My dear readers,
The Sentence That Became a Mirror
There are certain sentences that do not leave us. We hear many words in life. Some are forgotten before the day ends. Some remain for a week. Some become part of our inner weather. But a few enter the heart and remain there as a mirror.
My late Shaykh would often advise us—my wife and I among others—to forgive all people. He would remind us of the practice associated with Ḥaḍrat Khwāja Awais al-Qarnī رَضِيَ اللَّهُ عَنْهُ: not to go to sleep while carrying resentment against the creation of Allah.
Let me be careful here, because carelessness in religious speech is not piety. I am not presenting this nightly practice as a Prophetic hadith. I am telling you what my Shaykh taught us as a spiritual practice. As for the rank of Awais al-Qarnī رَضِيَ اللَّهُ عَنْهُ, that is established in Sahih Muslim, where Rasoolullah ﷺ spoke of him and said:
The lesson is not built on exaggeration. It rests on a sound truth: the people of Allah did not make their hearts into narrow prisons. They did not spend each night polishing their grievances or build their identities around being wronged. They lived with Allah, and because they lived with Allah, they learned to release people to Allah.
One day, half-joking and half-complaining, I asked my Shaykh, “How often should we forgive others, especially those who frequently wrong us?”
He became solemn. Then he replied with words that still give my wife and me goosebumps:
“As often as you want Allah to forgive you.”
This was not a clever answer or a slogan but a direct, life-changing lesson from the Qur'an itself:
This verse is an ocean.
Allah does not merely command forgiveness. He asks a question that should unsettle every heart: Do you not love that Allah should forgive you?
Of course we do.
We want Allah to forgive the sins no one else knows. We want Allah to forgive the sins we ourselves cannot bear to remember. We want Allah to forgive the sins we repeated after promising never to repeat them. We want Allah to forgive the coldness, the arrogance, the sharp words, the hidden envy, the laziness in worship, the private disobedience, the public image, and the thoughts we would be ashamed for people to see.
Then how can I ask Allah for endless forgiveness while measuring forgiveness to others with a trembling scale? How can I say, “Yā Allah, forgive me again,” while saying of another servant of Allah, “I will never forgive them”?
The First Mirror: “I Am Only Human”
My dear brothers and sisters,
There is a sentence we hear often: “I am only human.”
Sometimes it is said with humility. A person slips, feels shame, and says, “I am only human,” meaning: I am weak, I need tawbah, and I must repair what I have broken. That is a good use of the sentence.
But sometimes it is used differently. A person becomes angry, wounds someone, refuses to apologize, keeps resentment alive, and then says, “I am only human,” as though being human were a permission slip for harshness. That is not a good use of the sentence.
To be human is not to be excused from character. To be human is to be invited into character.
Humanity begins with karāmah—honor. But the Qur’an is also honest:
And Allah says:
This is not an insult. It is a diagnosis.
The Qur’an is telling us: know your material. Know your weakness, haste, fear, and anger. Know your nafs when it begins to behave as though it were self-sufficient.
But a diagnosis is not an excuse. It is the beginning of treatment. When someone says, “I am only human,” the Qur’an replies: yes—and because you are human, you must seek Allah, restrain the nafs, soften the heart, repent, forgive, and remember.
The Word الْإِنْسَانُ—al-Insān
The Arabic word for the human being is الْإِنْسَانُ—al-insān. It is a word full of tenderness and warning.
The scholars of Arabic discussed its roots and shades. Some connected it to الْإِنْسُ—al-ins, human beings, especially as distinct from الْجِنُّ—al-jinn, the hidden beings. Some connected it to الْأُنْسُ—al-uns, companionship, familiarity, and warmth—the opposite of estrangement and loneliness. Classical works also discuss the explanation that الْإِنْسَانُ is connected to النِّسْيَانُ—al-nisyān, forgetfulness—and mention the statement attributed to Ibn ʿAbbās رَضِيَ اللَّهُ عَنْهُمَا: “The human being was called insān because he was entrusted with a covenant, then he forgot.” Lisān al-ʿArab discusses these shades, including the relation of insān to insiyān and the meaning of uns as the opposite of waḥshah.
This distinction matters. Beautiful meanings do not need to be forced into the highest category to be useful. Qur’an is Qur’an. Sound hadith is sound hadith. Linguistic reflection is linguistic reflection. Wisdom has ranks.
