I am reposting a piece I wrote about Islamic spirituality, as I am technically on a self-imposed medical sabbatical.
I find myself at spiritual gatherings (called dhikr) without fully knowing why I am there.
Being a practicing person of faith already requires so much energy and attention in the modern age. Why do more? The skeptical, analytical part of me wonders why I go to dhikr gatherings. What are the costs and benefits of going to these gatherings?
Dhikr is like a birthday party for your soul. I can’t say no to a party.
Before we delve into spirituality, let’s be clear about the basics. Belief in God and the Messenger entails 5 actions: the testimony of faith, prayer, fasting, giving charity, and pilgrimage. This is the foundation for the Islamic faith. Happy to answer any questions about these.
There is a fundamental premise that Muslims start with:
We are forgetful beings.
Human beings are essentially forgetful. When Adam eats from the tree, it’s not disobedience or because Eve gets him in trouble for pursuing knowledge. It is because he forgot what God said for a moment and he chose something other than God.
That’s the basis for our theology. We are forgetful.
Adam apologizes and so does Eve. That’s it.
We have no such thing as “original sin.” We understand Adam committed an error and that he apologized for his mistake.
We constantly forget what God wants from us, so the solution is to give the soul what it wants: remembrance of God, of creation, of things that God created (nature, etc.).
The antidote for forgetfulness is remembrance.
Structure of Dhikr
What happens at these dhikr gatherings?
The seeker asks God for forgiveness for whatever she’s done, names of God are invoked and there’s a collective prayer. These gatherings involve singing songs that remember the Beloved. There’s lots of singing. No instruments.
For more about the Beloved, I recommend reading the following posts (1) the Burda and (2) Birthday Season.
Birthday Season: A primer on the Prophet’s (S) life.
How do you love someone who have not met, never had a conversation with in real life? There are books of poetry, tomes of hadith, and meticulous details kept about who he was as a person. He was a human being, venerated like a king but he lived such a simple life, he named all his belongings.
Benefits of Dhikr
Dhikr attracts angels, protects your tongue, cleanses the heart, and fills you with love for your companions. It brings contentment and ease. The benefit of these gatherings is proportional to your spiritual state but the more you attend, the better it is for the soul. There’s no guilt or shame. It’s like you’re happy that you were invited to a party. It’s like writing too— the more you do it, the easier and better you get.
Shaykh Yasir said, “If you are floundering, then hold fast to these gatherings.” He said that the person who comes to these gatherings is never wretched.
No matter what your intention is for these gatherings, you attend because there is some kind of invitation or inclination toward it, and this is beneficial. No matter what state I enter the gathering, I leave feeling better. In fact, the next day even with less sleep feels somehow easier, lighter.
The Gift of Dhikr
These gatherings are one of the best gifts my husband ever gave me.
I never attended this kind of gathering until we were expecting our first child. Ten years into married life, neither of us was particularly inclined towards dhikr at our local masjid. I went because there was a pretty good dessert spread, but I was not considering the state of my soul. He went because someone asked him to attend. He went, so I went with him.
The first time I went was at Shaykh Brown’s house.
I was blissfully ignorant about the gathering and came bearing flowers or something edible, thinking it was sort of like a dinner party. I imagined there would be food because in my culture, there is no getting together without a tray of biryani. Well, there was no tray of biryani.
Instead, there were a hundred people in this beautiful house, sitting on the floor, in the library, or wherever there was space, waiting for the gathering to start. The women sat together and the men sat together. I noticed that each person who came greeted every single person with an embrace and a greeting.
I found this so strange.
I am not a hugger, and prefer my personal space. I shook some hands and introduced myself. I didn’t even know whose house I was in exactly, and it took a moment to figure out the tall, regal woman greeting everyone was the primary host. She smiled and embraced me like she’s known me a long time. Her ebony skin glowed, and I felt there was a radiance emanating from her face. She sort of glided. We’re friends now, and I do hope she’s not embarrassed by my writing this all down.
