There was a time, nearly two decades ago, when Friday carried a special charm, a spiritual excitement and an indescribable sense of belonging. I still remember those childhood days when the arrival of Friday meant something far more significant than an ordinary day of the week. I would prepare my Khan dress, have it properly ironed and get ready for the congregational prayer with an enthusiasm that is difficult to describe today. I would bathe, put on my cap and hurry towards the mosque with one thought constantly occupying my mind: I must reach early, occupy a place in the first row and listen to every word spoken by the Imam. I was not alone in this eagerness. Almost everyone around me appeared to share the same enthusiasm. Friday felt like Eid, a day of spiritual celebration, collective belonging and religious awakening.

The beauty of those Fridays was not confined to offering the Jumu’ah prayer. The sermon itself was an essential part of the experience. We wanted to listen, understand and learn. Every word carried a message and every reminder opened a new window of understanding. After the sermon, people would discuss what they had heard, ask questions and seek further knowledge. The mosque was not merely a place where people gathered to perform a religious obligation; it was a centre of learning, reflection and moral development. We valued the sanctity of Jumu’ah and eagerly awaited the opportunity to benefit from its spiritual atmosphere. Even our school routine reflected the importance attached to Friday prayers, as students were given a half day to facilitate their attendance. The day held a distinct place in our lives, and its significance was visible in our conduct.
But today, when I look around, I cannot help feeling that something fundamental has changed. The scene is increasingly different. In many mosques, worshippers remain absent during the sermon only to arrive in large numbers just before the prayer begins. Some appear to calculate their arrival according to the expected time of Salah rather than the beginning of the Khutbah. There are occasions when the Imam remarks that he has been waiting for the congregation before beginning his sermon. The words are simple, yet they reveal a troubling reality: the person entrusted with delivering religious guidance is ready, the message is prepared, the minbar is waiting, yet the audience is missing.
Have we reduced Jumu’ah to a few minutes of prayer while overlooking the spiritual guidance that precedes it?
The Friday Khutbah is not an unnecessary introduction to Salah. It is an integral part of the Jumu’ah gathering, intended to remind believers of their responsibilities, strengthen their faith and guide their personal and collective lives. Allah commands believers in the Qur’an, in Surah Al Jumu’ah, verse 9, to hasten to the remembrance of Allah when the call for Friday prayer is made and to leave their worldly transactions. This command reminds us that Jumu’ah requires more than a convenient appearance at the mosque when the prayer is about to begin. It calls for a conscious response to the spiritual significance of the day. The question, however, deserves deeper reflection. Have our priorities changed, or has the quality and relevance of the sermons failed to keep pace with changing times? Perhaps the answer lies somewhere between these two possibilities. On one hand, modern life has transformed our habits. We are increasingly occupied with professional commitments, social engagements, mobile phones and the endless distractions of the digital world.
Our attention has become fragmented and our patience for listening has diminished. We often want immediate results without investing time in understanding. Unfortunately, this attitude can enter our religious lives as well. We may fulfil the visible form of an obligation while gradually neglecting the learning and reflection that should accompany it. On the other hand, religious scholars and orators also carry an important responsibility. A sermon must not become a repetitive exercise that fails to address the realities confronting its audience.
The challenges faced by young people, the responsibilities of parents, the importance of honesty, the misuse of technology, social injustice, family disputes, corruption and the erosion of moral values deserve thoughtful attention. When a sermon connects timeless Islamic teachings with contemporary problems, it becomes relevant to the listener’s daily life. The purpose is not merely to speak from the minbar but to awaken minds, soften hearts and inspire meaningful change. Nevertheless, the responsibility of listening cannot be transferred entirely to the orator. Even the most eloquent speaker cannot benefit an audience that refuses to attend.
A meaningful sermon requires both a sincere speaker and an attentive congregation. We cannot demand better sermons while showing little willingness to listen to them. Equally, orators must continually strive to communicate with clarity, wisdom and relevance. Both sides must recognise their respective responsibilities. We must also remember that listening to the Khutbah is not merely a cultural habit inherited from our elders. It is part of the religious etiquette of Jumu’ah. The Prophet Muhammad ﷺ instructed believers to remain silent and listen attentively while the Imam delivers the Friday sermon. Authentic Hadith literature even discourages telling another person to be quiet during the Khutbah. Such guidance illustrates the importance Islam attaches to attentive listening and respect for the sermon. Perhaps the most painful aspect of this change is not simply that people arrive late. It is that we may be losing the spirit of eagerness that once brought us to the mosque with such enthusiasm. The question is not whether our childhood memories were perfect or whether the past was free from shortcomings. The real question is whether we are preserving the values that made those Fridays meaningful. Let us revive that spirit. Let parents encourage their children to arrive early.
Let young people rediscover the joy of learning. Let Imams deliver sermons that illuminate the challenges of contemporary life, and let congregations offer their undivided attention. Let the mosque become a place where people come not only to perform Salah but also to gain knowledge, correct their conduct and strengthen their relationship with Allah. A Friday sermon should never be treated as a few minutes to endure before prayer begins. It is an opportunity for guidance that we should willingly embrace. I still remember those childhood Fridays when reaching the mosque early was a matter of excitement rather than obligation alone. Perhaps it is time we asked ourselves what happened to that enthusiasm. Have we grown older and busier, or have our priorities quietly changed? The answer may be uncomfortable, but the solution begins with an honest question: if we can make time to stand before Allah in prayer, can we not also make time to listen to His guidance?
Let us not allow the minbar to speak to empty spaces while our hearts remain occupied elsewhere. Let us return to the mosque with the eagerness of our childhood, the understanding of maturity and the sincerity of true believers. For Jumu’ah is not merely about arriving in time for the prayer. It is also about being present when the message is delivered, listening with humility and carrying its wisdom into the world beyond the mosque.

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