The Objective and Motivation is Deen | Mufti Abdul Wahab Waheed
By Mufti Abdul Wahab Waheed | 2026-07-30T16:35:13.24017+00:00 | Topic: Iman
People Are Mines
In this hadith, the Prophet ﷺ mentioned:
(Sahih Muslim, Book 45, Hadith 2638; also Sahih al-Bukhari, Hadith 3493)
That people are mines — mines of gold and silver and oil. People are mines.
In which sense? How are people mines? The Prophet ﷺ attaches this parable to humans. Just like a mine, if no one identifies that it's there, years will pass and no one will be able to benefit from it, because no one knows that it's there. In order to benefit from the mine, you have to know that something is there for you to take. For so many years before the British came to the Arab countries, there was no such thing as oil. When they came, they identified the oil, and hence they benefited.
So people are also mines, in the sense that every one of us has so much to offer deen, so much to offer people. We're mines of goodness, mines of love, mines of generosity. But we have to identify that it's there.
And once we identify that it's there, it goes through a process. The second thing that is found in a mine is, once you find oil, you have to make it go through a process — and then it can benefit people. For you brothers and sisters in California, it's pretty difficult because your gas is pretty expensive. But still the process is the same.
The Love for Our Rasool ﷺ
Imagine we have a quality, and that quality is love for our Rasool ﷺ. If we allow it to go through a process, we can keep it as a priority for our children. Forget ourselves — for our children. I'm born and raised in America, and I applaud parents who are raising their kids in America. But I also — dare I say this — caution them that everything else will happen. They'll go to good schools, they'll get good jobs, they'll get married. But the one thing that, if we're not aware of and we're neglectful of, it will sooner or later slip away — and that is their iman.
We live in Michigan; we deal with youngsters 24/7. We have an institution, and there are surprisingly people who come to us with challenges with their iman. And you find out — you dig deeper and deeper — and it all stems from the environment of the home. The environment of the home is the madrasa, the masjid, the khanqah, the factory of iman for the believer, for the child. It starts from the home.
So if we are mines, it requires for us to work on it. And in due time it becomes second nature — because now it's something that we live with, and we إن شاء الله will embody, and it needs to be identified.
The Reflection of Iqbal
The poet says — it's a very interesting poem that whenever I reflect on it, it kind of reminds me of different things and I'm able to derive different benefits from it. But in this specific niche of a discussion, Iqbal mentions:
Qabī-e-ḥaqīqat-e-muntaẓar, naẓra-e-libās-e-majāz mẽ
Ke hazār-o-sajde tarap rahẽ hain, mere jabīn-e-niyāz mẽ
Jum-e-sar-ba-sajda huā kabhī, to zamīn se āne lagī ṣadā
Ke terā dil hī sanam-āshnā, tujhe kyā milegā namāz mẽ?
Masjid to banā dī shabbar mẽ, īmān kī ḥarārat wāloñ ne
Man apnā purānā pāpī hẽ, barsoñ mẽ namāzī ban na sakā
Kyā khūb amīr-e-Faiṣal ne, Sanūsī ko ye paighām diyā
Tu nām uṇāsab se ḥijāzī hai, par dil kā ḥijāzī ban na sakā
Tar āñkheñ to ho jātī haiñ, par kyā laẕẕat us rone mẽ
Jab khūn-e-jigar kī āmizish se, ashk-piyārī ban na sakā
What are we supposed to get from this blessing of iman if we don't truly recognize that it exists? Hazār-o-sajde tarap rahẽ haiñ — we're doing many sajdas. Lakin zamīn se āne lagī ṣadā — but even the earth recognizes: Terā dil hī sanam-āshnā — our heart is filled with so many other things. Tujhe kyā milegā namāz mẽ? — what are we supposed to take from namaz?