In the Brown house, the scent of oud permeated the entire first floor. Oud is often described as warm, intense, and earthy. I am not a fan. It smells like slightly damp soil, and the smoke does not do anything for me, but it purifies the air of all other odors and scents. I found a spot in the back of the library room, and sat closest to the books where I felt comfortable. I don’t think I talked to anyone or made an effort to socialize. The purpose of dhikr is not the socializing. A child distributed sheets of paper and I started to read some of the words in English, ignoring the Arabic entirely.
The host, Dr. Brown greeted everyone and began with a supplication. Then the singing began.
Of course, I did not join in. I witnessed the room as it hummed with melody. I felt odd in the gathering, like shouldn’t we do something more academic like read a book and discuss it? I was hungry as usual, and couldn’t really focus on the words being said, or the songs.
At the end of the night, on our drive home, my husband asked me what I thought. I said it was okay. What did you think? I asked. I don’t remember what he said but we continued to go regularly as a couple for months. I was open to seeing what happens, and that curiosity has led to some profound good. What was I going to do instead? I had no other alternatives that interested me.
The songs stayed with me, and I continued to do dhikr during the days. I started to listen to these types of remembrance songs sometimes on my commute to work, instead of the Spanish reggae I enjoyed so much. I found dhikr was much more calming, especially as I sat in rubber-necking traffic jams.
Even at the birth of my child, my OB-GYN Dr. Petraske teared up from listening to my husband’s melodious voice as he sang about the Prophet to our newborn. The absolute terror and anxiety I felt in the delivery room subsided a little by the songs my husband sang. I don’t know how he sang for so many hours, but he did! He recited the iqama, the call to prayer, and my doctor said, I’ve never seen anything like this before in all my years as a doctor. (Maybe there are not a lot of Muslims at the place where I delivered?) I also don’t think most men sing to their wives in public.
The remembrance of God relieves the mind and heart from anxiety and sadness.
Quite simply, these gatherings make my heart feel lighter.
I feel like God is there in a cosmic sense. I am seeking His forgiveness and pleasure. I am reminded of the good in my life, the subtle safety, and the infinite blessings that I cannot name. Plus, I’m greeted by a community that shares my values.
What are the costs?
These days, we go to dhikr as a family to a place that is an hour from our home. The kids fall asleep in the car, and we’re late to school the next day. The drive itself is full of traffic, but I go because I know I will get to eat out afterward, maybe a burger place near the masjid. The kids sort of love it at this point. It might be because I did it with them when they were in my belly, and so their spirit is attracted to the sounds.
What are the benefits?
It’s a different experience going to dhikr than going to the mosque for prayers—though I love that as well. It’s beneficial for my soul to gather in places like this, with people who are also inclined toward doing more than what is obligatory. I cannot enumerate the benefits. Most of the benefits are intangible.
The shaykh reminded us that we are in a time of mass distraction.
Even if we pray our daily prayers on time, we have enough to derail us in the form of a cell phone, which we carry with us everywhere. There’s so much spiritual harm on our phones, that in order to undo the harm we are instructed to regularly attend these gatherings of light, according to the shaykh.
Another unintended benefit is that I find myself caring about a community more than I want to admit. I see college friends who have kids who are taller than me. I meet new people. I don’t have kinship ties or work ties or social ties with these people who attend dhikr. We don’t live in the same place. I just want goodness for them just as I want goodness for myself. I suppose that’s what community entails: wanting for others what you have for yourself.
Sometimes I just sit in the back of the room and write in my substack while everyone else sings.
A Question For You
Have you experienced this ineffable lightness and joy of attending dhikr gatherings?
What's interesting for me in reading this is how profoundly different is the feeling invoked in me compared to when I read about the spiritual practice of Christian communities This is my bag; having grown up in a predominantly Christian environment, I've a visceral dislike of all things Church, yet my own day to day is infused with awareness of the greater tapestry, and when I hear about the practices of those who can comfortably locate their beliefs within other known orders, I feel the warmth of it, the holiness in its pure form. Thanks for sharing.
Thanks Sadia for sharing this beautiful insight, do you follow a particular ‘tariqa’?