A former Muslim's reflections on some of the ethical disparities of fasting
by Wissam Yousif—
Ramadan has two faces.
Most people see its happy face. Ramadan is a happy part of the year for Muslims, and no one can really tell why. On one hand, Muslims have to fast Ramadan anyway, so they are not looking for an extra blessing, but rather a fulfillment of an ordinance, a Pillar of Islam. On the other hand, they talk about a month that is especially generous in its blessings, “Ramadan Kareem,” when God multiplies His rewards for good deeds more than the rest of the year. It sounds like He doesn’t care for benevolence, for example, throughout the rest of the year, the way He cares for benevolence in Ramadan.
Because of that, Muslims anticipate Ramadan, so much that, at least during its beginning, you can see people happy, excited, celebrating. The “First Ten” days are a celebration. The “Last Ten” are more of a survival. All through Ramadan, TV channels in Iraq show better, newer shows—comedies, soap operas and game shows. “Ramadan Kareem” has the ring of “Merry Christmas”, and children are the most excited about Ramadan’s happy face and most oblivious to its other face.
Workers and employees, anyone with any job, may not see Ramadan’s other face, but they certainly show it. They have to wake up earlier for the Morning Meal “Suhoor.” They know they won’t be able to eat or drink the whole day (Ramadan comes in a nicer part of the year this time for Baghdad, an average high of 100 degrees, but let’s not forget that they won’t have their air-conditioners running most of the time). They know that no matter how much water they drink in the morning, they will get thirsty the moment the muezzin calls for the beginning of the fasting day, that the bitter-salty taste will remain in their mouths until the evening. Even those who don’t fast can’t eat or drink in public.
In 2010, the year before I came to the U.S., I, an engineer, was assigned to go with a surveyor to a village in the Babylon province, to pick a piece of land for a water project, on the first day of Ramadan. We went to that district’s water department, asking for a local engineer and a local surveyor to accompany us. Every one of them showed Ramadan’s other face: “I’m fasting,” said one employee with a shiny bronze face through his fasting breath. “Okay,” said we, “we still need to see a piece of land to get drinking water to the villagers. We assume you have air-conditioned cars you can use. We will survey the land ourselves and you can stay in the car.” “Still,” said that employee,” I’m fasting. If I travel a total of any more than 57 miles, I’ll have to break my fasting and redo it all over again. I won’t do that. Don’t you have any regards for our dry lips, our pious struggle? Don’t you respect God’s month?”
We went back home, and wrote a creative visit report. As far as I know, that village still relies on potable water trucks.
That employee may have seen Ramadan’s first face, but he showed us its second face.
The face that Jesus sees.
The Babylon employee neither did his job nor did he care for the villagers. He did not care about the very God he was fasting for. He did not show us God’s face with his fasting, but his own. All he cared about was his own fasting. He did get to relax in his office that day, and that was all he benefited from when he fasted.
“Moreover, when you fast, do not be like the hypocrites, with a sad countenance. For they disfigure their faces that they may appear to men to be fasting. Assuredly, I say to you, they have their reward. But you, when you fast, anoint your head and wash your face, so that you do not appear to men to be fasting, but to your Father who is in the secret place; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you openly.” —Jesus, Injeel, Matt. 6:16-18.
Fasting as Christians may not release us from our work into an air-conditioned space, but it promises a heavenly reward.
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