But as a reflection, this is powerful. The human being stands between uns and nisyān. He is made for warmth, but he forgets. She longs for love, but forgets to forgive. We want mercy for ourselves, but forget to give it to others.
The Qur’an says of Sayyiduna Adam عَلَيْهِ السَّلَامُ:
This is the great human story. We are given a trust, and we forget. We are shown mercy, and we forget to show mercy. We are forgiven, and we forget to forgive. We are loved by Allah beyond measure, and we forget how to love His creation.
So the human being needs dhikr: reminder and remembrance. To be human is not never to forget. To be human is to return when we forget.
Rasoolullah ﷺ and the True Meaning of Being Human
Rasoolullah ﷺ once forgot in prayer. When he was reminded, he said:
How beautiful this is.
The Prophet ﷺ did not use being human as a shield against correction. He did not say, “I am human, so do not remind me.” He said, “If I forget, remind me.”
This should change how we use the phrase “I am only human.” In the Prophetic way, being human means being able to accept a reminder, refusing arrogance when corrected, and repairing what was missed. When we say, “I am only human,” it should mean:
I can make a mistake, yes. But I can apologize. I can forget, yes. But I can remember. I can become angry, yes. But I can restrain my anger. I can be hurt, yes. But I can ask Allah to purify the wound.
Worship Enters the Wound
Worship is not only prayer on the mat, though prayer is essential. Worship is not only fasting, zakah, hajj, Qur’an, dhikr, and duʿā, though these are pillars and lights.
Worship also enters the voice. Worship enters the face. Worship enters the home, the classroom, the family gathering, and the WhatsApp message. Worship enters the moment when someone has offended us and the nafs is asking permission to become ugly.
Allah explained the nature of Rasoolullah ﷺ by saying:
And it is narrated:
This is a mirror. If my religion does not improve my character, something is still unfinished in me. If my knowledge makes me arrogant, it has not become wisdom. If my worship does not soften the way I treat the weak, the young, the elderly, the spouse, the child, the worker, or the stranger, then my worship is still asking to become deeper.
Anger Is Human; Surrendering to Anger Is Not Prophetic
Anger may come. The issue is not whether anger visits. The issue is whether anger becomes the ruler.
A man asked Rasoolullah ﷺ for advice:
This does not mean we will never feel anger. Feeling anger is not always within our control. But feeding anger, obeying it, justifying it, and allowing it to become our master—that is what destroys the human being.
Rasoolullah ﷺ also said:
This changes the meaning of strength.
Strength is not the louder voice, the sharper reply, frightening people into silence, or making everyone in the house walk carefully around one’s mood. Strength is mastery over the nafs when it wants to explode. When a person says, “I shouted because I am only human,” the Sunnah replies: yes, and because you are human, you must learn strength. Maturity is not never feeling heat inside. It is refusing to let that heat burn the house down.
Forgive and Overlook: ʿAfw and Ṣafḥ
The Qur’an uses two powerful words:
الْعَفْوُ—al-ʿafw: pardon, letting go, wiping away the claim.
الصَّفْحُ—al-ṣafḥ: overlooking, turning the page, refusing to keep reopening the wound.
Allah says:
In modern language: “Let it slide.”
This verse was not revealed into a world where no one had hurt anyone. It was revealed into real human pain.
This is why forgiveness is not cheap. Forgiveness is not pretending that the wound did not happen. It is not calling oppression kindness. It is not allowing a person to harm us again and again while we call it sabr. Forgiveness is not the death of boundaries.
Notice: pardons and makes repair.
Not pardons and enables corruption. Not pardons and destroys himself. Not pardons and abandons justice where justice is needed.
Allah commands both justice and iḥsān:
Islam is not sentimental chaos. It is mercy with truth, forgiveness with wisdom, and justice with restraint.
Sometimes forgiving means restoring the relationship. Sometimes it means letting go of hatred while keeping a safe distance. Sometimes it means making duʿā for someone without returning to the same harmful pattern. Sometimes it means handing the matter to Allah because the heart is tired of carrying it.
In every case, the believer must be careful not to make resentment part of the self.
The People Allah Loves
Allah praises:
Notice the order.
The Qur’an does not deny anger. It says: restrain it. The Qur’an does not deny that people will hurt us. It says: pardon them. Then it lifts the matter into love: Allah loves the muḥsinīn. Not merely the people who were right, had the sharper argument, or could prove that they were wronged.
Allah loves the people who do what is beautiful before Him.
