While you may not be able to go to church, the synagogue, the temple or the mosque, I most certainly call on all people of faith for you to pray… I can assure you, my prayer knees are getting a good work out.
No doubt many will see this as the PM preaching, but for millions of Australians of varying degrees of religiosity, prayer will play a key role in dealing with the novel stresses associated with this novel virus.
Furthermore, giving one’s knees a workout isn’t a solitary exercise. Religions bring us not just closer to our creator but also to each other, especially in times of crisis. And you don’t have to be devout to feel the blessing.
Each Friday my dad and some 12 of his elderly friends (all over 70) have made a habit of attending salat al-jumma (Friday prayers). But prayer isn't the only reason they gather. After the Friday prayer, they head out to a different restaurant to gasbag and share old war stories. I've overheard Dad and his friends mention munching on Turkish, Uighur, Italian, Indian, Pakistani, Afghan and Lebanese food.
Not all these uncles are terribly devout. One or two are probably agnostic, if not atheist. All are retired professionals or academics, highly educated men. I doubt many would have made time for prayer were it not for the meal.
Why only men? Is this yet another case of gross Islamic sexism? No. The old blokes only get to see each other once a week. A co-ed meeting would be impossible as many of their wives (who usually arrange the men's social lives) just don't get along.
Eating at restaurants and attending mosque are now out of the question. Social distancing rules mean the old chaps won't be able to sit at the same table. And given the age trajectory of those falling victim to this virus, these young-at-heart South Asian men won't dare risk each other's company regardless of how much they enjoy it.
Young Muslims, many of whom more readily identify as Muslim than some migrant ethnicity, will also be affected. Many congregations in Sydney and Melbourne service very young mostly English-speaking congregations. My mum benefits from watching satellite TV religious programs in the Urdu language. If only my Urdu was as good. My Islam, or at least a culturally appropriate form, must be sourced from religious teachers in Australia, the UK or North America.
Watching YouTube clips or listening to podcasts is nowhere near as good as taking part in collective learning or worship in a live setting. Perhaps the best time for this is during the lunar month of Ramadan, when Muslims fast between sunrise and sunset. Muslims of all faiths and denominations gather for iftar (breaking the fast) and share meals and company.
For international students, this is an important time to connect with locals. Some of my best Ramadan memories involved chicken and beef satay and spicy peanut sauce prepared by Indonesian and Malaysian students at Macquarie University. Terima kasih! Muslims pride themselves on one of the greatest spiritual gatherings — the Hadj or pilgrimage to Mecca. But this year it is almost certain that the coronavirus will close down this important symbol of collective Muslim consciousness.
Muslims aren’t the only community to feel stripped of their collective spirit. In the innerSydney suburb of Newtown, one Shul (synagogue) has a tradition of hosting a Friday night sabbath dinner. Jews and their Gentile partners and friends sit down with the rabbi, sing devotional songs and share a kosher meal. Everyone in attendance gets to share a key feature of their week after wishing everyone in the room Shabath Shalom.
One Hindu friend living in northern New South Wales recently told me that temples have had to shut their doors to all but their inner circles. This includes Hare Krishna centres providing meals on their premises. But nothing will prevent the generosity of my Sikh friends. The langar (communal kitchen) at the gurudwara (temple) won’t be closing anytime soon.
Instead of offering a dining in experience, temple volunteers will be delivering food parcels to the elderly and frail just as they did communities ravaged by bushfires. They will be joined by volunteers from churches, Islamic centres, synagogues and other believers and the not-so-believing.
It could be that God/G-d/Allah/etc has sent this virus to bring us closer to Him/Her. But S/He also wants to remind us how much our devotion and worship is about each other, about community. Faith without community is a risk to faith. And community must mean more than just our 'own'. Viruses don’t discriminate, and neither should we.
(Irfan Yusuf is a Sydney based lawyer and blogger. First published in Eureka Street on 5 April 2020)
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