Daniel: Okay, Sophia. "Secrets of Divine Love." Review it in exactly five words. Sophia: God's love isn't what you think. Daniel: Ooh, provocative. I like it. Mine is: "Your heart is a compass." Sophia: That’s beautiful, and it gets right to the core of it. This book doesn't feel like a typical religious text at all. Daniel: It really doesn't. Today we’re diving into Secrets of Divine Love: A Spiritual Journey into the Heart of Islam by A. Helwa. And to understand this book, you have to understand her story. Sophia: What’s the background there? Daniel: What's fascinating is that Helwa has a Master's in Divinity, but she also talks about spending a decade away from religious practice. She describes herself as wandering through different spiritual paths before coming back to Islam, not through doctrine, but through a deeply personal, experiential journey. And you feel that on every page. Sophia: That makes so much sense. It feels less like a textbook and more like a love letter. So where do we start with this divine reframe she’s offering?

Daniel: We start with the book's central mission, which is to shift the perception of God from a distant, rule-based deity to an intimate, unconditionally loving presence. Helwa has this great line where she says, "Islam does not have to change, we just need to return to the spiritual heart and soul of its timeless message of love, mercy, peace, freedom, justice, and unity." Sophia: That's a powerful statement. But for many people, religion is deeply tied to the fear of punishment, the idea of sin. How does the book tackle something as heavy as sin and repentance if the foundation is pure love? Daniel: This is one of the most beautiful parts of the book. It reframes the whole concept. The Arabic word for repentance, Tawba, literally means 'to return.' It’s not about groveling or shame. It's simply about turning back toward God. Sophia: A return, not a punishment. I like that. Daniel: Exactly. And she tells this incredible story from the Islamic tradition to illustrate it. It’s about a man who had killed ninety-nine people. He was consumed by guilt and went to a monk to ask if God could ever forgive him. The monk, horrified, said, "Absolutely not. You're doomed." Sophia: Oh, that’s rough. I can see where this is going. Daniel: In his despair, the man kills the monk. So now he's killed one hundred people. But he still has this flicker of hope, this longing to return. So he seeks out a true scholar, who tells him, "Of course God's mercy is open to you. But you must change your environment. Leave your town of sin and go to this other land where pious people live. Your surroundings will help you heal." Sophia: Okay, so there's hope, but it requires action. Daniel: Right. The man sets off on the journey, but halfway there, he dies. And this is where it gets amazing. The angels of mercy and the angels of torment both arrive to claim his soul. They start arguing. The angels of torment say, "He killed a hundred people! He never did a single good deed!" The angels of mercy argue back, "But he was returning to God with a sincere heart!" Sophia: I'm on the edge of my seat. Who wins? Daniel: God sends a third angel to mediate. The angel says, "Measure the distance. If he was closer to the land of sin, he belongs to torment. If he was closer to the land of piety, he belongs to mercy." So they measure, and they find he was just a tiny bit closer to the land of piety. The story even says that in his last moments, he crawled to pull himself closer. And so, the angels of mercy take his soul. Sophia: Wow. That gives me chills. So sin isn't a permanent stain, but an invitation to turn back? That's a huge psychological shift. Daniel: It's a complete reframe. The book argues that God's forgiveness actually precedes our repentance. His mercy is always there, waiting for us to turn around and accept it. Sophia: Okay, but I have to ask the critical question here. The book is hugely popular and highly rated, but I've heard some critics say its theology is a bit... personalized. That it might not be strictly orthodox. Does that matter if it's helping people connect spiritually? Daniel: That's a fair point, and it’s true that some scholars might find her interpretations more poetic than doctrinally rigid. But Helwa seems very clear about her audience. She writes that the book is for "the longing heart," for the person who feels "too imperfect for a perfect God to love." Her goal isn't to write a theological treatise; it’s to open a door for people who feel shut out, using the universal language of love. Sophia: So it’s a spiritual guide, not a rulebook. Daniel: Precisely. It’s about relationship over religion, in a way.

