Weekly Sermons

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					We hold a fundamental principle: as long as something does not contradict the spirit of religion, we strive to view every endeavor in a positive light. Our approach has been to evaluate such efforts fairly and, wherever possible, to express appreciation and support. Even in cases where events could be interpreted negatively, we’ve tried to uncover reasonable explanations and draw out constructive meaning.
When faced with unpleasant attitudes or behaviors, we’ve urged ourselves toward patience and tolerance. We haven’t magnified minor issues or turned differences into sources of conflict. We’ve refrained from confrontation, avoided reigniting old disputes, and resisted creating new ones. We’ve seen this approach—not reacting with hostility, but rather embracing understanding—as a vital path to building reconciliation and mutual respect across social divides. Aware of the deep scars left by long-standing divisions, resentments, and hostilities, we’ve sought to lay the groundwork for love and goodwill. And to foster a culture of compassion and tolerance in society, we’ve endeavored to discover new ways forward.
Thanks be to God, we began to see the fruits of our efforts in a short time. Problems that could not be resolved through force or fury slowly began to unravel through love. Those who had once been pressured and coerced into submission no longer rejected proposals to meet on common ground. Rusted locks on hearts that harshness could never open began to yield to gentleness.
After all, human beings—created in the best of forms and inherently drawn to perfection—cannot remain indifferent to sincere acts of goodness. Throughout history and even today, efforts rooted in love and tolerance have always been worthy and noble pursuits in the eyes of humanity.
So who could possibly take offense at people who walk the path of Mevlâna Jalaleddin Rumi, Hacı Bektaş Veli, Ahmed Yesevî, or Yunus Emre—those who open their hearts to all, with no distinction between Muslim or non-Muslim, embracing others simply because they are human? To embrace everyone purely on the basis of shared humanity, to open one’s heart without discrimination, to demonstrate that the essence of existence is rooted in love, to affirm that Islam is a religion of compassion—what harm could there possibly be in any of that?
If these values were considered noble and praiseworthy in the past—as they are still seen today—why, then, do some people now feel uneasy or disturbed by them?
There are those who exalt Rumi to the skies, who constantly quote Yunus Emre, who speak admiringly of Yesevî, and who take pride in the legacy of Hacı Bektaş. Yet strangely, when individuals today embody that same spirit and strive to keep it alive across the globe, they are met with accusations and stigmatization. Why? Because the issue is not what is being done—it’s who is doing it.
Since the figures of the past are no longer a threat, there’s no risk in praising them. But when it comes to contemporaries—people who are alive and active today—the standards begin to shift. No matter how admirable the actions may be, if they are carried out by those with a different worldview, that’s when anxieties and paranoia take over.
Those who echo the same ideals expressed by Rumi, Yesevî, or Yunus—those who strive to cultivate an atmosphere of love and tolerance in society—are suddenly seen as dangerous or subversive. There is a growing fear among certain vested interests that these spiritually grounded individuals—who echo the ideals of Rumi, Yesevî, and Yunus—may gradually gain influence; that the moral weight, sincerity, and public appeal they carry might eventually place those power holders in a morally uncomfortable position; and that, in time, these very power holders may feel a pressing need—arising from circumstance, not coercion—to sit down and engage in serious dialogue with them.
Had these paranoid minds lived during the time of Rumi, they would have tried to silence him—or even exile him. And if Rumi were alive today, gathering around him a growing circle of admirers, and if people began responding to his call with sincerity—he too would be labeled a threat. Plans would be drawn up in dark corners about how to silence his voice.
Those same malicious voices who now, whenever they speak, hurl slanders and insults at those they label as opponents, would no doubt have said similar things about Ahmed Yesevî. They would strategize how to undermine the influence of Yunus Emre, who draws people in through the love and warmth he spreads. They would brand Hacı Bektaş-ı Veli a “traitor” and throw him in prison.
Why? Because they cannot tolerate the existence of a will beyond their own, or a form of influence, moral authority, and persuasive appeal that does not stem from their own sphere of control. Sadly, the militaristic mindset of past eras continues today—under new names and disguises—still crushing anyone who refuses to walk their line or follow their roadmap.
