By Shaykh Rashid Khan
2 January 2026

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When I think about how Islam spread in the earliest days, I’m always humbled by how simple and how weighty the process was. Not grand campaigns. Not carefully planned strategies. Just people who recognised the truth, believed it, and then refused to keep it to themselves.

That’s what I want to focus on in this weeks khutbah: back to a story narrated by one of the companions himself and preserved by Imam al-Bukhari. It wasn’t shared as history alone. It was shared as a mirror, one that quietly forces an uncomfortable question: If I had been there, what would I have done? And more importantly, what am I doing now?

The companion begins by telling us that he lived in a tribe far from Makkah. News reached them that there was a man in Makkah claiming to be a prophet. So he did what many people would do, he asked someone else to investigate. He sent his brother.

When his brother returned, he said, “I saw a man commanding good and forbidding evil.”

But that answer didn’t satisfy him. Not because it was meaningless, but because it was too general. Too vague. “Commanding good and forbidding evil” could describe many people. He wanted clarity. He wanted certainty. He wanted something that would settle the matter in his heart.

So he decided to go himself.

When he arrived in Makkah, he was cautious. He knew there was hostility toward the Prophet ﷺ, so he avoided asking around. Instead, he remained in the Haram, observing, watching faces, trying to identify the one he had travelled so far to find. Days passed. He survived only on Zamzam water, no food, no support, just patience and determination. 

Then something remarkable happened.

A young man noticed him. A teenager, Ali ibn Abi Talib (RA). Ali sensed he was a stranger and asked him gently whether he had come looking for someone. The man admitted that he had, but that he didn’t know who he was looking for or how to find him.

Ali didn’t interrogate him. He didn’t push him. He simply showed him kindness. He left him in the masjid during the day and invited him to stay with him at night. The next morning, the man returned again to the Haram, still searching. The second night, Ali did the same. On the third day, Ali finally said to him, “Hasn’t the time come for you to know where you’re meant to be?”

That was when the man opened up. He said plainly, “I’m looking for a man who claims he is a prophet.”

Ali’s face brightened. He said, “You have found the truth. I will take you to him.” But he also warned him, if anyone from Quraysh approached them, he would pretend not to be guiding him, to avoid drawing attention.

They moved carefully, and the companion finally met the Messenger of Allah ﷺ.

The way he describes that meeting is powerful. He says to the Prophet ﷺ, “Present Islam to me.” And when Islam was presented to him, he accepted it immediately.

The Prophet ﷺ advised him to conceal his Islam for the time being, warning him that the people would attack him if they found out. This wasn’t a call to fear, but a call to wisdom.

Yet the companion said he could not hide the truth.

He went straight to the middle of the Haram and declared his Islam openly. He was attacked and beaten. The next day, he did the same. And the next day again. Eventually, Quraysh were forced to stop, not out of mercy, but because of tribal politics. Killing him would have endangered their trade routes. 

And so he returned home.

What stands out is not that he returned with deep knowledge or formal instruction. He didn’t return as a scholar. He didn’t even follow the Prophet’s ﷺ instruction to conceal his faith. But he returned with something far more transformative: a sense of responsibility.

He told his brother he had become Muslim, and his brother responded, “Any religion you are upon, I am also upon.” His brother followed him into Islam. Together, they approached the chief of their tribe. Half of the tribe accepted immediately. The other half said they would wait until the Prophet ﷺ reached Madinah. When he eventually did, the rest of the tribe accepted Islam as well. And when that happened, a neighbouring tribe followed their example.

All of that goodness, entire communities guided, can be traced back to one individual who refused to settle for vague answers and refused to keep Islam to himself.

This sense of responsibility was not unique. Abu Bakr (RA), when he accepted Islam, immediately began calling others. Many of the companions promised Jannah accepted Islam through him. His da‘wah wasn’t loud or public. It was quiet, sincere, and purposeful.

What becomes clear is that the companions were vastly different from one another. They were young and old, rich and poor, tradesmen and craftsmen, people with different personalities, different strengths, different roles in society. They didn’t treat Islam as something private, something you keep tucked away for personal moments and then set aside when life begins. Islam shaped their presence in the world. It gave them direction. It made them feel responsible, not only for themselves, but for the people closest to them.

And that’s exactly where the struggle begins for many of us today: not in whether Islam is true, but in whether we’re willing to carry it outward with confidence. Fear creeps in quietly. Fear of rejection. Fear of awkwardness. Fear of not knowing enough. Fear of being the odd one out. Shayṭān doesn’t need to convince a believer to leave Islam. Sometimes it’s enough for him to convince us to stay silent, to delay, to keep our faith “personal” until it becomes comfortable and convenient.

The Prophet ﷺ taught us to seek refuge with Allah from cowardice and inaction. Because action only comes when purpose is alive in the heart. When we understand why we exist, responsibility follows naturally.

Allah calls the believers to be among those who stand up for His cause. Not as an optional virtue, but as a defining characteristic. Standing up in worship. Standing up in du‘ā. Standing up by caring for others beyond ourselves. 

We may not be asked to endure what the early companions endured. But we are asked to carry a glimpse of their light. A fraction of their courage. A share of their seriousness. 

May Allah make us people of purpose. May He remove the fear that keeps us silent and inactive. May He make us sincere in reform, beginning with ourselves, and may He use us as a means of guidance for others. Forgive our shortcomings, strengthen our resolve, and grant us steadfastness until we meet You. 

Ameen.

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