(Wudu is the task of splashing water on various parts of the body, as a ritual purification, in preparation for performing formal Islamic prayer.)
Performing wudu in the desert atmosphere of Saudi Arabia always felt good on the body. Splashes of water refreshed, and the air on wet skin cooled, and promptly dried, leaving behind no discomfort or ill effect. I did roll my eyes a bit when I was taught that women must not wear nail polish or make-up, because the water of wudu would be prevented from touching those areas. This was only one of the many fine points of Islamic practice that I found ridiculous, frankly. It seemed not worthy of much consideration, because I understood the concept of wudu as a physical preparation for a physical prayer that connects body, mind and soul to Allah, not as a literal prescription.
Like everything else in Islam, wudu has its requirements. The specifications for how and what body parts to rinse with water made sense only with respect to the establishment of habit. A routine of making wudu serves to establish habit and to put the believer in the proper frame of mind to begin formal prayer.
Islam, however, was full of literal prescriptions for physical behaviors that fairly defined the comportment of a Muslim in good standing. In Riyadh, I had lots of cultural support for observing those requirements, but I always worried about how my observance of Islam would translate to a life in America. In fact, I nearly did not convert, simply because I knew I would not be able to observe Islamic standards while living in the United States. No, to be honest, I knew I would never want to observe them, let alone intend to do so. Nevertheless, as soon as I repatriated, I gave it the old college try.
My first surprise came while performing wudu. During my life in Riyadh, I had never been reluctant to perform wudu in preparation for prayer, and yes, I wore eye make-up every day, and didn’t take it off before making wudu. Water dried so very quickly in the desert climate; it never clung to skin or clothing for more than a few minutes.
In the United States, however, I live in an area that becomes oppressively humid in the summer. After performing wudu, I was never able to dry my feet well enough to prevent outbreaks of Athlete’s Foot. If wudu were to be performed once a day, the matter would have been achievable, but multiple performances of wudu left my toes in a perpetually moist state, especially as I had to wear shoes for work and other activities out of the house. How was I to address this development?
I approached it in the same manner I approach all religious customs– with skepticism and a weakening of commitment.
I also consulted the Almighty Internet, where I discovered that many Muslims face this problem, and ask for advice. The most useful solution is to use the sock-wipe-over method of refreshing wudu, but you still had to get those toes wet at least once each twenty-fours. No one addressed the more problematic issue of elderly women who’d become incontinent. They would be required to perform a new wudu for each of the five daily prayers. Added to the impracticality of this requirement, these same women would probably be old enough to have been afflicted with other physical difficulties that make wudu a challenge of its own even before the challenges of doing all those prayers.
If Islam were a religion for all time and all places, why would wudu with water be performed in humid climates? I had learned no excuse for not performing wudu. The only easement allowed was an alternative ritual, tayyaamum, using sand or dust, but only when no water was available, or if the application of water would cause physical damage— and here is where I might have a leg to stand on. Could I now claim that water causes my body damage? In any event, that was not the first time I questioned the ritual of wudu with respect to climate. How were the Arctic dwellers to perform it, with neither water nor dust in abundance?
No answer came forth, so I stopped making wudu, and therefore stopped praying, as one cannot pray without wudu. I am sure Allah did not intend for me to tolerate a chronic case of Athlete’s Foot. I was too shy to ask other Muslims whether they had faced this problem and how they solved it. I imagined they would tell me, “You have to make wudu. Allah will ease the way. A bit of Athlete’s Foot is less important than the necessity of making wudu. You must not put the comforts of the body above any of the pillars of Islam.” I did, then, and still do, put the comforts and health of my body above the pillars of Islam. I admit it, and after many years of it, accept and embrace an attitude of accommodation.
My wudu and prayers occurred sporadically for a few years, until I became immersed in the typical American workday, which does not allow one to leave the work tasks, run to the bathroom, take wudu, run out, cover the head, find a corner facing Mecca, and pray at the times of Islamic prayer (freedom of religion notwithstanding).
I stopped praying altogether, except sometimes on Fridays when I went to the mosque for Jummah. Eventually, I stopped making wudu even for those sporadic prayers. Was I willfully sinning? I suppose so. Were my prayers not accepted by Allah? Most Muslims would say, “Absolutely not,” and here I open another way in which I have embraced an attitude of accommodation.
More than twenty years has passed since I repatriated from Riyadh, and I still haven’t resolved my issues surrounding the principles and practices of Islam. It’s now or never. I’m seventy-two years old, retired, and headed into old age, where religious conundrums need to come clear. Most people resolve them during midlife, if not sooner. The lucky amongst us never questioned religion– their own or anyone else’s. Theirs is correct and all others are wrong. I have envied people who find comfort in such an inflexible, unquestioning attitude. They always seemed more content than I’ve ever been, but my nature does not permit such certitude.
Perhaps my early history as a Christian exerts significant influence on my attitudes towards the practice of Islam. Christianity imposed no unwieldy, inconvenient and disruptive rituals upon daily life, as does Islam. I had lived thirty-six years as a Christian without taking wudu and doing ritual Islamic prayers, and I was the same person who adopted Islamic ideas and practices while living in Riyadh. Why couldn’t I combine the religions, in a sense, adopting Christianity’s absence of daily ritual with Islam’s lovely ideas and principles found in the Qur’an and Sunnah?
The possibility of combining religions, and even creating my own new, personal religion, took hold almost sub-consciously, found rich ground in which to incubate. It’s about to pop out, the bud of a nascent flower, but I don’t dare publicize such blasphemy.
I would love to be able to answer, when asked what religion I follow, “I’m half Christian and half Muslim”, similar to my genetic blending of Italian and German. To be scrupulously honest, however, I’d have to say, “I’m one third Muslim, one third Christian and one third Bhuddist.”
I could never say such a thing out loud, even here in America, without bringing down the wrath of true believers, and maybe Allah Himself. Therefore, I continue to hold the tension of the opposites, as I’ve learned to do so well.
Marahm 