Reinterpreting the past

Updated, crossposted at HU, and will be crossposted at UPI tomorrow, insha-Allah.

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At my halaqa (Qur'anic study group) a couple of weeks ago one of the women spoke about how difficult some of the verses in the Qur'an are for her. She said that reading them made her want to shut the book and never open it again, that they made her feel far away from God. Many of us around the circle, women and men, nodded in agreement.

It's also a reaction that many believers of other faiths have confided in me about their own texts.

I remember an incident in college where I read a verse that, as translated by that particular author from the Arabic, baldly proclaimed male superiority over women. I didn't open the Book again for years because of that.

It didn't occur to me at that age to look at another translation, to question my own limited understanding, or to ask what that Arabic word really meant (was it "a degree of superiority over women" or a "degree of responsibility" or something else entirely?).

I was taught to accept what I read as the Truth, without question. So I walked away and blamed God severely.

In response to her statement, our shaykh (teacher) asked what the first line in the Qur'an is that we read and in which the rest of the Qur'an must be placed in for context:

Bismillah ar-Rahman, ar-Rahim: In the name of God, the Merciful, the Compassionate.

Without understanding the point from which the Creator Himself begins, how can we hope to understand His message? Regarding misogynistic interpretations of the Qur'an, he said that we each have the individual responsibility to read and wrestle with the Qur'an and to strive to understand it.

He said that one of the differences between angels and humans is that the angels do not question and are created simply to glorify and obey God, but that humans have been given an intellect and the ability to discern and choose, so we must use this ability, quoting the Qur’an:

“Read in the name of your Lord and Cherisher who created – created humans out of a germ-cell. Read, for your Sustainer is the most Bountiful, who has taught by the pen, that which you did not know.” (96:1-5)

In being given this intellect we have also been given a great responsibility. So many of us blame God for everything from homelessness to natural disasters, asking “Where is God? Why did He do that or allow it to happen?”

Perhaps we should also be asking, “What is my response? How can I help or change this situation?”

There will be things that we do not understand and there will be doubts, particularly in moments of trial and pain, but it's how we address those doubts that counts. When in doubt do we walk away or do we seek the knowledge and actions that enable us to stay connected and to grow as humans?

It was only the second time in my life that I’d heard a shaykh say it is okay to doubt, that doubt is a natural part of faith. When I was a child, anyone who doubted was silenced, and those who questioned were told to simply believe.

Being connected to God is no easy task. It is something I struggle to maintain every day. Years ago, I would have walked away when in doubt. Now I dig in my heels and demand help from Him. Then I read and reflect; for as the African proverb says, "Pray; then move your feet."

Over time I've learned to be more accepting of doubt, that half-lit cave where just enough light enters to read by. It is not a comfortable place to be, and the level of patience, conscience, and seeking it requires is hard to maintain. In our culture of instant gratification, it is no wonder that so many people find it difficult to pray, meditate, or to be otherwise spiritually disciplined.

I continue the five-times daily prayers and dhikr (rituals of remembrance of God) while seeking illumination because I feel that the structure and discipline enables me to be more open to the answers. Before, my doubts would have undermined my practice, and my anger at not understanding would have been directed at Him, instead of pushing me to look for the answers myself.

The answers are almost never immediate. But they come, eventually; in the form I am ready to receive and most in need of at that time.

Thinking back to the translation that I read in college that had such a negative effect on me, when I look at 1,400 years of Islamic scholarship, I see the lack of women. A woman can definitely come to the same conclusions as a man, for good or bad, but I can't help but believe that had we had over a millennia of women's authoritative scholarship, Islamic law and interpretations would look quite different in some cases.

So when I read about feminist Jews reviving the mikvah or ritual bath for women (similar to the Islamic ghusl, which is incumbent upon Muslim men and women in different circumstances), I felt excited. For some believers, rituals and customs are more important than their meanings or interpretations; they are a mark of their religious and cultural identity, of belonging to God and community. This is particularly true of the older generation and strains of more orthodox belief.

But for many who have been brought up in a Western intellectual environment where questioning authority and everything else is a rite of passage, often those traditional interpretations are not enough to ensure the continuation of the practice, or of belief itself. Sometimes, in encountering a patriarchal interpretation, of women being "unclean" for example, we lose the practice too, which is a pity.

I see many young Muslims experiencing this. The answers and practices of our parents are often not up to our "Whys?" And so practice fades. But I also see people, lay believers and scholars, returning with new ways of seeing these practices that allow them to reconnect spiritually to God and community.

Some people never move away: the traditional answers are enough, the desire to do it because it is God's will suffices. But if we ignore all those who do ask why, we risk alienating them and casting them adrift.

Instead of trying to silence them, we can welcome sincere questions as an opportunity to look at ritual with fresh eyes, to mine it for new meaning, to make it live in the hearts of another generation. For myself, and many others, it's been a necessary cycle, this one of questioning, doubt, distance, reinterpretation, and re-embrace; of coming back to tradition by assigning meanings that ennoble the woman and bring her closer to her Lord.