In the name of God, the Compassionate, the Merciful.
This book without doubt,
has guidance in it for the conscientious;
those who believe in the unseen,
and steadily practice prayer,
and give of what We have provided them.
Surah 2:1-3
“In the name of God, the Compassionate, the Merciful.” The Qur’an opens with this initiating verse reverberating throughout the Qur’an as a first verse, always a constant reminder of God as the Most Gracious, the Giver of Grace.
Imagine that, a constant reminder of God’s mercy for you, always ringing.
This first verse, referred by Muslims as the Bismillah, is the ever-persistent opening verse for 113 Chapters (Surahs) of the Qur’an. The Divine’s cosmic message of mercy is delivered to the world. God’s grace, beyond a love song, beyond a poem, with no beginning and no end, beyond the confines of time, is sent to me, to you, to everyone, past, present and future, to everything in the universe; we are all invited to respond. We are all encouraged to sit down and read.
Iqra. Read.
Iqra is the first word revealed by the Angel Gabriel to Prophet Muhammad. We are called, even beckoned into our holy texts, by the invitation from the Cherisher and Sustainer, to read our holy lives: to listen, absorb, wonder, behold, to be challenged and to be surprised.
Iqra. Read the verses of Your Life.
During these holy days of Ramadan and Lent we are invited to become introspective, to dig deep, and to be attentive. Be open to a spirit of holiness, unseen, descending, carried by the angels, flowing, and giving breath of life to you.
Holy words from the Divine always invites, marking a path to life-sustaining waters, sometimes unseen, beyond all finite touch, yet eternal in its echo of inexhaustible truth. Will we be able to embrace our capacity to trust in God’s providence, within the domain of our fragility, blundering, and limitations?
Yes! Especially, if we read and listen to holy verses as a gift to humanity, as a showing forth, as signs, as the miracle beyond the seventh level of heaven, beyond the Uttermost End, which marks the limit of human knowledge, where in the end “none save God knows the final meaning.”
As we read within our hearts’ desiring, even if we are unaware, we are being beckoned into the Divine’s design of the cosmos, a plan which anticipates a journey. A journey not for the light-hearted, yet its stirring, its quickening, is bestowed into the very sinews of our DNA.
~ ~ ~ ~
When pursuing a Master’s degree in counseling in Seattle, I was assigned as a hospital chaplain for my field placement. I was a young adult in my late 20s, and returning to the church of my childhood, trying to figure out what it might mean for me to live in a more religious way.
I was going through the motions, skeptical. Three times a week, I showed up at the Fred Hutchinson Cancer Center, and I was given a set of index cards by my supervisor. On the cards were the names of patients with their diagnoses. Some had asked to be seen; some had not. By the end of the day, I was to visit everyone whom I had “in my hands.”
One day, there was a card, and I flipped it to the back of the stack. Nothing unusual; the patient had terminal cancer. Sadly, inured by too much death, I was used to reading this note, scribbled on a card. Dying was everywhere. When I was feeling overwhelmed or not up to the task of a difficult visit, I flipped those cards to the back, to read for another day. Yet this card, with her name, kept surfacing in my mind. Unseen, yet so real. I couldn’t stop thinking about a patient I most likely would never meet. My defense mechanisms were failing. I didn’t want to see her. I was not up for the visit. I kept ignoring, even denying, a clear image of her. By the time I was putting on my coat at the end of the day, I had not stepped into her room.
And then something descended upon me. I knew I had to go see her; there was a stirring, a leaning, even a longing. I called my friend to say that I’d be late for dinner, hung up my coat, and left to find my patient.
When I walked into her room and introduced who I am, she said, “Where have you been? I’ve been waiting for you all day.”
“I know; I’m sorry; I was afraid. What do you want to tell me?”
“My cancer is gone. Here, look at my chart.”
And sure enough, her cancer was gone. It had been there one day, identified in her esophagus, as aggressive, and then suddenly no signs of the growth. The doctors’ notes were clear. She’d have a round of tests over the next few days, to make sure, but she would be released. I placed the chart back on the hook at the end of her bed and sat down in the chair next to her.
“This is amazing news; an answer to prayer, but this is not what you want to tell me.”
I couldn’t believe those words came from my mouth. Did I actually say that? We shared a silence. I waited. What else could I do?
And then she said, “You’re right. That’s not what I want to talk about. I want to tell you that I have forgiven my son for taking his own life. I want to ask for forgiveness for all my resentment, my anger, and my bitterness. I hated him at times for how much his last act on earth hurt me. I want to let it all go. I have forgiven my son.”
And with that she began to weep. It was my first time witnessing someone cry so deeply, with so much anguish. As her breath returned, she began talking about her son, his beauty, what she missed about him, how she longed to know he was safe in eternity, and how much she wanted to confess. She was asking for forgiveness, reading her life and her son’s life in the shadow of death as a way to claim both their ways of being.
I realized that she was no longer concerned about living or dying. She was on the path of peace, walking into the grace and mercy of the Divine. I did my best to honor her needs, but my actions didn’t really matter. God was providing all.
The mystics refer to the Source of All Life as an ocean, and we as a thimble. We can’t get an ocean into a thimble, but we can dip a thimble into an ocean.
And sometimes, if not often, maybe always, the dipping of a thimble is initiated, not by our own hands.
Day 1: Reflection
The holy month of Ramadan and the liturgical season of Lent are times set apart from your daily living to provide you with the opportunity to fast and to think about your thinking and to read life as a gift, yours and others. Today on this first day of Ramadan and Ash Wednesday, reflect on this question, with no judgment, and trust that you are under the gaze of the Creator who is madly in love with you:
What’s it like to be you?
