A Letter to a Sinner

Come, fellow sufferer. Let us share our pain with each other. My dear, I am not an angel. Nor do I claim to be one. I am a descendant of a man created from pitch-black earth. On top of that, my origin is from such a foul-smelling and unpleasant water. Let us leave blaming others and hating sinners to the people of asceticism. They do it splendidly. They very much want to put you and me to utter shame, to spread our faults and sins to the world, to pour the slops of reproach over us, and, if possible, to gather a crowd, first beat us with sticks and drive us out with sticks, and then stone us. If it is written on our brow, we shall see it. We are not, after all, noble-born and wonder-working like those honorable souls who are people of asceticism and people of piety; we are not as pure and spotless as a baby just born from its mother like them; on the contrary, we are wretches whose clothes are smeared with filth, mud and the impurity of oppression. Let us give the pulpits to the people of piety; let them delight in saying “Allah said” and “the Messenger of Allah said.” Let us hand over to the people of asceticism the seat of honor at feasts and the throne of gatherings; let them preach and admonish until they are drunk and immersed! Let us leave to those wonder-workers the crowd's chattering rush toward them and its circling around their hems and shoulders, so that, with boundless relief, they may soar in the heavens. Let underfoot and the thresholds be ours; let us lie mixed with the shoes. Let ruins and wastelands fall to our lot; let us sleep wrapped in spiderwebs. Let people's awl-like fingers be thrust into our eyes, let there be their taunts and rebukes, let them pass by turning their faces away in disgust, saying, “Are you even human?” – and let us, wretched as we are, say nothing. Indeed, which truth do the false festivals and artificial splendors of this world bear witness to? Whose good deeds and repentance can you say are acceptable to God, and which sin and rebellion can you call rejected? Do you know for certain which brows placed in prostration God will condemn to Hell, and which transgressors and rebels He will honor with Paradise? If the worship of those whose faces rain down awe and dignity were rejected, and the sins of the wretches from whose being disobedience blazes, whose every day has passed in the darkness of rebellion, were honored with divine mercy – who would dare to call that a mistake! Since no rank in the eyes of creatures is a guarantee of the Truth's mercy, which insult on the tongues of creatures can you call a ticket to Hell?! O sinner! A group of people set out on a journey. Their way passed through wondrous flower gardens and orchards, and by chance they came upon a pitch-black, stinking swamp. All of them fell into this swamp. Managing somehow to get out of the swamp, they would walk a little, and then sink into the mud again. From the other side of the swamp, other people in fine clothes laughed at them, did not want to help, and recoiled in disgust, saying, “If we help, their mud will get on us.” This broke the hearts of those sunk in the mud.

Then one of them prayed fervently: “Good and evil both come from God; O my God, save us from this swamp!” Then God put hope and strength into his heart. He told all who had sunk: “Every one of you, hold each other's hands tightly!” In this way a chain appeared in the middle of the swamp. The wretches, holding each other tightly, struggled to free themselves from the mud, and fell again. Unable to bear this torment, they wept, but each still took hold of his friend's hand once more. Their weeping, their being sunk in mud up to their faces, their mouths filling with mud stirred the disgust of the clean ones walking a little higher up. “You are to blame yourselves, you deserve to eat this mud,” they said, spitting at them, and went on their way singing songs. After endless torments, happiness smiled on those in the swamp too: they reached the shore. One by one they came out of the mud. But they all stank terribly. One could not bear to look at their faces. Then clouds covered the sky. Those who had come here passing along the edge of the swamp were overcome with worry: “If a flood pours down now, the roads will turn to mud and we will be stuck in the mud!” Yes, the flood poured down. The flood washed all the people smeared with mud. Not a speck of dirt remained on their bodies. Barefoot, they ran to their destination with joy and eagerness. As for those who had come along the edge of the swamp, they shrank in disgust from the puddles and mud the rain had created, and their clothes kept getting soiled in a way they had not wished. O sinner!

Did you understand the essence of the story? Leave those enjoying themselves in the rose garden to themselves! Do not look at those people of asceticism who have kept their eyes from the forbidden; look at a sinner like yourself. I too am one of your kind. Do not expect any help from those wonder-workers; draw close to the people of the ruins like yourself. Believe me, we will surely get out of this mud; believe me, the rain that will fall will make us spotlessly clean. Being spotlessly clean oneself solves nothing; do not cut yourself off from God's mercy, and do not feel safe from God's wrath. Despairing and saying, “God will not cleanse me of my sins,” means regarding God's mercy as smaller than your own deeds. Feeling secure and saying, “God will not punish me for my sins,” means considering your own misdeeds greater than God's wrath. May Allah protect us from both! I will not save you from sin, but believe that sooner or later you will get out of this swamp! A hand will be stretched out to help you, very soon! Only do not hesitate; walk toward that hope, toward the paths that lead to that hope.

Akrom MALIK