Imagine asking someone to go about a summer’s day, not changing routine, keeping up energy, for about 16 to 19 hours, with no food or drink of any kind.
Many people, including me, might think it almost impossible. But around the world, millions of Muslims are in the midst of doing just that, for 30 days.
It is amazing to contemplate the sheer length of time Muslims will commit not only to denying themselves food and drink, but to taking on a spiritual discipline that includes abstinence from violence of word and thought as well as deed, calling on an abundance of faith, generosity, and compassion. And this year — as Islamophobia continues to rise, as presidential candidates talk openly about excluding Muslims at home while they are being bombed abroad, as fear widens the gap between rhetoric and reality — the ability of Muslims around the world to throw open the doors of interfaith hospitality in the spirit of Ramadan generosity is a credit to their faith in the God who is indeed Most Compassionate, Most Merciful.
Muslims around the world are reaching out with iftar (fast-breaking) dinners, gently pushing back against a hateful narrative of the violence of a few. Muslims in the United States may come from countries currently being bombed, occupied, and manipulated by Western greed. Many endure distrust, slander, and violence. And this month they will continue to do so … on an empty stomach. Yet in the midst of systemic and personal violence, the overwhelming majority responds with endurance, patience, kindness, and outreach. This is the grace of God at work.
For many, this abundance of kindness — patience, hospitality, and outreach — is an outgrowth of the fast itself, not merely an addition to it. My Muslim friends see fasting as more than a duty — it’s a difficult but profound joy.
Most Muslims I know emphasize the dependence on God that fasting illuminates. There is something comforting about believing that God will uphold you through your physical weakness. But there is also something distressing in experiencing the hunger that so many experience involuntarily, and knowing that while you may break your fast after sunset, others who cannot die of hunger and malnutrition.
It is only when we realize that God intends for us to be instruments of compassion to one another, and enjoins us to feed each other, care for each other, build up our world together, that we can see our dependence upon God is not just about our survival, but about our growth into people who can give of ourselves for the sake of one another.
Fasting illuminates this truth. Knowing we can survive on little, we can give more to those who have nothing. Muslims who are able are even more generous during the month of Ramadan — iftar dinners are open to the poor and extra charity is given. At the cost of their own comfort, Muslims during the month of Ramadan stand in solidarity with the poorest and most vulnerable and give of themselves to make the world a better place. This generosity expands the heart and soul, and when magnified through the worldwide Muslim community, kindness increases mimetically and exponentially. The world is a better place each year for Ramadan. New possibilities break through barriers when people, in empathy with those most in need, push themselves beyond the boundaries they may have thought confined them.
During Ramadan, Muslims rely on positive imitation of each other to uphold them through the long days, filling the physical deprivation with spiritual richness. Non-Muslims would do well to model and imitate their fortitude, solidarity, and compassion. It may be very difficult for non-Muslims to fast throughout the whole month, but the compassionate spirit of Ramadan can manifest itself in other ways.
Joining with Muslims, we can dare to make another impossibility possible: While Muslims fast from food and water, I call upon our government to fast from drones and bombs, from night raids and occupations, from violence of all kinds. During these days when Muslims give of themselves to show solidarity with the poor and vulnerable, let us have the courage to see the faces of the victims of our violence — those who have lost limbs and loved ones to the greed and megalomania of the powers that be, those who live in fear under the drone of drones, those displaced, those deprived of food for even longer than 19 hours a day.
Muslims go beyond their physical limits to rely on God, not only to provide for them but to help them become their best selves, in solidarity with the most vulnerable. May we all go beyond our mental limits that frame the world in terms of “us” versus “them,” and recognize our human solidarity with those we deem our enemies.
May we discover a strength we never knew we had, as we emerge from behind the shield of weapons that eat away at our own souls.
As Muslims use the money they save on food for themselves to feed others, may we use the money we save on weapons to invest in peace and hope.
The miracle of Ramadan is not that God can replace our need for food, but that God can help us to feel the plight of the hungry and to generously give of our sustenance. Just so, when we lay down our arms, God does not take the place of weapons in our security — but the trust and empathy built from seeing each other face-to-face makes us more secure than any weapon ever could.
Ramadan, the month in which the Holy Quran was revealed to the Prophet Muhammad, is much more than a month of fasting. It is the month in which God reveals God’s self to be Most Merciful by drawing out the mercy of human beings. God calls for us to care for each other. A fast from violence as well as from food would help transform the world of war into the peace of God.
Let us call upon our leaders to take a permanent fast from violence. Let us join in solidarity with Muslims and all people, and build new possibilities we can barely imagine until we start living into the love of God, Most Compassionate, Most Merciful.
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