The Friday Sermon in the West Bank

by Dr. Abdul-Sattar Kassem

Over a long stretch of time, close to two years now, I have not heard anything in the Friday sermon that I could actually benefit from. I used to hear sermons in the past that ranged between ignorance of religion and sheer genius of interpretation and analysis, but now it is very hard to come away with even one useful sentence that might add to what I already know, or even to the general knowledge of ordinary worshippers who never received much education. It seems to me, more often than not, that the sermon is nothing but padding and idle chatter, aimed at nothing beyond discharging an obligation.

The sheikh stands at the pulpit — and of course the voices vary, from the mellow tone that draws the listeners in, to the flagging voice that lulls the listener to sleep — praises God and finishes the opening of the sermon, then begins speaking about matters and issues that can hardly have any direct bearing on people’s lives, their pains, their sorrows, their hopes, and their aspirations. The preacher may tell us about paradise, giving us descriptions of it, the lengths of its gardens, the size of its dates, pomegranates, and grapes; he may describe for us the beauty of the wide-eyed maidens of paradise, and how many years the touch of their hand is worth. Or he may speak of the fire, of the coarse and stern angels’ lips, of the burning sparks that shoot from their eyes, of the scorpions, snakes, and burning nails that the people of the fire walk upon and lie down on. Or the sermon might just as well be about the devils of men and jinn, and their methods of temptation and seduction, and so on. And if the preacher happens to be a genius, he might touch on some of the virtues of good conduct between people. In any case, it is exceedingly rare for a preacher to address a sensitive social, political, or economic issue that people are currently suffering from and that requires solutions; the sermon remains confined to a set of clerical, theological basics that the Muslim has heard since the tenderest age, adding nothing to the worshipper’s knowledge, but rather pushing him to become even more clerical in outlook, and even further detached from practical life and its concerns.

Stay well clear of politics, and of the economic and social problems that might carry even a veiled criticism of the ruler, and after that, say whatever you like about Zimbabwe or the land of Waq-Waq, or the isles of ghouls and fairies, and contribute, in your own particular way, to keeping people as simple-minded as possible.

Rarely do we find, among the preachers, one who touches on Zionist policies such as land confiscation and the expansion of settlements, and rarely does anyone speak about what we ought to do in the face of the challenge of occupation. As for the idea of resistance, it simply does not exist at the very pulpit that ought to be rousing people to jihad.

It is clear that the preachers fear the security men and the ruler more than they fear God, and they forget that the greatest jihad is a word of truth spoken before a tyrannical ruler, and they forget that a trust is a heavy burden that must be discharged, or else God’s punishment is severe. It is clear, too, that the salary plays a prominent role in the abandonment of this trust. Perhaps we can find an excuse for people groaning under the burdens of material life, but they must find themselves an excuse before God, glory and exaltation be to Him.

Given that this is how things stand, let me point out that the Friday sermon exists to address people’s concerns from one week to the next, from one Friday to another, and that listening to it stands in for two units of prayer; and if the preachers intend to draw wisdom from behind it in this fashion, it would be better for them to simply stay home, or to lead people instead in an ordinary four-unit noon prayer, rather than deliver a threadbare sermon of no benefit whatsoever. And I say to those in charge of oversight: why do you keep Friday prayer going at all? Why not simply move to abolish it and spare yourselves, and us, the trouble? If I were in your place, and I did not want a sermon with any real meaning, I would not feel obliged to send informants to every mosque to monitor the preacher — though it would still be important, of course, not to deprive any preacher of his salary.

Source: Translated from the original Arabic, “خطبة الجمعة في الضفة الغربية” by Dr. Abdul-Sattar Kassem.