AS THE WORLD turns and seasons change, our lives negotiate their own natural cycles of birth, growth, maturity, decay and death. We augment these natural cycles with artificial ones: daily commutes, morning and evening routines, regularly scheduled entertainment, and even planned holidays wherein we might find some brief respite from our shackles of employment. We ward off our need for renewal by constantly doing away with the old and ushering in the new—from the newest cell phone offerings, to evolving social media platforms and the latest fashion trends.
Beneath the cyclical monotony of these artificial cycles, adorned as they are by the comfort and ease of modern amenity, there is an unmistakable void that remains. We all do feel it—the emptiness, the spiritual sloth, the hollowness of countless forms, all empty of substance. In these latter days of great imbalance, we are in desperate need of restoring our connection to the natural order which surrounds us. We are thirsty—dying of spiritual thirst, and desperately in need of a sip from some sacred spring that might give us renewal and make us whole once more.
But despite the waywardness of our own selves, God’s natural order remains beautiful, and fixed, and constant. The world still turns, the seasons still change, and the North star still twinkles in the sky each night—right where we expect her to be, should we remember to look. And at the end of winter, the sun still crosses the equator on its apparent Northern course to initiate a new spring. We take joy in this, as blooming flowers and trees attest to the orderly power of nature, and remind us of our own need for renewal. No matter how disorderly we become, the natural order of God’s creation sings:
“ Come back, come back—a thousand times, come back! ”
So too does the Sacred Word echo, “And the stars and trees submit in prostration”, calling us to a submission—to an Islam of our own.
“If you truly believed,” said our Prophet, blessings and peace upon him, “you would go out in the morning like birds, hungry and return in the evening filled and content.” Effortless is the bird’s movement toward its provisions, gliding as it were on the wings of Providence. The bird is in submission. The trees upon which birds perch and make their nests are in submission. Even the lowly earthworm that becomes the bird’s meal is in submission—each fulfilling its purpose and its taking place within the Divine order.
Only man is the odd one out, as we squander ourselves on pursuits not suited to our souls, on desires that harden our hearts, and on thoughts not beneficial for our salvation. And yet, the natural order reminds us that we too are part of nature, and that its seasons mirror our own reality. Spring reminds us of our need for renewal, our need to “come back” to God. In a glorious supplication, our Prophet, peace and blessings upon him said:
“ Oh Lord, make the Qurʾān the Spring of my heart! ”
What we need, now more than ever, is to return to God through His sacred Word. To make the Qurʾān the Spring of our hearts that we might overcome the emptiness and monotony of our lives—that we might set our hearts in eternal bloom with the newness of nature’s spring: the greenery that cools our eyes, the fragrances that perfume our scents, the fruits delight our tastes, and the flowers that remind us of God’s bounty and Grace.
Join us as we make the Qurʾān the Spring of our hearts, and find renewal once again.