Unity Mosque Khutbah June 2022 [main text]

Raquel Saraswati

I started thinking about this at 10:30 last night. As in, really and seriously thinking about it. I told [Name]
on Wednesday night that I was completely overwhelmed and kicking myself for not rescheduling, and
that I felt like there was no way I was going to get anything written that was going to make any sense.

As he does without apology but always with love: he called me on my you-know-what. He said: it would
be no better next month. In other words: girl, you could push this out as long as you want – you’ll still
end up doing it the next minute.

No lies detected.

In other words: know your own nature, and stop fighting it. As predictably sleepy as I am, I am hoping
that you find value in what has been placed on my heart by Allah. Oh and by the way, I stood at the page
for several hours and wrote nothing. Whatever I’m saying now was written at 5 am. Today.

It has always been this way – whether in high school or now, at thirty eight and a half years old (the and
a half is important, I swear), when there’s a massive project due at work – I just can’t write until the last
minute. My therapist has lots of theories about this. But what I’ll tell you is that today, and for this, it’s
been worse. I think it’s because it’s the internet. And my faith. Intersecting. And the internet has been
the site of a lot of my adult religious trauma. I think the same is true for some of you, who have also
seen what happens online transitions into your daily lives.

I was always very motivated to act in service of others. My conditioning was such that I leaned toward a
certain subservience in my personal life and in the presence of elders out in the world. That
subservience has and does (I’m still working on it) coexist in peculiar harmony with the me some of you
know: fairly opinionated, and always ready to take on a bully.

To this day, though, I continue to be willing to take on a bully for anyone – but myself. I’m still learning
how to do that.

Now, subservience and being in service to others aren’t remotely the same thing. But if they exist at the
same time, and they are joined by both trauma and a faith-based drive to act on that desire to protect
and help others – to be ever self-sacrificing – a young person is at high-risk for exploitation,
commodification and abuse by elders in movement spaces – and indeed by the movements themselves.
That self-sacrificing and “the work” can be positioned as a stand in for care, for tenderness, for rest, and
for the nurturing, guidance, and kindness that young person actually needs.

Now, it’s not that I didn’t have a single warning. In fact, one of the few people to express concern about
the path I was on was [Name], the weekend we met, in 2007. But I didn’t know him then, and I was told
not to believe him. There were a couple of others, also; but without getting into it – it was complicated.
It also doesn’t help when some of the people coming down hard on those you’re working with are
sometimes hateful people themselves. (Not Name.)

When I was 21, I experienced my first round of online bullying as a queer Muslim. Up until then, my
experience with bullies was in real life; people with varying degrees of hostility and effectiveness at
causing me harm. And it was those real-life bullies who caused me to believe something that would
become an enormous personal liability: that not only was my purpose to always ensure everyone else’s
wellness, safety and comfort; but that ultimately, I didn’t deserve my own life if I didn’t live only for the
safety, wellness and happiness of others. I took that very seriously. I believed it was a good thing. I went
through life as though walking through a rushing sea, tensing my body against the crushing weight of the
sense of responsibility and duty that enveloped and rushed at me at all times. I used religion both to
comfort myself and to push myself. Quran chapter 4, verse 135 – believers, conduct yourselves with
justice, and bear true witness before God – even if it be against yourselves, your parents, or your kin – I
had it printed on my desk, using it to justify endless and often dangerous labor – “even though it was
against myself.” My self, my body, my mental health, and my spirit.

By 23, I was caught up with a crowd that claimed to love our faith, and that their desire to inspire reform
“from within” was not from a place of self-hate, financial opportunism or ego, but from a place of
motivation for social justice.

The people around me were either nearly twice my age, or well beyond that. They told me how much I
could help, assured me of how they’d been misunderstood, and how my being, my approach, and my
conviction were so important to this work, ostensibly done to protect others and fight oppression. And
so for years, I worked. Around the clock. And multiple jobs, too. I withstood the abusive “mentor” who
would regularly scream at me, mock me, deny me living wages (I would justify them paying me per year
what they would make at the one speaking event they flew to first class because they told me it was all
for the cause), and force me to work hours so long that once, at 25, I collapsed out of the shower and
onto the hard tile floor. I watched clumps of my hair fall into the drain and worked with constant
migraines and teeth that shattered in the back of my mouth, leading to infections I couldn’t afford to
treat and that nearly killed me. I withstood sexual harassment, threats, hate mail, and inadequate
medical care when I had any at all. I constantly gave away money at the cost of my own security; and
participated in projects where I was told my presence as someone who could speak positively of Islam
was “necessary.” (I didn’t know it, but I was a token.)