In one night — if you're from Pakistan or India, you know the history more than me — in one night, in the city of Lahore, they were able to build a masjid. In one day, perhaps. He says: Masjid to banā dī shabbar mẽ, īmān kī ḥarārat wāloñ ne. Man apnā purānā pāpī hẽ, barsoñ mẽ namāzī ban na sakā. We have all the facilities and the faculties, the blessings and the talent and the skill and the energy — everything that is required — yet the urge and the significance of what we're supposed to do becomes pale in our eyes.
Tar āñkheñ to ho jātī haiñ — yeah, sometimes we do cry. Par kyā laẕẕat us rone mẽ — it's not really enjoyable, because it doesn't fertilize the heart. It doesn't allow the heart to become fertile.
Iman as the Greatest Motivation
So for us, the blessing of iman is our greatest motivation. As we're living in this beautiful country — and specifically for you all living in the beautiful city of LA in California — we live in Michigan. It's very beautiful as well, but not in the winter. The other nine months is beautiful, very green. I encourage you to come visit us; we'll take care of you, إن شاء الله. We'll take you to a city called Dearborn where there's a lot of Arab food, and you'll come back weighing ten pounds heavier, إن شاء الله. It's not a good thing for your spouses, but it's good for you.
But nonetheless — if iman needs to be cultivated in this land, in this city, within our children, then that responsibility lies upon me. Motivation is something very powerful; it allows a person to continue working towards something good. And the code of reference of motivation cannot be obscure — it has to be clear for a person to identify.
For some, the code of reference for motivation can be wealth — and it's perfectly fine. At least there is a code of reference: "I'm doing it because of money." Go ahead, do it. For some it may be because of family: "I want to make my family happy." For some the code of reference is culture: "I want to keep my culture in my family, the lineage — I'm Chaudhary, I'm Jatt, I'm Mughal" — whatever it may be.
Growing up, we used to hear these things and we were really confused. Now, when I went to study in Pakistan I realized — this is a real thing. In America, no one knew what it was. My family — our mother's side is Mughal. Of course, الحمد لله, we didn't necessarily live with a sense of "Oh, I'm Mughal," but I didn't know what it was. When I went to Pakistan they asked, "Where are you from?" I said, "I'm from Lahore." They said, "No, where are you really from? What's your family?" I said, "My family is from America." The first answer: "What are you doing in Pakistan? People go to America — what are you coming here for?" Every country has something to offer. I asked my mom one day, "Where are we from? Everyone is asking us where we're from." She said, "Who is asking you these questions?" I said, "Everyone." She said, "So if they ask you, just tell them we are Mughal — and say it with pride." I said, "Okay, I got it."
Softness and Sternness in Raising Children Upon Deen
He started wearing his shalwar above his ankles, which was something very strange. So when he used to go home, his brothers used to take the mickey out of him — "What are you doing, man? You look so weird." And it happened for a long time. Since he was the youngest and his father passed away when he was very young, he started growing a small beard. When he would go home, his brothers would literally cut his beard off and make fun of him: "What's wrong with you, stop doing this."
Then he got a scholarship from Michigan, came to Michigan to finish his studies, and then decided that when we were growing up, he would show us the path of becoming a Hafidh or a scholar — not force us, just show it to us. That it also exists. Like going to school, going to college — praying shalat is also an option. Raising kids in our families and making sure that they pray shalat is also an option. It's something that we can make happen in our communities; we can make it happen if we truly believe it.
We should never allow our softness to become a weakness. Never allow our softness to become a weakness in Islam — "I'm very soft, so I can't tell my kids to pray. I'm very soft, so I can't tell my kids to do this." Softness should not be a weakness. And sternness should not become oppression — there's no rigidness. With love, with love. So when we grew up here, when we saw that option, my father always encouraged us to do both. And الحمد لله, now we have one of my brothers going to ortho and my other brother going to law school. The idea was that you can balance both if you wanted to — you don't have to, but if you wanted to.
