Faith on Your Feet
The expression “thinking on your feet” is one that is fairly commonplace in conversation, entailing the need to be quick in making a decision or to be able to give an answer expediently. Yet what does “faith on your feet” look like when we are challenged to make a quick, yet faithful, decision in matters concerning our faith and our religious experiences without much time to prepare, discern, or pray?
I grew up in Round Rock and have lived in the Austin area my whole life, and never made much of it or saw much significance to the everyday drives I would make along I-35 or along any of the roads going from work to home, going to the mosque, or to seeing relatives, among others.
This all came to change two weeks ago, when I embarked on a 4 day, nearly 30 mile trek from Georgetown to Austin alongside individuals from across the country in what was titled as the March for Democracy, a march which was a part of A Season of Nonviolent Moral Direct Action led by the Poor People’s Campaign, and featuring prominent personalities such as Beto O’Rourke, The Rev. Dr. William Barber, and The Rev. Dr. Liz Theoharis. This march was being held in the spirit of the historic Selma-to-Montgomery March of 1965, aiming to send a message to Washington, D.C. to demand a stop to the attacks on democracy via voter suppression and restrictions, etc., by state governors and legislatures across the country, with Texas of course being no exception.
A national fight against injustice had just come to my backyard, but I was still on the sidelines.
At the beginning of the week, just a few days before this march, I hadn’t even heard of this event, nor was I making any plans that would have me being a part, as I, like any other week, began to schedule miscellaneous things to fill up my calendar. Even after I received an email explaining the march and the purpose, I was still fairly doubtful that I would participate, given the fact that the march began on a Wednesday at 7 a.m. and would go on throughout the day for the next 4 days, and I hadn’t even had a chance to request time off from work.
On Monday, I continued to buoy on making a decision, keeping the registration page open, yet not sure if this was something I could do, but knowing that I should, given the invocations of not just my personal responsibility as a citizen of this country, but as a Muslim whose faith provided clear injunctions in upholding justice, commanding:
“O you who believe! Stand out firmly for justice, as witnesses to Allah, even if it be against yourselves, or your parents, or your kin, be they rich or poor, Allah is a Better Protector to both (than you). So follow not the lusts (of your hearts), lest you may avoid justice, and if you distort your witness or refuse to give it, verily, Allah is Ever WellAcquainted with what you do.” Qur’an 4:135
After being reminded of this verse, finally on Monday night, I received another email stating that the march was filling up in the number of allowed participants, and I didn’t think twice before registering. I knew that this was history in the making, and that this was to be an event in which I would ask myself which side of history I would be on when this happened. The words of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. in his powerful Beyond Vietnam speech delivered at Riverside Church in New York City rang incessantly, that “my conscience leaves me no other choice.” I felt that I needed to make a decision now or never. I needed to have faith on my feet.
Photo from Matthew Busch, Contributor / For The New York Times
Just a few weeks prior I felt compelled to deliver a Khutba in the aftermath of the Israeli assault on Masjid Al-Aqsa and subsequently on the civilians of Gaza, inspired by Dr. King’s speech and knowing that in the face of such injustice, silence was just as grave of an injustice. Yet, here I was, with a national struggle taking center stage just a few minutes from my home, along the streets where I grew up, still on the fence, finding different excuses which I felt took priority, from my job, to other time commitments.
Yet, both before, during, and after this march, I had been leading the Summer Seerah series at Muslim Space, The Prophet ﷺ & I, focusing each session on elements that connected the Prophetic life, example, and struggle to that of our own, especially in the society we live today and with the struggles those who are most marginalized in our society face today. I was also reminded, in having gone through the biography of the Prophet ﷺ and seeing how the people whom he was sent to grew through his example, seeing that having ambivalence, doubt, uncertainty, and even trepidation was a part of the process, especially in joining the fight against injustice against the powers that be and the systems that exist. Indeed the Qur’an reminds us of how such individuals’ hearts wavered or in their fears and anxieties they fled from God’s Cause, but those of them who were sincere and repenting were forgiven. Yet, in order to achieve this forgiveness and clemency, they made a mistake, and they struggled with their faith and their identity. At that moment they may not have directly had faith on their feet, which is exactly what God called for them, as well as us, to have, at all times.
But throughout this process, I was reminded that though this march had a national message and intention, it was also no accident that it was being held in Texas, intended for a state and state government which was seeking to restrict voter access and to blatantly subvert the right to vote, particularly for those who are on the margins, mostly from communities of color and low socioeconomic status. I was reminded of a saying of the Prophet ﷺ in which he advised the Muslim community that “whosoever goes to sleep with their stomach filled whilst their neighbor goes to sleep hungry is not of my community.”
This hunger was not just literal for me, especially in the context of the march. This hunger represented voting rights equality and access, something which I went to sleep with, yet so many thousands in the state I called home were being disenfranchised from. This hunger was the lack of equality, dignity, and respect that was afforded to our immigrant sisters and brothers by this country, which I was privileged to enjoy, having been born here. And this hunger was also the literal hunger faced by the millions in this country, many of whom are my neighbors, who are not given a living wage and forced to survive on the bare minimum, if that.
The Prophet ﷺ taught his companions, "Help your sibling, whether they are an oppressor or they are an oppressed one. People asked, "O Allah's Messenger ﷺ! It is all right to help them if they are oppressed, but how should we help them if they are an oppressor?" The Prophet ﷺ said, "By preventing them from oppressing others."
Faith for me had largely been something I kept to the prayer mat or the mosque, or in this case before the march, had kept to myself. Yet, as our tradition and our Prophet ﷺ teaches us, faith isn’t something we just relegate to one part of us, or something which we can necessarily have catered exactly as we like. It has to be something we can have on our feet, especially at times when our conscience compels us.
As I showed up to the beginning of the march after Fajr, and then each day at the same time thereafter, I reminded myself of why I was there, and why there was no need to hesitate when taking a stand, or in this case a step, for justice, as our beloved Prophet ﷺ and his family and companions did before us.
Next Week: I hope you enjoyed this post, and next week we’ll continue this discussion with some lessons I learned on the walk itself, walking for hours on end in the Texas sun, yet reminding myself of the intersection of faith and justice work, and how this was not exclusive to our time, but in the same vein as the struggle for justice within the life of the Prophet ﷺ.
