The Eleventh Hour

Our prophets are crying.

We have forsaken the messages sent as gifts, words of mercy and warning from the One who knows us best.

'Love your neighbour as yourself.'

'Treat others with justice.'

And 'men, treat women well and kindly, for they are a trust from God.'

Yet we have grown negligent, lulled by ego, blinded by our own self-importance.

We parade our faith like medals, convinced we are more righteous, more believing, the chosen ... as if others, also created by God, are somehow lesser.

We must stop.

Re-evaluate.

Fall silent.

Let the filth rise to the surface, so it can be cleansed.

Be less human, and more humane.

Check your entitlement, your privilege, that quiet whisper that says I deserve more, I am better than...

Ask yourself:

Do I even know that I think I am better than others?

Why Do I exalt those with wealth, status, or power, while ignoring the suffering of the voiceless?

Do I tolerate injustice or unfairness in my small pond, my home, my workplace, my community, because it’s easier to look away?

When ego is at the wheel, we crash ... every time.

In his final sermon, the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) stood before the people and reminded them:

“No Arab is superior to a non-Arab, nor a non-Arab to an Arab; no white to black, nor black to white except by piety and good action.”

He preached against tribalism, against division, against the poison of superiority.

He called us back to unity, to equality.

But what does human equality mean today?

In the 21st century, do we still believe all humans are equal?

Or have we placed conditions and clauses, hidden in the fine print of our hearts?

Equal, but not too equal.

Equal, unless they disagree with us.

Equal, unless they look, pray, or love differently.

We do love hierarchy, don’t we? The comfort of order, of knowing who stands above and who falls below.

We have a manual, a Book to show us how to live in light, balance, and stewardship.

Yet we exploit, destroy, consume, forgetting that our intellect and free will were gifts meant for stewardship, not greed. We are custodians of this planet, caretakers of one another. And we must ask ourselves, each one of us ... Are we failing in this duty?

I think we are. How about you?

It is not too late, but it is the eleventh hour.

So what can we do?

We can begin with ourselves.

With silence. With listening.

With humility, the kind that bows the head not out of shame, but out of reverence.

We can choose to be better at being human ... we have to...

And perhaps then, when we have quieted our egos, we might finally hear the prophets’ cries...not as condemnation, but as a call to come home.