And Allah says:
This is one of the most difficult verses to practice. It is easy to repay coldness with coldness and insult with insult. It is easy to give people the version of ourselves they “deserve.” But the Qur’an asks for something higher. It asks us not merely to react, but to respond with Allah in mind.
Second Khutbah
My dear brothers and sisters,
If there is one thing I want us to take from this khutbah, it is this:
A heart that wants Allah’s forgiveness cannot afford to withhold forgiveness from others.
Rasoolullah ﷺ said:
What do I love for myself?
I love to be understood. I love to be forgiven. I love for my worst moment not to become my whole identity. I love for Allah to cover my faults. I love for people to remember my good and not only my failure. Being human, then, means that I must try to give others some of what I ask for myself.
This does not mean all behavior is acceptable. It does not mean we lose discernment or that the wound is imaginary. But it does mean that the heart of a believer cannot be built on selfishness.
Rasoolullah ﷺ said:
This hadith should enter our homes.
Allah loves gentleness. Not humiliation. Not sarcasm. Not constant correction. Not emotional roughness. Not feeling superior to others or judging them for their faults. Not using religion to crush another person’s heart.
Gentleness is not weakness. Gentleness is disciplined strength. It is the ability to handle a soul without bruising it unnecessarily.
And Rasoolullah ﷺ said:
To me, this is frightening.
We ask Allah for mercy every day. But what mercy do we show—to children, students, spouses, parents, workers, those slower than us, those who disappoint us, and those whose wounds make them difficult?
The human being, الْإِنْسَانُ, is meant to be a place of uns, not waḥshah—comfort, not estrangement. A person should feel more at ease after meeting us, not more wounded.
Forgive and Forget?
People often say, “Forgive and forget.”
But the human mind is not a machine from which memories can simply be deleted. The Qur’an is not asking us to pretend. So what should we forget?
We should forget the desire to punish, the pleasure of replaying the wound, the need to mention the mistake again and again after it has been repaired, and the false sweetness of resentment.
And what should we remember?
We should remember Allah. We should remember our own sins. We should remember that we, too, need forgiveness; that the heart will meet Allah; and that pride is a dangerous burden to carry into the grave.
The human being often does the opposite. He forgets Allah and remembers the injury. That is nisyān in the wrong direction. The Qur’an calls him back.
The Best Sinners Are Those Who Return
Rasoolullah ﷺ said:
This hadith does not glorify sin. It glorifies tawbah. The best are not those who pretend they never fall. The best are those who return quickly, honestly, and repeatedly.
If I become angry, I should repent. If I wound someone, I should apologize. If I carry resentment, I should ask Allah to cleanse it. If I cannot yet forgive fully today, I should at least stop feeding the hatred. If I cannot yet love, I should at least stop poisoning the heart. If I cannot embrace, I should at least make duʿā.
This, too, is a beginning.
A Final Reflection
There is a kind of religiousness that can speak of Allah but remain harsh with people. It can quote Qur’an but refuse to forgive. It can defend the Sunnah but ignore the tenderness of Rasoolullah ﷺ. It can speak of truth while losing beauty. It can demand mercy from Allah while offering severity to everyone else.
This is not the fullness of being insān. The true insān remembers that he is weak, so he does not become arrogant. He remembers that he forgets, so he keeps returning to dhikr. He remembers that he sins, so he makes tawbah. He remembers that he needs forgiveness, so he forgives. He remembers that Allah is Gentle, so he becomes gentle. He remembers that Allah is Merciful, so he shows mercy. He remembers that Allah honored the children of Adam, so he does not humiliate them.
“I am only human” should not be a shield for the nafs. It should be a doorway to humility.
Yes, I am human.
I forget. I become weak. I become hasty. I become anxious. I become wounded.
But I am also honored by Allah.
I am guided by revelation. I am taught by Rasoolullah ﷺ. I am invited to taqwa. I am capable of tawbah. I am capable of ʿafw. I am capable of ṣafḥ. I am capable of becoming a source of uns, not waḥshah—comfort, not estrangement.
So the next time anger says, “I am only human,” let the heart answer:
Then be human in the way Allah intended.
Be the human who remembers. Be the human who repents. Be the human who restrains anger. Be the human who forgives. Be the human who loves for others what he loves for himself. Be the human through whom another heart feels safe.
And when the nafs asks, “How often must I forgive?” let the answer of my Shaykh return:
“As often as you want Allah to forgive you.”
No comments:
Post a Comment