Will We Answer, or Be Replaced?
This article was published on the 10th of Muharram, 1447.
السلام علیک یا ابا عبدالله
It is the Day of Ashura, and the timeless cry of Husayn (a) echoes in my ears:
هل من ناصر ینصرنا؟
Is there a helper to help us?
I desperately want to answer. To reach through the folds of time and throw myself between Husayn (a) and the sword that descends upon him, to let my body burn a thousand times if it means the chador of Zaynab (s) remains untouched by fire.
But am I worthy?
More fundamentally, I wonder: what could I possibly do to help Husayn (a)? Does his living call still resound because his mission depends on people like me? Can the Hujjat of Allah on earth, the heir of divine light, the one who possesses existential and legislative authority traversing all realms of existence, truly need my help?
Does the mission of Islam depend upon us? Does God?
Allah (swt) says in the Holy Qur’an:
يَـٰٓأَيُّهَا ٱلَّذِينَ ءَامَنُوٓا۟ إِن تَنصُرُوا۟ ٱللَّهَ يَنصُرْكُمْ وَيُثَبِّتْ أَقْدَامَكُمْ
(Muhammad 47: 7)
O you who have faith! If you help Allah, He will help you and make your feet steady.
But what does it mean to help Allah?
He is الغني (al-Ghaniyy) – the Absolutely Needless. I am الفقير (al-faqīr) – utterly, absolutely, existentially needy. He commands the armies of the heavens and the earth (48:7), while I possess no power or might except through Him.
No, He does not need me. Nor does His beloved – Sayyid al-Shuhadā’ – require my support to validate his stand. The mission of truth does not hang in the balance, waiting for me to join it. The promise of Allah does not depend on me. And yet … Husayn (a) cried out. And Allah speaks of our help. What does it mean?
The Gift of Salvation
The call is not a request for aid.
It is a gift of salvation.
When Husayn (a) called for a helper, he was not asking us to rescue him. He was inviting us to be rescued. He was opening a path, a lifeline, a chance to write our names into the divine unfolding of God’s promise. His call was not a cry of need, but a gift of mercy. He yearns to awaken us, to give us true life:
يَـٰٓأَيُّهَا ٱلَّذِينَ آمَنُوا ٱسْتَجِيبُوا لِلَّهِ وَلِلرَّسُولِ إِذَا دَعَاكُمْ لِمَا يُحْيِيكُمْ
(al-Anfāl 8:24)
“O you who believe! Answer Allah and the Messenger when He calls you to that which gives you life.”
To say labbaik to the call of Allah and His Hujjah is to taste real life – eternal, joyous, purposeful. Without it, we may breathe, but we do not live. We drift, disconnected from the Divine, from our fitrah, from the purpose of our creation.
Husayn (a) made the ultimate sacrifice so that you and I could have this life. He called so we could answer. He bled so we could awaken. He gave everything so that we may be guided. We honour his sacrifice not just by mourning, but by allowing it to transform us, such that we wholly embrace that which gives us life: Islam. If we cast this invitation aside, it is we who lose, not Allah. Those who refused to heed Husayn (a)’s call were the true losers, though their blood remained unspilled. They survived a little longer in this world – but can that truly be called life? Or was real life attained by those who died upon the burning sands of Karbala, next to their Imam?
What’s at Stake: Rise, or Be Replaced
To turn away from the divine call is not a defeat for the mission of God; it is a devastation for our own souls:
وَٱللَّهُ ٱلْغَنِىُّ وَأَنتُمُ ٱلْفُقَرَآءُ ۚ وَإِن تَتَوَلَّوْا۟ يَسْتَبْدِلْ قَوْمًا غَيْرَكُمْ ثُمَّ لَا يَكُونُوٓا۟ أَمْثَـٰلَكُمْ
(Muhammad 47: 38)
Allah is the All-sufficient, and you are all-needy. And if you turn away He will replace you with another people, and they will not be like you.