So for our children in our communities, I think the biggest thing for all of us is to identify that this is something which is a blessing. And if it's not taken care of, a time will come that it won't be here anymore. Like a car — if you don't give it an oil change for long enough, you won't be able to use it; the engine will fail on you. Slowly but surely, if you don't take care of your roof on a house, if it has a leak and you let the leak continue growing and growing, a time will come where it will be unremovable damage. Similarly for us, iman has to play the role of being the strongest motivation.
When I decide something for my family and for my children, it is okay for me to ask: "Is my family happy with this decision?" It is okay to ask: "Is this decision better for my career?" It is okay to ask: "Are my parents happy?" But it's also okay to ask: "Is Allah happy with this?" — and it can become something normal for us, as it already is in your community, ما شاء الله. The community of Irvine is well known — a strong Muslim community, so many programs, so much happening.
What I am saying is primarily for myself and not for anyone else. It's for us to find a sense of passion to grow in our religion at whatever level. One of our teachers would always say: if we're not progressing, we are regressing. If there's not progress, it's regress. And retention is growth — so if we can retain certain things in our life, that is growth. So as this new year begins, I encourage all of us to have this passion of identifying this blessing of iman as a motivation for us, and also to identify that it is actually a blessing — because if it's not taken care of, it will slip away.
The Story of Abu Bakr and the Hijrah
For the Sahabas, iman was the greatest blessing. I was mentioning a story in Jumu'ah: when the Prophet ﷺ was told that he could go for hijrah — from Makkah to Madinah — and he was given permission from Allah to go for hijrah, he came to the house of Abu Bakr and said to him: "Allah has given me permission to perform hijrah." Abu Bakr was the best friend of the Prophet ﷺ — his karīb dost. He said to him: "Ya Rasulullah, as-suhba — can I go with you? Can I accompany you on this journey?" The Prophet ﷺ said: "Yes, you can accompany me on this journey." And he started to cry.
Aisha, his daughter, she says:
(Sahih al-Bukhari, Hadith 3905)
"I didn't know it was possible for a person to cry out of happiness until that day" — that her father was so happy that he could accompany the Prophet ﷺ on a journey in which he wasn't going to see roses and flowers; he was going to see enemies and people trying to take his neck off his shoulders. But that warmth of being with the Prophet ﷺ was overwhelming: "If I can be with the Prophet ﷺ, that is all that I need."
As Iqbal says:
Kī Muḥammad se wafā tū ne to ham tere haiñ
Ye jahān chīz hai kyā, lauḥ o qalam tere haiñ
Literally what Iqbal is saying is that if a person is able to identify their value to our Habib ﷺ, our Prophet ﷺ — if we're able to identify and reference the value that we have to our deen — then lauḥ o qalam tere haiñ means that Allah will do what you want, Allah will write what you want, Allah will make those things happen that are easier for you, and He will open up doors for you. Though of course there are difficulties that we will have to face in life, doors will open up for us.
Abu Bakr started to cry out of happiness that "I can be with the Prophet ﷺ — that is the greatest thing that I could ever ask for." And hence when the Prophet ﷺ passed away, they say that Abu Bakr, for the two years that he stayed alive, he never smiled — because the death, or the transition, of the Prophet ﷺ was so heavy on him that he couldn't smile. It was so heavy: "How can I live without my Habib? How can I live without my best friend?"
The Last Words of Bilal
And all the Sahabas felt the same. When Bilal, the Mu'adhin of the Prophet ﷺ, was leaving this world, his wife was next to him. She said to him:
"What a sad day it is, what a sad day — you are Bilal, you are the Mu'adhin, you are a celebrity." Bilal, when he was alive, was a celebrity within the Muslims — he was like the Habib of today's time, or Muhammad Ali; everyone knew who he was. She said: "What a sad day." He said to his wife:
(Related in Siyar A'lām al-Nubalā', Imam al-Dhahabī)
"What a happy day it is! What a happy day!" How is it a happy day, Bilal? "Because tomorrow I will meet the Prophet ﷺ and my companions" — so I know how happy I will be to meet the Prophet ﷺ.