Eid Mubarak: 5 things I have learned from 4 weeks of fasting

I have just completed 4 weeks of fasting for Ramadan.

I am not a muslim. Neither am I a Christian. I am not religious. I am, however, a follower of Jesus.

I did this not for religious or pious or even health related reasons. I did it for empathy and love for muslim friends who I have made over the last few years. Friends who like my family are displaced. Some survived the 'route of death', others seized the opportunity whilst it was offered. All are now lost in this new 'home' separated from their loved ones. They are broken. They are strong. They are full of hope. They are sad. I am honoured to be called their brother. Somebody once reached out to our family in a similar way.

This Ramadan I decided to join in and fast not quite like my sisters and brother waking up at 2am to eat or give up all fluids. I only went until our evening family meal (call it our "iftar") and being one of the hottest months I thought I would keep myself useful to my family by not dehydrating and kept up fluid intake.

I only lapsed for 36 hours. I deliberated for awhile whether I should or not break. But in the end I realised I am not religious about this. So when a special work related friend insisted on taking me (and some of my colleagues) out for lunch I happily(!) accepted and then hours later when my son turned 8 and not wanting to give up the tradition of having breakfast together. I also enjoyed our time and meal together.

A few things that happened along the way really caught me:

1. Fasting is inwardly creating a "Sacred Personal Space"
Call it what you like. There seems to be a special place that you are allowed "to step into" during a fast. It's not instant either. It takes days. But its a place that only you are in around all the usual-ness of day-to-day. You are in your special place as an observer, as a note taker on the rituals of the everyday. It is quite a delight to be there. You feel special and grateful that you get to sit and watch the world go by. 

2. Fasting is difficult in the last few hours
Man how I watched that clock and yearned for seconds to turn into minutes and minutes hours. As with most time flying things it was easier the busier you were. I had to keep myself on the go as much as I could.

3. Fasting is easier when drinking
Hats off to my Muslim friends. I'm not sure not drinking in weather conditions over the past month makes sense. But I realised that downing a glass of water helped stave off the hunger. On particularly tougher days I found soft sugary drinks also helpful to keep me not only seemingly full but also with a little 'zip' to keep going.

4. Fasting is weird. Especially when trying to explain to other people
"Oh!... well... term... good for you!". You try not to let others in on it but it's too difficult. I never realised how rigid we are to the pattern of breakfast, lunch and supper. In some parts of the world eating once is all they have. We have three meals and each has a social significance. Breakfast is the easiest to avoid. Most people have it on the move. Or in their own time. My kids often go down and pour themselves some cereal and happily eat by themselves. you wouldn't miss anyone at breakfast. 

Then there's lunch and slowly this becomes more social. Or unless you are sitting at your desk eating. But I get invited to eat with others. Our team sometimes breaks and sits together. Other say you fancy grabbing a bite somewhere. It's great. I love it. However, it's weird when you say "I'd love to join you but do you mind if I don't eat". You might as well have said: "up yours" as the response is usually a polite interchange of "oh! That's fine... are you sure... do you mind if I eat..." 

Then lastly if you miss dinner... in our house it's the one meal that we try to sit around together. Frankly, I'm not prepared to give that up for a whole month... but it's the same for muslims who celebrate iftar together. I like this. I like this a lot. (I particularly liked seeing iftar in war torn Syria- this encouraged me immensely.

5. Fasting is time of gratitude 
I'm grateful for the past month of fasting. It was an achievement. It was social. It was a deeply reflective time. It allowed me a sense of solidarity with friends of a different faith. Most of all I enjoyed the time I had exploring my own faith and worship. It was... emotional.

Eid Murbarak

I'm somewhat heart broken at what I am seeing in today's news.

The continued bombing in Gaza is horrific. I feel anger, sadness and helpessness like I've not know in a long time. Reading and following Channel 4's Jon Snow's honest report he simply shares that we must come together and show solidarity.

I really don't know what I can do. 

I yearnto do something. Something that will make me feel like I'm changing anything... or anyone. What does solidarity with those who are being bombed look like. How can I be solid with people over there. 

Jon Snow concludes his article calling for 'coming together'. 

This is easier said than done. In fact it's downright impossible to come together. In just my world alone I am surrounded by people who do not come together who "don't talk to each other", who parade behind "principle"or "moral high ground"or simply whatever. It is easier to ignore than forgive. Easier to hold on to whatever "hurt" is left available.

To, myself, shamefully, I, too, exhibit such tendencies. It was modelled to me as I grew up. And it just keeps on going... and going.

I had the privilege of being in the company of a Nobel Peace Laureate once whilst in Davos. She said it's what we do in times of stability get amplified in times of war or trial. Being Liberian she shared some of these darker moments. Her plea for peace was to each of us to strive for what we wish to see being amplified in times of trial like compassion, love, selflessness right now. Why... because these will be amplified.

I still don't know what to do.

So today whilst I do not observe Ramadan nor Eid. I do recognise that I can no longer avoid such celebrations and festivals in today's global village... and today I wish to celerate with my brothers and sisters around the world and sit with them saying "Eid Murbarak!"

I share what my good friend working as a UNICEF child trauma specalist shared with me today. It also highligts a project we worked on together in Davos earlier this year:

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Eid Mubarak! to all beloved friends celebrating today from Aleppo to Gaza, from Dhaka to Dakar, from Ramallah to London, from Mogadishu to Boston - I am thinking of you today.

As this Eid dawns upon what feels like a broken world, perhaps you, like I, find it difficult to be festive today. My spiritual brother articulated it well, "What's the point in celebrating, we might think, when blood is relentlessly being spilled in Gaza, Syria, Iraq, and elsewhere on the globe?"

But let me reveal to you that even now, something is happening - something beautiful is growing in the alleys of our world - persistently, and brightly. Muslims in Mosul and Baghdad have and are risking their lives to protect their Christian brothers against a genocide in Iraq; Palestinian Muslims are finding refuge and comfort with their Christian sisters and brothers in Churches in Gaza; progressive and ultra-orthodox Jews, former soldiers, and very public figures in Jerusalem and Tel Aviv and London and New York are vocally, publicly resisting the Occupation and calling for a #FreePalestine even if it comes at the cost of being disparaged by their kin (yes, Jon Stewart, you are my hero). Some day we will look back and see that some of the most exquisite and deeply meaningful expressions of empathy - through words, art, music, poetry and dance - of our time will be inspired, like Kayhan Kalhor's Symphony for Palestine, like the exquisite Syrian embroidery by refugee women at NuDay Syria and Basmeh and Zeitooneh, even in such times of grief.

Let me also tell you that even here, in the curious space of my inboxes, I have been surprised and so moved to receive a daily influx of private messages and outpouring of solidarity and heartbreak and kindness and love from unexpected sources -- as far as New Zealand and as otherwise removed as Hong Kong. And, for the first time, much curiosity and thirst to learn more about different peoples whom we increasingly understand are our own. Just this week, we took a school of Syrian children for a day of storytelling and food and fun at the Luna Park, almost 200 refugee children who have at least their next year of education secured because of the efforts of a Hong Kong NGO to motivate WEF Participants in Switzerland earlier this year, whose message moved two extraordinary women, one Lebanese and one American, to help fund this school. And because of them, these children will have hope for a future. All these things are real (and not just the product of my pathological optimism!), the product of empathy, and worthy of nurturing and of hope.

Today is a celebration of revelation and community. Have courage, my friends! It is especially in moments of much destruction that our human empathy matters and has the power to transform lives. This Eid, I am sending you smiles, gratitude for your friendship and prayers that God bless you with comfort and peace and loving fellowship today and in the days to come.