Begin as you mean to go on

Dear Faith for the Climate network,

Welcome to our first e-news update of the year. It arrives slightly later than usual, as the Faith for the Climate team took some time to rest over recent weeks. I am still reflecting on your thoughtful responses to our end-of-year survey, as well as on the intensity of the headlines that have already marked the opening of this year.

As I prepared this bulletin, a phrase came to my heart — call it inspiration or an answer to prayer: ‘Begin as you mean to go on.’ It comes from a longer quote by the nineteenth-century English Baptist preacher and abolitionist Charles Spurgeon: ‘Begin as you mean to go on, and go on as you began, and let the Lord be all in all to you.’

Anyone committed to climate justice and justice more broadly could be forgiven for beginning 2026 with fear and trembling. While we should not ignore these alarm bells, remaining trapped in dread and doomism does not ultimately serve our work, our bodies, and our souls. One of the gifts of belonging to an interfaith climate justice network is the ability to draw on deeper spiritual resources that offer alternative ways of seeing and responding.

This update arrives on the eve of the Isrāʾ and Miʿrāj, the night journey of the Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, from Mecca to Jerusalem (the Isrāʾ) and his heavenly ascension (the Miʿrāj). This story is a wellspring of wisdom and mystical reflection in the Islamic tradition. The night journey to Jerusalem symbolises Islam’s shared rootedness with Judaism and Christianity, linking Muhammad with Moses and Jesus. In the Qur’an, Muhammad’s ascension is then described in dazzling language. One verse from Sūrah al-Najm, the Chapter of the Unfolding, has long stayed with me: ‘The heart did not give the lie to what he saw.’

In other words, Muhammad did not behold the Divine with his eyes but with his heart. In Islam, as in many spiritual traditions, the heart is understood as the seat of true wisdom and perception.

As I grow older, I am increasingly struck by what follows the ascension: Muhammad’s descent back into the world. Like the Bodhisattva in the Buddhist tradition who delays personal liberation out of compassion for others, Muhammad returns from paradise for the sake of humanity and creation. This is especially poignant given that the Isrāʾ and Miʿrāj took place during the Year of Sorrow, a time marked by the deaths of his beloved wife Khadija and his uncle Abu Talib.

For me, this descent offers a powerful model for how to begin as we mean to go on: not by escaping the injustices and sufferings of this world, but by nurturing inner and outer transformation within it.

Because the Islamic calendar is lunar, its observances move roughly eleven days earlier each year in the solar or Gregorian calendar. This year, the Isrāʾ and Miʿrāj falls a fortnight before the Celtic festival of Imbolc. Imbolc is associated with the stirring of life beneath winter’s surface — its name is often linked to ideas of pregnancy, milk, and gestation.

It is at Imbolc that the Celtic goddess Brighid became pregnant with the seed of the sun. Rooted in agrarian life, Imbolc therefore marks a time when divine energy is invoked for the land in hope of future harvests. According to some historians Brigid, a goddess associated with fire and healing, was later Christianised as St Brigid, a patron saint of Ireland.

I share these stories not to compare religions or to debate theological truths, but because, as a Muslim, reflecting on Imbolc has given new layers to my understanding of the Isrāʾ and Miʿrāj. In both sacred moments, the symbolism of night is central. Imbolc takes place in the depth of winter, yet its meaning lies not in escaping darkness but in recognising the light and life quietly growing within it. This is how transformation unfolds in nature: seasonally, patiently, cyclically.

The Isrāʾ and Miʿrāj, by contrast, is a singular, revelatory, cosmic event. Yet it too unfolds at night. In both traditions, darkness is not a cause for despair but a threshold — a space of becoming, where wondrous transformation begins to take shape.

It is always darkest before dawn.

In the spirit of journeying and crossing thresholds, I hope this reflection offers encouragement to your heart as we begin the year together. Read on for details of our first webinar of the year, upcoming events, and useful resources.