Faith isn’t just for Fridays

 

The other day, I was walking home with my sister after college, and it was a Friday. The Jummah Salah had just ended, and a huge crowd was pouring out of the masjid, filling the courtyard and spilling onto the streets. It’s always heartwarming to see the crowd for Jummah, but I couldn’t help but wonder—where is this energy for Fajr or Isha? Why do we save our best spiritual selves for Fridays or Ramadan? Have we become Muslims of convenience, only showing up when it feels culturally or socially necessary?

This isn’t just me being critical—it’s something I’ve observed over and over, especially in our Indian households. Take Ramadan, for instance. The masjids are packed, Qurans are open, everyone’s chasing rewards. But come Eid, it’s like we slam the brakes. Eid morning starts with chaos—last-minute outfit fixes, rushing to Salah half-asleep, and then diving headfirst into food and Instagram-worthy pictures. The spirit of reflection and gratitude? Completely forgotten.

And let’s not even get started on the Quran. Every Muslim household has one—it’s wrapped beautifully and kept on a high shelf. But how often do we actually open it? Like, really open it—not just to recite, but to understand what Allah is saying to us? We’ll pour hours into exam prep, work overtime for our dream job, and spend thousands on courses to “level up.” But when it comes to the Quran, we’ll say, “Oh, I’m too busy.” Really? We can memorize formulas and write 10-page assignments, but we can’t spare 10 minutes to read even the translation?

And Salah. Oh, Salah. It’s so easy to push it off—“I’ll pray later; I’m in the middle of something.” We’ve all done it. Yet, we never “push off” Netflix or Insta scrolling, do we? We’ve prioritized dunya over deen so much that skipping Salah feels normal. Parents, too, have fallen into this cycle. They’ll say, “Study hard, get a good job, earn money,” but how often do they sit their kids down and say, “Beta, make sure that money is halal. Make sure you’re praying Salah on time.”

Here’s the harsh truth: we’ve become hollow beings. Our bodies may look alive, but our souls are empty. We’re so consumed with chasing fun, entertainment, and fleeting pleasures that we’ve neglected the very essence of our existence—our connection with Allah. Depression, anxiety, and emptiness hit us hard because we’ve filled our lives with distractions rather than meaning. We’ve forgotten that we are spiritual beings, created with the ultimate purpose of worshipping Allah.

Islam, for many of us, has become a series of rituals or a “fun-only” culture. Jummah? Check. Ramadan? Check. But where’s the depth? The intention? The genuine connection? We’ve turned into “weekend Muslims” or “Ramadan Muslims,” focusing on appearances rather than internal transformation.

The Sahaba were different. They weren’t just warriors, scholars, or merchants—they were balanced. They excelled in their worldly lives but never let go of their deen. Umar ibn al-Khattab (RA), a brilliant leader, would cry in fear of not fulfilling his responsibilities as a caliph. Abdur-Rahman ibn Awf (RA), one of the wealthiest Sahaba, used his wealth for the ummah. Khalid ibn al-Walid (RA), a military genius, would pray and cry in submission to Allah. They lived meaningful, purposeful lives.

What are we doing with ours? Perfecting Instagram selfies, binge-watching series, and splurging on brands, but hesitant to spend on Islamic books or Quranic courses. We’ve prioritized dunya over Akhirah, turning our deen into a checklist rather than a way of life.

Here’s the truth: your time, energy, and money are investments. Imagine standing before Allah on the Day of Judgment and being asked, “What did you do with the blessings I gave you?” Will you be proud of your answer?

Change doesn’t mean flipping your life upside down overnight. Start small. Commit to never missing Salah. Replace your music playlist with Quran recitations or Seerah podcasts. Read one verse of the Quran daily with translation. Enroll in a short Islamic course online. These steps might seem tiny, but they’ll fill the emptiness inside and bring your soul to life.

Islam isn’t just for Jummah or Ramadan. It’s a lifestyle—a guide for every moment. Stop being a part-time Muslim. Live intentionally. Work for your dunya, but don’t neglect your Akhirah. The dunya is temporary; the Akhirah is forever. It’s time to prioritize what truly matters. Reconnect with Allah, and you’ll find the peace and fulfillment that no amount of worldly fun can ever bring.