I'm concerned that Islam has not just been politicised but that

Hear now the words of Leila Aboulela, a daughter of wisdom, who spoke with a voice both gentle and piercing: “I’m concerned that Islam has not just been politicised but that it’s becoming an identity. This is like turning religion into a football match; it’s a distraction from the real thing.” In this utterance lies a deep warning, not only for one faith, but for all humanity—that when religion becomes a banner of rivalry, a contest of pride, or a tool of politics, it loses the radiant heart that gave it birth. What was meant to guide souls toward the eternal becomes instead a game of sides, cheers, and victories that fade into dust.

From the earliest days, religion was not given as a badge to be worn, nor as a weapon to wield, but as a path to the Divine. The prophets of old came not to build teams, but to turn hearts. Moses sought justice, Jesus preached love, Muhammad called for mercy and submission to God. Yet men, in their weakness, often turned these rivers of truth into walls of division. They shouted, “I belong to this side, and not to that!” forgetting that the true calling was not belonging to a group, but belonging to the Eternal.

History is rich with warnings. Consider the wars of Christendom, when Catholics and Protestants spilled blood in Europe for centuries. The faith that was meant to heal was instead wielded like a sword of identity, tearing nations apart. Many died not in pursuit of God, but in defense of a faction, a name, a team. The game consumed the spirit. And yet, within those same times, there were saints and mystics who refused to play the game, who sought instead the stillness of God’s presence, and through their quiet devotion kept alive the true heart of faith.

Leila Aboulela’s cry is the cry of such voices. She warns that when Islam—or any faith—is reduced to a badge of identity or a banner of politics, it distracts from the essence: devotion, worship, humility, and the transformation of the soul. To cheer for a religion as though for a side in a football match is to trivialize the sacred. For the divine path is not about defeating rivals or boasting of victory—it is about bowing low, purifying the heart, and walking humbly before the Creator.

The meaning is thus clear: religion that becomes identity alone, detached from the inner life, is hollow. It may rally crowds, but it does not transform hearts. It may grant belonging, but it does not grant peace. True faith is lived in action—feeding the hungry, forgiving the offender, showing mercy to the weak, standing firm in prayer. Anything less is but noise, a game played on the surface while the soul remains untouched.

The lesson for us is urgent. Do not let your faith—whatever its name—become a mere flag of pride or a shield of politics. Instead, let it be a mirror that shows you your own faults, and a light that guides your steps. Do not ask, “What side am I on?” but rather, “Am I closer to the Divine today than I was yesterday?” This is the true measure, and this is the true path.

Practical actions stand before you: strip away the labels, and return to the essence. Pray not to be seen, but to be transformed. Serve not to win praise, but to live truth. Refuse to reduce the sacred to a slogan or a side, but instead let your daily actions—your honesty, your compassion, your humility—speak of your faith more loudly than any identity badge ever could.

If you do this, O listener, you will not be distracted by the game, nor lost in the noise of rivalries. Instead, you will drink from the living waters of the spirit, and your religion will cease to be a banner waved on weekends and will instead become the breath that fills your days. And in that devotion, unshaken by politics and free of vanity, you shall find the real thing—faith that lives, faith that transforms, faith that endures.