Haj: An Inward Voyage
بِسۡمِ
ٱللهِ ٱلرَّحۡمَـٰنِ ٱلرَّحِيمِ
The following is adapted
from Haj: An Inward Voyage by Shaykh ‘Abd
al-Hakim Murad Timothy John Winter. It
is found in Emel magazine, Issue 74, November 2010. This feature was first published in issue 51,
December 2008. Haj is a journey on many planes. Shaykh ‘Abd al-Hakim takes us through the
emotions involved in connecting with the unseen.
Everything in existence
has a centre; and if what matters to Heaven is the worship of devoted Muslim
souls, then the centre of this terrestrial universe is surely the Ka’bah. No other place on earth is the magnetic centre
of so much piety, love, and yearning. The
Ka’bah represents, for the believing heart, the Eternity of Allah (s.w.t.), Who we worship and serve and
adore – utterly unlike any created being. He is the Final Mystery around Whose Unimaginable
Throne the unimaginable angels turn. But
as the pilgrim approaches the Ka’bah, the “Ancient House”, he knows through
some mysterious symbolic logic in his heart that this is the truest
representation of something – absolutely beyond representation or imagining.
Muslims are faithful to
the second commandment: no graven images. Abraham (a.s.),
who broke his father’s idols and was expelled into the desert, came here to
establish the purest sanctuary of the worship of the One True God. Later generations forgot this simplest of all
commandments, and 300 statues were set up around the house that Abraham (a.s.), together with his eldest son,
built in this lonely valley. When the
Prophet Muhammad (s.a.w.) entered the
city after 30 years in exile, he rode his camel around the shrine, and pointed
with his staff to each ugly, shameful image. As he did so, each one fell forward on its
face. And the Prophet (s.a.w.) raised his voice, reminding the
world:
سُوۡرَةُ بنیٓ اسرآئیل / الإسرَاء
... ٱلۡحَقُّ وَزَهَقَ ٱلۡبَـٰطِلُۚ إِنَّ ٱلۡبَـٰطِلَ
كَانَ زَهُوقً۬ا (٨١)
… “Truth has (now) arrived, and falsehood perished: for falsehood is
(by its nature) bound to perish.” (Surah al-Isra’:81)
Muslims, privileged
heirs of the purest monotheism, are honoured to bow towards the Ancient House
five times in every day. The House thus
becomes a great vortex of prayer. If one
were to view this earth from above, with a light visible in the heart of every
Muslim at prayer, one would see an endless series of luminous ripples and waves
moving around the globe. As the people
of the West are increasingly honoured by the presence of Islam, formerly dark
regions are now filling up with points of light, as the absolute call of “No
god but Allah”, is heard triumphantly in the spiritual ruins of materialistic
cities. Five times a day and more, the qiblah draws our attention away from
what matters so much less. “Allahu Akbar”, “Allah is Greater”, means,
turn towards the symbol of His Unknowable, Unfathomable, Majestic Unity and
Beauty.
As the Muslim stands to
pray, rising above and beyond those who are trapped in their own desires, he
pushes behind him everything that has made him forget Allah’s (s.w.t.) Power and Scrutiny and Mercy. Sleep facing the qiblah; never relieve yourself facing the qiblah, die facing the qiblah,
lie in your grave on your right side, facing the qiblah, awaiting the Final Call, which will Raise you to life, just
as the adzan raised you from
spiritual death in the world.
Such a place is held in
fear and awe. But in our Abrahamic
religion, we move towards that place, through our fear and awe, to find love
and stillness. Where the greatest crowds
on earth come together, we find peace. The faces of those who have just returned from
haj reawaken the desire for the House
in all who see them.
سُوۡرَةُ الشَّرح
إِنَّ مَعَ ٱلۡعُسۡرِ يُسۡرً۬ا (٦)
Verily with every difficulty there is relief. (Surah ash-Sharh:6)
Abraham (a.s.) is Told this:
سُوۡرَةُ الحَجّ
وَأَذِّن فِى ٱلنَّاسِ بِٱلۡحَجِّ يَأۡتُوكَ رِجَالاً۬ وَعَلَىٰ ڪُلِّ
ضَامِرٍ۬ يَأۡتِينَ مِن كُلِّ فَجٍّ عَمِيقٍ۬ (٢٧)
“And proclaim the pilgrimage among men: they will come to you on
foot and (mounted) on every kind of camel, lean on account of journeys through
deep and distant mountain highways; (Surah al-Haj 27)
That Allah (s.w.t.) Commanded, and Promised; and the
haj shows how He Honours His Promises.
The “valley without crops” is sterile
and austere, ringed by jagged peaks: Uqhuwana, Khandama, Tsawr, Hira’. The culmination of haj, at Arafat, is the simplest and most ancient of rituals: simply
standing “where tears fall and prayers rise”, with two million broken hearts. The beauty is in the rigorous ancient
austerity of the rites, but also in the faces of a thousand races, all filled,
as the sun sets, with the light of knowledge, and the hope for Forgiveness.
The city draws in these
lovers of Allah (s.w.t.) each year,
and then sends them home, like a heart pumping blood through the body. Most pilgrims have not come before, and as
they approach, chanting the reply to Allah’s (s.w.t.) Command to Abraham (a.s.),
“At Your service, here I am,” their hearts begin to melt at the unfamiliar
sights and rituals. Stripping away all
their pretentiousness, they wind on the ihram,
as though ready for the grave and its questioning angels. At once, memories long suppressed bubble up to
the surface. The light of the Ka’bah
makes us see our sins, and as we look within we are horrified by what we see. Forgetfulness, stupidity, laziness, cruelty,
and more, in sins repeated year after year. Wrongs never put right, hearts still unhealed,
come to mind painfully. The entry to the
city is a time of fear, for there is no fear greater than that we might go to
our graves unforgiven. The forms of haj must be obeyed; but Acceptance is Allah’s
(s.w.t.) Alone and is not in our
power.
“Here I am,” and the
pilgrim stands before the House of Allah (s.w.t.).
The mood of Madina is beauty, jamal; but the mood of Makkah is rigour, jalal. The Ka’bah seems like an optical illusion,
growing vast and majestic as one approaches, the eye disoriented by the velvet
blackness of its coverings. Everyone
seems to be talking – but the voices are of men and women engrossed in private
prayer. While walking around the House,
there are no set formulas, one speaks what comes to the heart. Qur’anic verses, prayers, and litanies of the Prophet
(s.a.w.), or words of contrition of
one’s own devising: all may be heard. Some
pilgrims are in tears. And at the most highly
charged place of all, the Multazam, beside the golden door, the atmosphere of
hope, fear, love, and yearning, cannot be described.
“The accepted haj has no Reward other than the Garden,”
the hadits tells us. The haj
is a purgation: uncomfortable and physically exhausting. Following the rules crushes the ego. Once round the Ka’bah can take an hour, but
the pilgrim must circle it seven times. The
crowds are immense, the heat staggering, the accommodation basic. Many who find a scrap of cardboard on which to
sleep consider themselves fortunate. But
at the end: a new birth, as the successful pilgrim “leaves his sins behind like
a newborn child.”
Part of the spiritual
power of the haj lies in its
inculcation of wisdom. We may return to
many of our ugly habits. But the memory
of a sudden encounter with the “Clear Signs of Allah,” and of the power of
repentance, stays with the pilgrim, as a reminder of the urgency of our need to
remain pure of heart, and close to our Lord. Often, decades later, a memory of
the haj can pull a sinful man or
woman out of apparently hopeless vice. In
that sense, the haj never comes to an
end.
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