Ideas Inspired by the Qur'an

How to Read the Qur’an (in my opinion) 2

No! I swear by evening’s glow, / And by the night and what it bears, / And by the moon when it is full, / You shall be journeying from stage to stage. / So why is it that they do not believe, / Nor do they fall prostrate when the Qur’an is read to them? (Q84:16-21)

The purpose of the Qur’an, evident in its very name, is to be recited or read. Since most people were illiterate at the time of its revelation, rhythm and rhyme were key instruments in delivering the Message aurally. The first four verses in this passage are particularly impactful through the repeated heavy blows that all end with the hammer strike of ‘aq.’

But that impact, by whatever medium it was conveyed, can be negated by the attitude of the observer who witnesses the sequence of sunset, night, and moon and takes no heed. With the question, why is it that they do not believe? — AL-LAH intends to have us share in what should be general perplexity. Some translators prefer to render fa ma la hum as what is wrong with them? rather than why? The Arabic supports such a rendering, for it conveys the sense of an anomaly, the violation of a norm. There is visible life in the sky … so why are you unmoved? There is a similar life in the meaning of what you hear; are you not excited, inspired, awestruck? What is wrong with you?

You may well say, ‘I have admired the afterglow of the setting sun, enjoyed the splendour of the night sky, and marvelled at the moon floating overhead in all its glory. I might have even been moved, once or twice, to write a poem or take a picture … but I can’t do that every night.’ And, likewise, you may argue that you have read the Qur’an countless times, and performed sujud at the places conventionally prescribed for that … but that particular well of amazement has been drained dry for some time now.

You could call that witnessing and faith; I do not dispute that. But for me, the central statement in this passage rings out with even greater intensity: You shall be journeying from stage to stage. After you have written your poem or shared your snapshot, after you have read some verses and done your sujud, either in worship or during recitation, what then? What is the next stage? Is it merely the transition from life to death to resurrection, as most commentators remark? But that would happen anyway, whether you witnessed anything or not, and even if you did not believe in GOD.

The physical stages of sunset, night, and moon, or of birth, life, death, and resurrection, are meant to spark in us a spiritual movement — the kind that occasions faith and awe, or any of the reactions and convulsions of a growing heart. A soul inclined to grow is receptive, vibrant, and, above all, trusting. It is open to seeing ordinary things in a new way. It craves inspiration, and inspiration does not come unless somewhere, deep down near the core of one’s being, there is a thirst for it. That dry well yearns for the water of heaven, and if it is already full, it yearns to overflow. It will always seek more, a higher stage on the path of creative, inspired progress … for from the bounty of The Creator there is always more to be given.

Giving more is not at all difficult for GOD. You may well wonder, therefore, why it is not forthcoming. Why does your well stay dry, your gaze into the heavens unfulfilled, your heart unshaken by verses that were meant to set it trembling?

The obvious answer — the only possible answer — is that the rain to fill that well is falling, the stars are shining, and the sound of the Qur’an is echoing throughout your house …. but something is closed. I think I know what it is, or at least why it is. You wanted it, whatever ‘it’ is, closed. You wanted closure, finality, lasting possession and satisfaction. You saw the full moon, and you read the verses attentively, but you just held onto them. You did not trust that there was more.

‘Faith’ or ‘belief’ in English often conveys the sense of holding onto something so tightly that nothing will pry it loose. It is often used for statements, doctrines, and decrees. You ‘believe’ in something, and that is done, over, finished. But ‘trust’ — for me, at least — is like the look of a young child into the father’s or mother’s face. It tells that parent: ‘Whatever you have for me, I expect it to be good. I may not like it at first, but you will make it right for me. I know that I am still growing, and that you know best what will strengthen and accelerate that growth. Feed me, and I will be forever grateful. Take me by the hand, and I will follow eagerly, with eyes open, listening and learning as I go. If you open it for me, I will not close it until you tell me. I am yours, and happy to be so. I trust you.’

That, I am convinced, is what we are missing when we dive into the Qur’an and come up with empty hearts. O GOD, send me down again, even when struggling, crying, and shivering if I have to, and open my eyes to see what is beneath the surface of Your Ocean of Infinite Wisdom. I trust You.

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