This is the terrifying beauty of Allah’s promise. His promise is not dependent on us, but offered to us. It will unfold, with or without us. The only question is: will we be among those who help fulfill it? Or will our names be recorded among those who turned away – and were replaced?
This is the sunnat, the divine pattern, of Allah: When a people given the honour to carry His mission fail to rise, their tawfīq is taken. It is handed to others — braver, firmer, more ready to sacrifice — and it is they who attain the heights of human perfection.
That invitation stands before us now.
And if we hesitate, we may miss it forever.
The Privilege of Answering
Answering the divine call is not comfortable. It tears us from our routines, our comforts, our attachments. Answering Ḥusayn (a)’s call meant inqiṭāʿ — severing all ties to the world and facing death. If we are attached to this fleeting life, if we see death as annihilation, we can never hope to answer the divine call.
Look at the people in Husayn’s caravan. Did they think they were doing Husayn (a) – and Allah – a favour by being present in Karbala unlike so many others?! No! They saw what it truly was: an immense privilege. They saw their blood as having no higher use than to be spilled for the cause of truth. What is the point of surviving, of staying longer in this world, if I am separated from my Imam in the next?
And those who refused to heed the call – their souls suffer unfathomable regret and sorrow for missing out.
And us?
Our Share in Karbala
We must realize: the call still lives.
It lives in the cry of every oppressed person.
It lives in the resistance of every movement that bears the scent of Karbala.
It lives in the voice of the Imam of our Time (a) – still calling for helpers.
If we are indifferent to the resistance movements of today that are battling the Yazids of the time, then it’s not they who suffer.
It is we who are left behind.
The people of resistance in Gaza, in Lebanon and Yemen, in Iran and Nigeria, have shown their unwavering dedication to the mission of Islam. They are true flag-bearers of the Husayni movement. They have paid with their lives, with their safety, with the future of their children.
And yet they stand—awake, steadfast, alive. Truly alive. Far more so than many of us who breathe, but do not live.
The blood of martyrs is never shed in vain. It awakens the people of truth. It carries the mission forward. God’s promise is not in danger of failing. It will unfold. He has declared:
وَنُرِيدُ أَن نَّمُنَّ عَلَى ٱلَّذِينَ ٱسْتُضْعِفُوا۟ فِى ٱلْأَرْضِ وَنَجْعَلَهُمْ أَئِمَّةًۭ وَنَجْعَلَهُمُ ٱلْوَٰرِثِينَ
(al-Qasas 28: 5)
“And it is Our Will to show favour to those who were abased in the land, and to make them imams, and to make them the inheritors.”
The only question is: Will I be counted amongst them?
My Becoming
Today, on Ashura, I do not cry because Husayn (a) failed.
I cry because I do not know if I am worthy to join him… and I cannot bear the thought of being left behind.
I cry because I ache to stand as his companions did — resolute, unwavering, joyfully casting aside comfort and life itself for the honour of defending their Imam.
I cry because I fear my soul is too weak, too slow to rise.
So I cry as a plea — O Husayn! Let not my grief remain only in my eyes. Let it take root in my soul. Let it unravel me, so you can make me whole. Let this mourning be my unbecoming – the unbecoming of my lowly self, entrapped and entranced by a worldly life. And let your love be my becoming, molding me into achieving the potential I always held within.
And with every tear, I whisper:
لبیك یا مهدی
Labbayka ya Mahdi.Here I am, O my Imam! لبیك یابن الزهراء
Labbayka ya ibn al-Zahra. Here I am, O son of Zahra.
Save me a place in your army.
Do not let me be replaced.
Take this unworthy, yearning soul and mold it into your servant, as Husayn (a) molded Zuhayr.
Let not my fear, my complacency, my hesitation be the reason I am left behind.
Let these tears become resolve.
Let this grief become movement.
Let this love become action.
And let my name be written, not just among those who mourned – but among those who answered.
The Divine Promise 