The God Who Asks for Everything
On Eid al-Adha, the Sacred Convergence, and a World on Fire
It’s easy to speak of devotion in theory.
To say, “God can have it all.”
To write surrender into poetry.
To nod along when prophets tell their stories.
To imagine ourselves as willing.
But Eid al-Adha tells the truth: Surrender is a blade.
And sometimes the altar is your own child.
Eid al-Adha, the “Festival of Sacrifice,” is Islam’s holiest observance.
It honors the moment when Abraham—Ibrahim in the Qur’an—was asked by God to offer up his beloved son as a testament of faith.
In Islam’s telling, the son (widely understood to be Ishmael) is not an innocent bystander. He is a participant. There is no struggle. No deception. No resistance.
There is trust. Willingness. A shared surrender.
And just before the unthinkable—God interrupts.
A ram appears in the thicket.
Sacrifice meets mercy.
Obedience births provision.
That is the essence of Eid.
Not cruelty.
Not blind martyrdom.
But a test of the soul’s posture.
A return to the ancient question:
What would you give, if God asked for it?
This year, the observance of Eid al-Adha falls within the same sacred week as Shavuot and Pentecost—a rare convergence across the three great Abrahamic traditions.
Let the sequence speak for itself:
Shavuot: The Torah descends. Revelation is received.
Eid al-Adha: The will is tested. Surrender is offered.
Pentecost: The Spirit descends. Humanity is empowered.
Three traditions.
Three invitations.
Three reminders of what it means to walk with God.
This isn’t just liturgical coincidence—it is prophetic choreography. A divine rhythm pulsing beneath the chaos of our headlines.
Because as the sacred calendars align, the world fractures.
A pope transitions from form back to father on Easter Monday, as Holy Week and Passover converge in divine order—an unprecedented exhale from the oldest spiritual institutions.
He is succeeded by Pope Leo, an American, bearing a name that evokes lions, judgment, and messianic prophecy.
Trade wars escalate. Tariffs tighten. Nations retreat into economic fortresses.
Children are sold while lawmakers pray.
Human trafficking, climate collapse, institutional rot—each paraded in righteousness, as if God were proud of the carnage.
And still, each faction claims to know the will of God.
But scripture says otherwise.
Throughout sacred text, we are shown again and again: God is not impressed by your noise. Your nationalism. Your certainty.
What He honors is obedience. Trust. And the sacrifice of ego.
“Their flesh and their blood do not reach God. But what reaches Him is your piety.”
— Qur’an 22:37
“To obey is better than sacrifice.”
— 1 Samuel 15:22
“We will do, and we will listen.”
— Exodus 24:7
Eid is not just for Muslims.
Just as Pentecost is not only for Christians.
Just as Sinai was not only for Jews.
These stories belong to all of us—because the human heart still hoards control, still demands guarantees, still clings to outcomes it cannot keep.
But the convergence of these holy days says: Lay it down.
Lay down the thing you’re afraid to lose.
Lay down the false story you wrote about who you are, and why you matter.
Because in the end, the thing that saves you will not be your plan.
It will be your posture.
Your yes.
Your willingness to walk up the mountain, even if it costs you everything.
So this week, amid bloodshed and broadcasts, I’m listening more closely.
I hear Sinai rumbling.
I see a father’s trembling hands.
I feel wind in the upper room.
And I believe.
God speaks.
Not to flatter.
Not to scold.
But to invite.
To ask, one more time:
Will you give Me everything?
May we be among those who answer yes.
Eid Mubarak.
And to all who do not observe—may you still be blessed by the surrender that this moment makes possible.