BY: AQSA RASHID
With mosques around the world closed, community gatherings banned and social distancing leading holy sites of Mecca and Medina closed, the world's almost 2 billion Muslims are celebrating Ramadan in isolation for the first time in the last century. For Muslims, Ramadan is a time in which we fast from God's blessings that we often take for granted. And while I would like to be back on campus at this time breaking fast amongst my friends, this time period is bringing new mediums of reflection for me.
Ramadan in many ways has always felt like the pinnacle of my faith experience. Regardless of how I practice my faith outside of this month, I've always found a unique sense of solace through the month of Ramadan because to me, the rituals capture the unique balance of inward and outward aspects of our faith. Fasting is a deeply personal experience. No one has to know that you're doing it but you and the one for whom you do it for. And yet, the experience is also one that is communal. Alone but together. Breaking fast, praying in unison, and standing shoulder to shoulder with hundreds of strangers all for a common purpose. Ramadan during quarantine disconnects Muslims from that communal aspect.
Man alone in Mosque by Aqsa Rashid
The benefits of spending this month in isolation, then, seems to be rooted in the introspection that the entire world may be practicing anyways through quarantine. I've been thinking a lot about the aspect of spirituality— how, regardless of people's connection to a "divine presence", it is something people may yearn for in times of a crisis. And that does not pertain to only religious connections, it is, instead, speaking to the sense of purpose, and greater meaning that we hold on to through life.
Through the unfolding events of the pandemic, I am reminded of the words of Mother Teresa, a Catholic saint, re-iterated by Khalid Latif, a Muslim Chaplain, about spiritual poverty. "The leprosy of the West is loneliness." Isolation is being felt by people around the world right now, maybe for the first time in such prolonged durations. But in a way, we may have already been living through its effects beforehand without thinking about it.
The deepest poverty that is experienced by people in the West may be spiritual poverty. That is not to imply that the East is somehow spiritually richer, as there are pockets of greed that exist all over the world. Rather, it is my positionality in the West, and the events I've seen unfold here that are making me ponder what we may be lacking as a society in this part of the world.
Though it may be a broad stroke to say so, it is my observation that people commonly come here to find wealth and material gain more than they do for meaning and purpose. And while the two do not need to be mutually exclusive, it is dangerous to prioritize the acquisition of the former rather than the latter. When capital and materialism are held to such high standards, dangers arise. Systems and structures pertaining to race and class become determining factors of how people live, and how people obtain what they have. Wealth and mobility become glorified. Ethics and morals are pushed aside.
While in quarantine, we are seeing aspects of greed— people hoarding food lines, gathering in large protests for beaches to open up, leaving first responders without protective equipment while we send billions of dollars in weapons overseas. The injustices done to human beings through our healthcare system, prison system and education system shows how inwardly poor we are, despite the hordes of money that is circulated through them. Apathy leads us to neglect others. Through it all, our sense of humanity in these places seem to die over and over again. There is no "heart" present, no sense of collectiveness nor solace where there is spiritual poverty.
In Ramadan, these are spiritual diseases that may be partially addressed through fasting. Our desire to consume more is tempered by the command to focus on spiritual nourishment of community and self over our physical hunger.
We must aspire towards the real richness of ourselves and not indulge in the facade of it. To value people over profits means we must be willing to make a conscious commitment to find something bigger than it. Ramadan allows me to return to that sense of "self-consciousness" and reflect upon how I find meaning in my own life. The basis of the month is placed upon how we can find gratitude in that which we have and how we can make meaning out of that which we do not have. To take a step further, we are guided to act for others in ways that we can— and in the midst of a pandemic, this is not limited to donations or volunteering, it also extends into how we speak to each other, how we check up on our friends and family, and how we may make meaning from the events that we do not have any control over.
I want to continue thinking about what it means to find purpose, to contribute and not consume, and to reflect upon what it may mean to be "spiritually rich" at this time. I hope this period of reflection leads to others—regardless of whether they do it through an organized religion or not— in doing the same