But I also showed up in safe community spaces – like this one - as though none of this harm was
happening. As if I was okay, happy, and had capacity to serve there, too.

Until I couldn’t.

I couldn’t, and I also didn’t know if I could turn back to my community and say that I needed them. (I
could, it turns out, alhamdulillah.)

This is all very depressing, I realize. It’s also the most open about this I’ve ever been, and it’s terrifying.
And I want to name that it wasn’t that all those years were for nothing, or all horrible, or completely
devoid of love. I had deeply supportive loved ones and colleagues, too. People who, if they knew the
extent of what I was going through, would have done so much more. People who would maybe have
even staged a loving intervention. A best friend who would come over, crawl into my bed, and hold me
as I shook. Muslim community and queer Muslim community with whom I worshiped and laughed and
created and loved. Loved ones and family who wrote me sweet notes I didn’t always respond to; and
who made sure I ate. Sometimes, even a boss who had my back. And: I also feel really proud and
grateful for the opportunities I have had to help others. Because of the work that I’ve done, I’ve been
given the sacred opportunity to intervene in literally hundreds of cases to remove people from harm
and prevent harm against them. I’ve always downplayed this and kept it rather private; but Allah as
allowed me to support people in getting out of forced and/or abusive marriages, escape acts of harm
against their bodies justified by culture or falsely in the name of faith; getting out of abusive homes;
preventing self harm or suicide, and lots, lots more. I’ve been deeply honored to officiate marriages in
our communities; carry out baby-naming ceremonies; and be lovingly referred to by many young people
as their “village auntie.” In the last several years, I’ve felt loved and held in ways I didn’t think possible
(even as my heart has at times broken). And today, I have my dream job: I lead diversity, equity and
inclusion work at an international NGO focused on peace and social justice; I adore my colleagues and
my supervisor (a former Baptist minister) and the head of our organization (a Palestinian Quaker) treat
me with care. I am here today in my personal capacity, only, but every day I shake my head in absolute
wonder and awe at this blessing and these people. I just marked one year working here and even the
most stressful day is one of my best days. I am able to do exactly what my purpose is in the world: to
create safer spaces and to help people to grow in their understanding, empathy and action for
marginalized people. And I am able to do so among those with whom my values are in alignment; and
who don’t expect me to do it alone. Who say thank you and offer affirmations without a catch. Who text
me during Ramadan and, who when a situation is particularly stressful, will text me: “you and I are home
here” and “I am here. Anytime. Just call. You will not take on this burden alone.”

And now, of course, I fear I’ve talked way too much about myself, and what people might say. Will I
sound too much like a victim, etc? But in the words of Megan Thee Stallion, adapted to remove an
expletive: “I’d rather be a [word for woman you find objectionable] cause that’s what you’re gonna call
me when I’m trippin’ anyway.” In other words, people are going to call you whatever they’re going to
call you – regardless of it’s accurate or if you actually possess the attributes they claim you do. I can only
hope that in this uncharacteristically personal narrative I’m now typing at 12:14 pm, today, that
whatever Allah has inspired me to say speaks to at least one of you.

But in all of this is something I feel really passionately about: the very real need to work toward these
things and my wish for:

