My (earnest, irate) thoughts

I recently learned about ’secret shirk’. Shirk, the Islamic term for polytheism or idolatry, is the vice opposite the virtue of tawhid, declaring that which is One, or monotheism. As I understand it, ’secret shirk’ is when you behave as if you’re in the midst of tawhid, for example by performing ritual prayer, but your intention is idolatrous because you strive to beautify those prayers for the sake of other people who are watching.

I like Islam because it is not simply a belief structure, but a way of life. Actions give form to intentions. Actions make belief — in itself an esoteric and intangible thing — a concrete thing.

That concreteness, of course, can also be dangerous. The structure can, over time, take the place of the thing it is supposed to merely contain and give form to. The actions take the place of beliefs, the rituals the place of the intentions, and you have become a hollow shell. That is when we find ourselves engaged in secret shirk — striving to appear holy to other people, rather than striving to be close to God.

On Judgment Day, it is said that God will ask us, “For whom did you pray? Not for me. So go and ask them for your reward.”

It’s so typically Jen, but I’ve always been the type that if I can’t do something perfectly, I throw it aside with great force, and go around telling everyone how unnecessary it is. But I can’t do that with salat. I know ritual prayer is one of the five pillars of Islam, one of, if not the, most important action of being Muslim. I could never tell other people it isn’t necessary. Especially when I can feel the difference in myself… my conscience isn’t pricked as easily, my tongue isn’t as guarded, my hands don’t move as quickly to help others, and, worst of all, my motivations aren’t as pure.

Nevertheless, I have been taking a hiatus from salat because my heart wasn’t in it. Though I prayed to God earnestly to make my heart soft and good, though I asked repeatedly for humility and wisdom, salat wasn’t making me closer to God. I performed the prescribed prayers quickly, out of duty, and my mind rushed on to other things, and I began to hate myself. I, and the prayers I performed, seemed hollow and empty.

Of course, not performing them hasn’t made me feel better or more fulfilled. That’s the big lie. First, the prayers go. Then other things go. Someone I used to know called this ‘the nose of the camel in the tent’. I’m not an expert on the personality of camels, but apparently if you even let their nose in, ultimately they eventually shove their whole body inside. You have to be on guard against the initial intrusion.

So taking this break has been damaging. Now I am without protective armor, more vulnerable than ever to devious whispering. Unbidden, the most vile thoughts come into my head: What a hypocrite you are, why do you wear a scarf on your head? You show everyone you are Muslim, but inside there is nothing. So then what? Take off the scarf? Then: You are so immodest, you don’t even wear a scarf. You’re not really Muslim at all. How absurd of you to talk about Islam. Why do you think about religion at all? And so on and so on, until I am stripped clean of this identity, picked down to nothing.

It is recorded that the Prophet Muhammad said, “Ruined are those who insist on hardship in matters of faith.” He said this three times. He also said, “The religion (of Islam) is easy, and whoever makes the religion a rigor, it will overpower him. So follow a middle course (in worship); if you can’t do this, do something near to it and give glad tidings and seek help (of Allah) at morning and at dusk and some part of the night.”

I feel myself being moved to pray what I can, when I can. To push myself slightly, but not too much. Like Turkish mothers, who always say to their children, Yavaş, yavaş: Slowly, slowly. For an adult, maybe it’s like: Don’t change so fast. Real change takes time.

The author Leila Aboulela wrote these words, which moved me to tears: The mercy of Allah is an ocean. Our sins are a lump of clay clenched between the beak of a pigeon. The pigeon is perched on the branch of a tree at the edge of that ocean. It only has to open its beak.