Normally, when I return to this blog, it is an act of reflection. There is a specific rhythm to it: I read my words multiple times before posting, allowing the thoughts to iterate in my head until they settle. Today, however, I find myself holding two seemingly contradictory concepts at once. I want to “regurgitate” them here to see how they might fit together.
The First Concept: The Sufi Way
To me, the “Sufi Way” represents the perpetual struggle to be truly content with the present. It is the belief that whatever situation you find yourself in is a result of a Divine decree.
In this framework, life is distilled into two fundamental responses: Sabar (Patience) and Shukar (Gratitude). These core values were deeply instilled in me during my time with the Tablighi Jamaat. It is a beautiful philosophy—the idea that you are exactly where you are meant to be. It teaches that your Rizq (provision) is already written. This doesn’t imply an invitation to passivity; rather, it suggests that one should give their absolute best effort while leaving the ultimate result to God. In this view, Rizq is a vast concept, encompassing not just wealth, but housing, health, and all worldly gains.
The Second Concept: The Echo Chamber
While the Jamaat taught me contentment, they also emphasized the necessity of staying “connected to the work.” The tension began when I enrolled in a one-year course with Tanzeem-e-Islami.
I wasn’t committing a transgression or doing anything “wrong,” but my shift in perspective was not well-received by my original circle. This is where the echo chamber reveals itself: when a community is built around a singular methodology of preaching or thinking, any deviation—even if it is toward further learning—is often met with discontent.
It was a striking irony: the very people who taught me to be content with God’s plan seemed deeply discontented with my choice to explore another scholarly path. It made me realize that, sometimes, the “work” of a group can become more important to its members than the spiritual principles the group was founded upon.
A Complex Intertwining
It would be easy to paint Tanzeem-e-Islami as the “intellectuals” and the Tablighi Jamaat as “rigid,” but reality is far more nuanced. At the time, I was working with the Jamaat, yet my local masjid was run by the Tanzeem. We weren’t allowed to conduct our work in that masjid, just as Tanzeem members would likely be restricted in a Jamaat space.
Yet, the threads are intertwined. The boundaries are porous in unexpected ways. For example, the son of the Mudeer (Principal) of the Tanzeem school spent a one-year tashkeel (deployment) with the Tablighi Jamaat.
The “ecosystem” of each masjid or even the elders within set groups is different. I recall hearing the late Haji Abdul Wahab Sahab remark that students in the madrasah at the Raiwind Markaz were “wasting their time” with studies when they could be giving Dawat (inviting others to the faith). To him, the work was so paramount that all other paths were secondary. Conversely, I heard from late Bhai Wasif Manzoor that while Dawat is Bil Wasta Ibadat (indirect worship) and Zikar, Ilm, Namaz, and Quran are Barai Rast Ibadat (direct worship), because Dawat is the act Prophet Muhammad ʿalayhi as-salām used to do to bring people to direct Ibadat. These elders held opposing views on the hierarchy of practice, yet they held each other in the highest regard.
Finding the Quiet Center
My mind wanders in these directions because I have a tendency to “jell” with whatever group I spend time with. Had I spent my youth with socialist rebels, I suspect I would be defending their cause today. Perhaps it was better, then, that I spent mine in the world of preaching—a path that seeks to benefit the believer and does no harm.
As the Jamaat predicted, I eventually left the structured work of both groups. My journey has taken a turn toward the secular and the simple. I shifted my focus toward my career; I spent time on physical health and exercise, and later left that behind too. Now, I find myself in a phase of revisiting simple concepts in my leisure time.
Is this a loss of fervor, or is it a different form of the Sufi Way?
I am learning to find the same Sabar and Shukar in my job and my technical studies that I once sought in organized religious work. I’ve moved from the loud, communal echo chambers to a quieter, more personal space. The journey continues—not in the tired feet of a traveling preacher, but in the mind of someone trying to find God in the simple, mundane rhythms of daily life.
Note: AI helped me find the right words and structure.