1) A world where our people – and our young people especially - are not so pushed to the fringes
that they find themselves exploited in the name of any cause; and especially not one that
manipulates them using their very real love for and commitment to their faith. May we keep
them so safe and provide them with so many real and loving spaces that they never find
themselves in a position where vultures look like safety.
2) A community in which seeking “bearing true witness and working for justice – even if against
yourselves” – is something we teach our young people as yes, a moral imperative – but never
something that should drive us to go against Islam’s very real requirement that we not harm
ourselves, and these bodies Allah created through overwork, service to capitalism, or at the
hands of those all too ready to commodify them.
3) That you (and we) establish rituals of self-preservation, self-care, mutual care and love within
our movement spaces; and eradicating from them the oppressors who mask themselves in
words of self-righteousness and demonstrations of false conviction. There is a hadith which says
“your body and has a right over you.” What if we moved as though this is so? What if we spoke
not just of the right we have to make decisions about our own bodies – but of the right our body
has over US? How would you move differently? How would you care for yourself differently?
What would your work hours look like? Your nourishment? Your movement and pursuit of real
wellness? The How would you respond to the fatigue and overwork of others? How would you
 care for them? The Quran chapter 40 verse 61 that “Allah made the night for you so that you
might seek repose (rest) in it, and made the day radiant. Surely, Allah is most generous to
people, but most people do not give thanks.” In this, rest is the inseparable companion of the
light of day; and that among Allah’s gifts of bounty is rest. As we are not to deny the miracles of
Allah; shall we not give thanks through resting our bodies? Is this, too, not an act of worship?
4) The commitment of each of us to not counter Allah’s very nature by refusing to offer ourselves
the mercy and compassion that is Allah. How arrogant, how harmful, how dangerous, and how
against our own Creator to do such a thing. You deserve a soft life. You deserve as much
wellness as others deserve your care. You deserve fellowship and safety just as much as you
must love and serve. There is another hadith which says “do good deeds properly, sincerely, and
moderately. Always adopt a middle, moderate, regular course, whereby you will reach your
target.” Also: “the good deeds of any person will not make him enter Paradise, unless God
bestows his mercy on me. So be moderate in your religious deeds and do what is within your
ability.” Certainly nothing that harms you – even if you get it done – is actually within your
ability. A harmed act completed and ability are not synonyms outside of oppressive systems.
Remember too that pieces of your identity may be all tied up in the very things that are harming
you: overwork, people-pleasing, self-sacrificing; withstanding abuse. That’s a difficult one to
admit. You may also experience grief as you release these from your person. You may rebound (I
am currently struggling with the overwork – but in a safe environment, which makes it harder to
stop!). It is okay to feel grief. These parts of you are like a friend who has been in your life since
your infancy. They have been more reliable, maybe, than some people. They’ve been more
consistent than so many other things. But like a harmful so-called friend, when you are saying
goodbye to harmful ways of being, you may feel grief. That is okay. Like all grief, you must
process it, let it happen. You may experience guilt if part of your work – even if you didn’t intend
it – has harmed others. Neglected friends, partners, family; or even those who felt hurt by your
association with those they didn’t realize were actively harming you. It is okay for that to feel
complicated; and those who know your heart will sit with you in mutual care, forgiveness,
compassion, and healing.

Someone told me a couple of years ago that she can’t stand the phrase “you can’t pour from an
empty cup.” Because, she said, what’s in that cup is actually for you. Only for you. What you give
must come only from the overflow; when you are full up on wellness, on rest, on nourishment.”
May you draw radical but compassionate boundaries. No need to say “sorry” every time you
cannot or do not want to do something. “No” is a complete sentence.

Critical compassion is a discipline. Radical compassion is an act of worship.

Jaiya John, Black and Indigenous brilliant soul, says: “Rather than seek to purify the air your
oppressor has polluted, fill yourselves with a new air; from a fresh, unpolluted source. If this
requires new spaces, migrate to them or create them. Be willing to start from blessed scratch.
Revolution, even against the worst of things, can be joyful, for it grows in the Love we share for
the best of things…operating from love and what you love, you tap a sustaining source. Love’s
water may propel you less dramatically, but you will survive the desert. Stay close to what
sacredly Loves you. Stay even closer to what you sacredly Love.”
Finally, I wish for you self-love, gentleness, and deep rest in the infinitely merciful and forgiving embrace
of Allah.

In the words of Ehime Ora, a Nigerian writer and priestess, “You live the best way you can in a world
that attempts to destroy you.”

More from Jaiya John: “daughter, you are not a landing place. Not dumping ground. Not prey. Not a
performance. Not a sacrifice. You are a ceremony, holy and inspired.” I need to hear “daughter.” You
may need to hear: “child: you are not a landing place. Not dumping ground. Not prey. Not a
performance. Not a sacrifice. You are a ceremony, holy and inspired.”

This week, I’d like to ask you to do something. Please open your journal, or a word document, or your
notes app; and write a list, or a piece of prose; or even make a collage of some kind – whatever works
for you - detailing the ways in which you have wronged yourself out of your desire to do more, serve
more, please more, and achieve more. Then, beloveds, I would like you to sit with each of them. First,
ask for forgiveness; then, give yourself forgiveness. Then, engage Allah, engage your heart, engage your
community to seek the medicine for your soul; the ways in which you will give yourself self-restoration
and receive sacred restoration. Pray, with me,

“My lord, indeed I have wronged myself, so forgive me. And Allah forgave. Indeed Allah is the forgiving,
the merciful.”

“My lord, indeed I have wronged myself, so forgive me. And Allah forgave. Indeed Allah is the forgiving,
the merciful.”

“My lord, indeed I have wronged myself, so forgive me. And Allah forgave. Indeed Allah is the forgiving,
the merciful.” Quran 28:16

Ameen

and thank you.