said, “well, it depends how personal.” After granting him permission, he identified himself as “an atheist but a seeker,” he then said, “I thought your remarks about religion were balanced. I’m clear about your conviction but it didn’t appear that you were attempting to evangelize [sic] the audience. I feel compelled to ask, what is the most challenging aspect of being a person of faith in the modern age?” The question was pithy and I don’t think any non-Muslim had ever posed it to me in such direct fashion. This wasn’t my dinner table, this was a stage. And the man wasn’t a Muslim that had grown weary of the rose-tinted, plastic idealism of religious scholars and instead wanted some emotional vulnerability and personal testimonial; he was a seeker who didn’t believe in God. In any other context, I probably would’ve disclosed some of my spending habits and the inadequate sensitivity to the suffering of others that allows me to spend money as I do. However, I knew he wanted something different. My mind raced, “c’mon, Ubayd. Say something brilliant, something edgy, something thoughtful.” I dug into the most honest place I could find in that moment and finally said, “Progress and moral evolution. I adhere to a 1400 year old tradition that contains both metaphysical and moral insights. Some of those moral insights are based on assumptions about things such as sexual propriety, the viability of warfare and violence, hierarchies among human beings (human bondage), etc. which have very different analogs among progressive thinkers today. I struggle to be true to my tradition in letter and spirit, while being critical of different modes of progressive thought, and affirming Islam’s commitment to alleviating human suffering.” I don’t know what the heck that was but it was the best I could do! I laugh as a type this now because I can recall him looking at me confusedly and offering, “thank you.” My answer was underwhelming and I could tell that he hadn’t been sufficiently engaged so I turned the tables: “Now, may I ask you a similarly personal question?” He nodded in the affirmative so I continued, “What is the most challenging aspect of being an atheist in the modern age?” En garde! I took him by surprise and I appreciated the fact that I had—perhaps a little too much! The university campus has become a place that celebrates and promotes “atheisizing” and secularizing epistemologies in the same way religious communities celebrate faith. Except that while religious folks are usually candid about doubt and lapses of faith and “dark nights of the soul”, non-religious folks tend to speak of unfaith as a singular source of clarity and liberation. He had to think. After a long pause, he poised himself and said, “Gratitude. I struggle with gratitude. I’ve been the beneficiary of such great privilege and good favor in my life and yet I don’t believe in anything to which I can attribute that favor. To call it merit is a lie. To call it luck is unsatisfying. And to act as though I don’t feel it is like being a psychopath. I honestly don’t know what to do…” I sat frozen. In fact, I think the whole room fell silent. It was one of the most honest things I’d ever heard anyone say. And there was no “storybook” ending. I didn’t grab the mic and talk about the Arabic term dīn (faith) and its etymological connection to the word dayn (debt). I didn’t share the Qur’anic verse in which Satan himself declares: {“Then I will come to them from the front and from the rear, and from their right and from their left. And You will not find most them thankful.”} [7:17] I didn’t even get a chance to thank him for opening a new window into my understanding of faith. He exited the auditorium before the conclusion of the session. Just an imperfect and utterly human attempt at saying, “thank you.” This is the essence of faith. It makes sense then that the antonym of the Arabic term “kufr” (disbelief) is not imān or faith but rather “shukr” (gratitude). While a student at al-Azhar, I stumbled across Alister McGrath’s book In the Twilight of Atheism. The Oxfordian theologian investigated the Freudian claim that belief in God is an illusion based on an infantile need for a powerful father figure. In response, McGrath mused about Freud’s inability to view atheism through a similar lens. In other words, if belief is just the product of arrested human development, how should we understand disbelief? Perhaps disbelief is based on a similarly infantile need to feel autonomous—McGrath’s insight was particularly profound given Freud’s own writings concerning developmental psychology in children. Nonetheless, “illusory autonomy” or istighnā’ is a core Qur’ānic concept. In the first revelation received by the Prophet Muhammad (upon him be peace), the Almighty proclaims: {“(1) Read! In the name of your Lord and Cherisher who created. (2) Created man out of a clot of congealed blood. (3) Read! And Your Lord is Most Bountiful. (4) He Who taught (the use of) the Pen. (5) Taught man that which he knew not. (6) Nay but man transgresses all bounds. (7) In that he looks upon himself as self-sufficient. (8) Indeed, unto your Lord is the return of all…”} [96: 1-8] We are entirely contingent beings. If COVID-19 has shown us nothing else, it has shown us that. Some time ago, Dr. Sherman Jackson provided me a thought-provoking insight. In paraphrase, he mentioned that we do ourselves a disservice by making God the point of departure when engaging secular thinkers. If we instead, he asserted, began with our indisputably shared experience of human contingency, we might clarify the basis of our faith more effectively. I was lost too so don’t feel bad! He gave an example: If someone expected one of their loved ones home by 9pm and hadn’t heard from them well past that, they might grow concerned. If such absence was uncharacteristic of the loved one, by 3 or 4am they’re anxiety would be heightened. In that moment, Dr. Jackson mentioned, some people will pray. Some others might pace nervously. Some will sweat profusely and bite their nails. Others might pour a stiff drink. Some might do all of the above! However, all of them, in that moment, realize their contingency. They all realize that the outcome required to return their peace of mind is not in their own hands. In that moment, self-sufficiency makes no promises. In other words, Dr. Jackson was saying that belief in God is but one of many possible responses to the anxiety that results from recognizing the limited control we ultimately exert over our existence. Not all choose to manage through faith in God but all must choose some means of managing. This unites us as human beings. When the beloved finally makes it home, safe, sound, and without incident, all are relieved. Faith, however, is embracing that nearly irrepressible impulse to say, “thank you,” and it’s incredibly satisfying. The questioner at the university was articulating the dilemma of having an innate sense of providence but not believing in God. And it really appeared to be affecting him. It was one of the first times I thought about how thankful I am being able to give thanks. Ubaydullah Evans Chicago 2020 |
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