By Shaykh Rashid Khan
20 February 2026

﷽ 

In the desolate desert of Arabia, there is a mountain just outside of Makkah. And in that mountain is a place that people call a cave, but if we’re being honest, it doesn’t even qualify as a cave. It’s a crack in a mountain. You can barely stand inside it.

In that crack, a nobleman used to sit. A merchant. A man with a successful family, a respected name, and a place in his community. Yet despite all of that, he would climb up that mountain at a specific time of year. A time very similar to the one we’re living in now: the time of Ramadan.

He would go up there and worship. Not for half an hour. Not for an hour. But for nights upon nights.

I want you to imagine with me – if you can – what happens next. In the darkness of that narrow space, he is suddenly embraced by a creature he has never seen before. Not an embrace of gentleness. Not an embrace of love. A strong embrace, so strong that he describes it as his ribs being rubbed together inside of his body.

And then a command comes: “Read!”

Can you imagine the desperation of an unlettered man in that moment? Who are you? What is happening? Why are you squeezing me like this? And now you’re commanding me to do something I cannot do.

He says: “I am not a reader.”

And he is embraced again. And told again. And he says again: “I am not a reader.”

And then, Allah reveals the words that shook the earth:

SubhanAllah! That moment was earthshattering. He walked into that crack as a normal man – noble, respected, known in Makkah. And he walked out as a Prophet ﷺ to all of creation. And we, right here, right now, are the fruits of that night. We are what came from that embrace.

But here’s what strikes me: when the Prophet ﷺ was alone in that cave, he wasn’t expecting that moment. He was worshipping in a blessed month, yes, but he didn’t go up there thinking, “Tonight revelation will come.”

Yet Allah blessed him with something weighty, something that every creation felt, the believers and the non-believers, the humans and the jinn.

Allah even describes this revelation as heavy:

Meaning: this isn’t light. This isn’t casual. This isn’t something you treat like background noise. It requires thick skin. Strong shoulders. Stamina. Because at the end of that heaviness is salvation.

As an Ummah, we do hold the Qur’an in high regard. We respect it. We treat it with fondness. But a lot of the time, if we’re honest, it’s a fondness from a distance. A fondness by proxy. Not an active fondness.

Familiarity breeds neglect. When you’re around something great all the time, you can become desensitised to its greatness. Allah warned the believers not to be like the people who came before. Those who were given revelation but over time their hearts hardened towards it:

Many of us remember when we were young, how it felt when we learned our first surah, our first Fatihah. It felt special. It felt powerful. But now it’s routine. We hear Qur’an everywhere. We have it in our phones, in our homes, in the masjid. We can access reciters in seconds. And because Allah made it so accessible, we forgot the gravity of what we’re carrying.

Allah says this Qur’an is not just advice, it is a guaranteed cure:

A cure for what is in the hearts. Not a maybe. Not a possibility. A cure.

And look at how Allah introduces His mercy in the Qur’an. He says Ar-Rahman – The Most Merciful – then He says:

In the ‘expected’ order, you’d think: Allah creates mankind first, then teaches. But Allah mentions teaching the Qur’an before mentioning the creation of humanity, because part of being human is being connected to Qur’an. And when we disconnect from Qur’an, we lose some of our humanity.

Some of us treat the Qur’an like an object of barakah only, keep it in the glovebox, hang it on the wall, gift it at weddings, let it gather dust. But the Prophet ﷺ didn’t present Qur’an to us as decoration.

He ﷺ described the Qur’an as a rope between us and Allah. And when Allah says:

Many of the people of knowledge said: this rope is the Qur’an.

If a person is drowning and a rope is thrown to him, he doesn’t sit there analysing texture and technique. He grabs it. Questions later. Survival first. And that’s how we need to see the Qur’an, something we hold onto with urgency.

And that’s why this reminder matters as we enter Ramadan. Allah, in His mercy, designed this month as a kind of simulation. A month that breaks down the rust over our hearts. A month where worship cycles through your entire day: restraint, ṣalāh, hunger, fatigue, standing until your knees shake. The companions themselves would stand beside the Prophet ﷺ holding onto sticks because the standing was long. They were human, like you and I. But they stood because they wanted to empty their hearts from everything but Allah, so they could receive the barakaat and guidance of Qur’an again.

When the Prophet ﷺ said, I am not a reader, it applies to us too. Many of us aren’t readers. Many of us can’t recite proficiently. Many of us don’t have beautiful voices. Many of us don’t fully understand. But we’re still told: Read.

And there’s another layer: I am not a reader can also describe a moment of fullness – emotional overflow, no capacity left. Ramadan empties the cup. Because you have to empty your heart first to be able to receive revelation.

I don’t want us to miss one of the greatest points. The Prophet ﷺ mentioned, in the Hadith of the seven shaded by Allah, a man who remembers Allah in solitude and he weeps. That private moment, when nobody is watching, is where hearts are awakened.

It’s easy to cry in a crowded masjid. It’s easy to be moved when everyone is moved. But what has Ramadan done to you when you return home after Tarawih? Are you worshipping Allah alone? Are you waiting for that embrace, the moment that shakes your heart, like the Prophet ﷺ did in that cave?

And practically: the Prophet ﷺ went far away from the distractions of Makkah to worship. He could have worshipped at home. But he chose distance to focus. So when you reconnect with Qur’an, it’s not a snapshot moment. Not a social media moment. Put the phone on flight mode. Tell your family: I need time with Allah. Strengthen your grip on this rope.

Increase your avenues of worship. Don’t make it “all or nothing.” Pray extra even if sitting – because the Prophet ﷺ would pray sitting down. Listen attentively to the Qur’an. Read on your commute. Stay five minutes longer in the masjid. Small consistent steps matter.

In the Hadith Qudsi, Allah tells us that when the servant comes closer, Allah comes closer – if we inch towards Allah, Allah brings us closer and closer.

So I ask Allah to make this Ramadan a source of genuine closeness to the Qur’an.

O Allah, make the Qur’an the life of our hearts and the light of our chests. O Allah, allow us to hold firmly to Your rope and never let us be of those who become desensitised to Your words. O Allah, grant us sincerity in our worship, presence in our duʿa, tears in solitude, and a Ramadan that truly changes us. O Allah, reconnect us to Your Book the way the Prophet ﷺ and the companions were connected to it.

Ameen.

---

Help us provide Iftar this Ramadan.