Dawah
The writer, Dr Hasnain Gulamali Walji (Texas, USA), is the Head of the Khoja Heritage Project of The World Federation of KSIMC. A lifelong educator and historian, he has dedicated over three decades to documenting the rich, socio-religious journey of the Khoja Shia Ithna-Asheri community. His landmark documentary, The Khojas – A Journey of Faith, traces this evolution across 600 years. Over the past 30 years, he has been collecting care Gujarati and Khoja history books housed at the Mulla Asghar Memorial Library in Toronto, which he co-founded with Raza-Aly Hiridjee.
Serving for almost half a century, he had been the former Secretary General, Vice President, and President of The World Federation. Professionally, he is a nutritionist and has also authored 26 books on naturopathic medicine, translated into several languages. As Executive Director of the United Global Initiative and a Trustee of the Jaffer Family Foundation, he leads the CodeGirls project, which empowers underprivileged girls to pursue technology careers. He has also been instrumental in facilitating the ‘Ashura at Harvard’ study track at Harvard Divinity School, promoting academic discourse on Shi’ism, fully funded through the Jaffer Family Foundation.
“Raise your words, not your voice.
It is rain that grows flowers, not thunder.” – Rumi
I have often felt that this single line of Rumi carries the fragrance of revelation. It reminds us of something deeply Islamic that we repeatedly forget: hearts rarely open under pressure. They open under gentleness.
Islam was never meant to arrive like thunder.
It was meant to arrive like rain.
Not long ago, a friend asked me, almost wearily, “Why do people think dawah means explaining Islam all the time?”
It stayed with me because I have asked myself the same question.
Somewhere along the journey, we began to believe that faith spreads through arguments, presentations, or intellectual victories, as if guidance were won like negotiations rather than nurtured like trust.
Yet the Prophet (SAW) himself defined his mission with stunning clarity:
Innamaa buíithtu li-utammima makaarim al-akhlaq.
“I have been sent only to perfect noble character.”Not to win arguments.
Not to dominate conversations.
But to refine human character.If this was the mission of Prophethood itself, then akhlaq is not an accessory to Islam. It is Islam in motion.
Islam Between Floors
Faith reveals itself in surprisingly ordinary places.
An elevator.
A supermarket queue.
A traffic signal when patience is already exhausted.
Someone bumps into you and walks away without apology. In that instant, theology disappears and character speaks. Do you react? Or do you absorb?
I admit, I do not always pass this test myself. Reflection usually arrives a few seconds too late, somewhere between irritation and regret.
Most da´wah today succeeds or fails in such invisible moments. Not inside mosques, but inside reactions.
Ten seconds between floors may preach more powerfully than 10 sermons.
The World We Argue In
Interestingly, this pattern extends beyond individuals.
In today’s geopolitical arena, we loudly proclaim what we are
- Against injustice.
- Against oppression.
- Against domination.
But far less often do we articulate what we are for.
- Compassion.
- Kindness.
- Human dignity.
- Mercy toward the vulnerable.
Perhaps I am overstating this. But public discourse increasingly sounds like opposition without vision.
Opposition creates noise. Values create civilisation.
Islam’s moral voice was never meant to be defined only by resistance, but by what it builds: justice tempered with mercy, strength guided by compassion, conviction softened by humility.
If people only know what we oppose, they may fear us. When they experience what we stand for, they begin to trust us.
And trust is where faith quietly begins.
I remember back in Milton Keynes sending an iftaar plate to a non-Muslim neighbour many years ago. Nothing elaborate. Just dates, samosas and haleem, and a short handwritten note explaining Ramadhan.
Weeks later, he told me, almost casually, “That was the first time I understood fasting wasn’t about restriction but gratitude.”
No lecture had taken place.
No invitation had been issued.
Just food. And intention.
There is a familiar story repeated across communities.
A man embraced Islam after living beside a Muslim family for years. He simply watched:
They greeted him daily.
Helped with groceries.
Checked on him during illness.
Lived with quiet decency.
Eventually, he asked,
“Why are you like this?”
They replied, “Our Prophet taught us.”
That was the da´wah.
Quiet. Unadvertised. Effective.
Let us admit something honestly.
Many people are not repelled by Islam.
They are repelled by Muslims who appear permanently angry while defending a religion of mercy.
We speak of compassion…
Then lose patience over parking spaces.
We preach trust in God…
Yet panic over minor inconveniences.
It is like telling people to trust God… while panicking over slow Wi-Fi.
The world notices these contradictions long before it hears our explanations.
Perhaps, the greatest irony lies in the words we repeat daily.
Salaamun ´alaykum.
Peace be upon you.
We say it dozens of times every day.
But if we truly mean what we utter, then no harm should come from us to others.
No cutting tongue.
No quiet betrayal.
No unnecessary harshness disguised as honesty.
A believer who spreads peace in greeting must embody peace in conduct.
Otherwise, the greeting becomes sound without soul.
Ramadhan: Da´wah Without Announcement
Ramadhan quietly teaches that transformation rarely requires spectacle.
Sometimes it asks for something far harder:
simple kindness practised consistently.
So, as I did this Ramadan, send a small iftaar plate to your non-Muslim neighbour with a short handwritten note:
“During Ramadhan, we fast to learn gratitude and compassion. We wanted to share this meal with you.”
You may never witness the impact. Seeds grow silently.
And kindness travels beyond neighbourhoods.
In the office
helping a colleague meet a deadline quietly
speaking gently when tensions rise
giving credit generously (unless you are a banker)
On the sports field
helping an opponent up after a fall
accepting defeat with dignity
choosing fairness even when no referee watches
None of this appears overtly religious.
Which is precisely why it reflects Islam so beautifully.
The Da´wah the World Understands
In an age of noise, perhaps the strongest da´wah is simply this:
Be the person others feel safe around.
The one who does not gossip.
Does not humiliate.
Keeps promises.
Carries calm into chaos.
Such people rarely announce faith.
Yet after meeting them, others quietly wonder:
What shaped this person?
And that question often becomes the beginning of guidance.
Rain, Not Thunder
Rain does not force flowers to grow.
It nurtures quietly until growth becomes inevitable.
Good manners work the same way.
They do not compel belief.
They make belief believable.
The Prophet (SAW) allowed people to experience mercy before understanding doctrine.
A Final Thought
As my friend and I finished our tea, he said something that stayed with me: “Maybe da´wah is simply letting people feel closer to God after meeting you.”
I suspect he is right.
No performance.
No argument.
No pressure.
Just presence that brings ease instead of discomfort.
And when someone finally asks, “What taught you to be like this?”
Only then do words rise.
Not as thunder.
But as rain.
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