Sophia: That makes sense. So if God is this ocean of love, and sin is just turning away, how do we turn back? How do we actually connect? It can't just be a feeling. Daniel: Exactly. And this is where the book gets really practical and, I think, ingenious. It reframes the traditional pillars of Islam—like prayer, fasting, and charity—not as obligations, but as what she calls 'spiritual technologies.' Sophia: Spiritual technologies? I love that. It sounds like something from Silicon Valley, but for the soul. Daniel: It's a perfect description. Let's take Salat, the ritual prayer. For many, this can feel like a robotic obligation. You have to do it five times a day, face a certain direction, say specific words. It can feel very external. Sophia: Right. How does she make that about love? Daniel: She calls prayer a "divine charging station" or a "spiritual shower." It’s a dedicated time to unplug from the world and plug directly into the divine source. And she tells this story about Imam Ali, the Prophet Muhammad's cousin and son-in-law, that just perfectly captures this. Sophia: I'm ready. Hit me with it. Daniel: During a battle, an arrow gets lodged deep in Imam Ali's leg. The pain is so excruciating that no one can pull it out. Every time they try, he's in agony. His companions are at a loss. Then, one of them says, "Wait until he begins to pray. When he prays, he leaves this world." Sophia: Whoa. Daniel: So they wait. Imam Ali stands for prayer, and as he enters that state of deep connection, his companions pull the arrow clean out. Blood is flowing down his leg, but he doesn't even flinch. When he finishes his prayer, he looks down and asks, "Are you all finished?" He had been so completely absorbed in his conversation with God that he felt no physical pain. Sophia: That is an incredible story. It makes prayer sound less like recitation and more like a state of genuine transcendence, like deep meditation. Daniel: It's exactly that. It's about presence. But the book also addresses the modern reality. Sophia: Which is that most of us are not Imam Ali. We’re thinking about our to-do list, our phone is buzzing, the dog is barking... How does this framework handle distraction? Daniel: This is the best part. Helwa says the distractions that pop up during prayer are not a failure; they are part of its wisdom. They show you your 'inner idols.' Sophia: Inner idols? What do you mean? Daniel: If you're praying and all you can think about is a work deadline, then work has become an idol that stands between you and God. If you're worried about what someone thinks of you, then their opinion is your idol. Prayer isn't about having a perfectly clear mind. It's about noticing those idols and, for a moment, choosing to turn your heart back to God. Each time you bring your focus back, no matter how many times it wanders, that is the victory. Sophia: Huh. So the goal isn't to eliminate distractions, but to practice the art of returning, over and over again. That feels so much more achievable. Daniel: It’s a practice, not a performance. The book is full of these reframes, turning what might seem like rigid rules into profound tools for self-awareness and connection.

Sophia: So, when you put it all together, the book seems to be arguing that faith isn't about achieving a state of perfection. It’s about the constant, loving act of returning—returning from sin, returning from distraction, returning to this core of love that’s always there. Daniel: Precisely. It's not a destination; it's a direction. The book’s ultimate message is that you are already in the ocean of divine love. The entire spiritual path is just about realizing you're a fish that's been asking where the water is. It's about removing the veils we build ourselves. Sophia: I love that analogy of the fish in the water. It's so simple and yet so profound. It reminds me of that Kabir quote she uses: "I laugh when I hear that the fish in the water is thirsty." Daniel: It’s the same idea. And it’s incredibly empowering. It shifts the dynamic from one of desperate seeking to one of joyful remembering. The book is a reminder that you don't have to become worthy of love; you just have to remember that you were created from love. Sophia: It makes me think of that Rumi quote the book opens with: "Stop acting so small. You are the universe in ecstatic motion." It’s a call to recognize the divinity that's already within you. Daniel: A perfect way to put it. For anyone listening who feels disconnected, or maybe feels that they're 'not good enough' for a spiritual path, this book offers a powerful, compassionate welcome home. It says, "Come as you are, to Islam as it is." Sophia: We'd love to hear what you think. Does this idea of a love-based faith resonate with you, or do you think it misses something crucial? Find us on our socials and join the conversation. Daniel: This is Aibrary, signing off.