In the face of such irrationality and inconsistency, it is only natural that one’s inner strength may sometimes be shaken. In moments like these, questions can arise in our minds about whether the efforts we make—or the dedication shown by our companions—are truly right and meaningful.
We may find ourselves asking, “Are we doing something wrong? Why are these people so strongly opposed to us?”
But in reality, there is nothing wrong. What is being done today mirrors—down to the smallest detail—the very path that Rumi himself once walked. Today’s Rumis, today’s Sultan Veleds, today’s Yesevîs—our era’s souls devoted to the Divine, sincere and selfless volunteers—are following that same line, delivering that same message to humanity in a renewed form.
Yet some people refuse to consider the beauty of what is being done. Instead, they focus entirely on who is doing it. Because in their minds, they have already placed these individuals in a box—they have passed judgment, labeled them as “the other,” and branded them as “bad.”
As a result, any good deed done by these individuals is automatically deemed bad—not because of the deed itself, but because of who performed it. This is how shallow the logic runs: “If these people are doing it, then it must be wrong.”
Even if they were to guide people toward paradise, shield them from the fire, awaken faith in their hearts, help the seeds of eternal bliss bloom within their souls, and bring peace and contentment to the world—they would still be condemned. Their actions would still be misjudged, and they would still be declared guilty.
Because, from the very beginning, the decision had already been made: “We see these people as the other, and so whatever they do must be wrong.” That, in truth, is the heart of the matter.
None of this should discourage anyone or weaken their inner strength. On the contrary, these good efforts must continue—and grow—by being multiplied. Of course, our friends know best what they are doing and what they ought to do. I make no claim of offering guidance here, nor do I presume to point anyone in a particular direction. But allow me to say this much: in times like these, panic is never the right response.
Panic is a reflection of the opposing side—their state of mind, their paranoia. They are the ones gripped by fear. So instead, we must keep taking steps that surprise them. Suppose, for instance, that this year ten thousand people have gone out to various corners of the world to share the inspirations of their hearts with those in need—then next year, that number should rise to one hundred thousand. The following year, two hundred thousand; the next, four hundred thousand; and the year after that, eight hundred thousand. We must find ways to expand this service exponentially.
In places where they’ve built fortifications and launched offensives against you, you will take steps inspired by love, dialogue, human embrace, and positive action—so unexpected and sincere that their hands will not be able to reach you. By the time they try to catch up, all they will see is the dust cloud you’ve left behind.
And when that happens, they’ll find it harder to interfere with you or obstruct the good being done. They’ll collapse under the weight of their own paranoia, flail in the whirlpool of panic they themselves created, and stumble in the face of the beauty being brought to life.
As hearts are drawn to you by the sacred charm of your sincerity, and as the reasonableness of your work gathers people around you, those bat-like souls who are disturbed by the light—who knows—might become consumed by their own hatred.
Let us also remember: it is not our aim—nor our desire—to provoke or enrage anyone. We do not say “Amen” to curses, we do not pursue revenge, and we never wish harm upon others. If someone, overwhelmed by paranoia, were to suffer a breakdown or descend into ruin, we would never take satisfaction in that.
I may have shared this before: one of the individuals who has caused the greatest harm to this service [Hizmet] once spoke in bitterness and enmity, and for a fleeting moment, the thought of “hell!” crossed my mind about him. At first glance, such a thought might not seem inappropriate. After all, revered figures like Muhammad Bahauddin Naqshband, Imam Ghazali, and Bediuzzaman also sought solace by praying for divine justice against oppressors in times of intense hardship.
But for me, it was merely a passing thought. As I entered the room, my eyes filled with tears. I wept. I said, “No, my Lord! I cannot wish for hellfire to fall upon those who wrong us—those who try to discredit the devoted souls striving in Your path with slander and falsehood. That would be too heavy a wish. If You will to act, let it be in the form of guidance. Let Your will be their encounter with truth and transformation.”
Let the whole world hear this: this is the state of our hearts. We do not wish for anyone to perish from paranoia, anger, restlessness, or inner suffering. Such thoughts have no place in our hearts.
Our sole prayer is this: that God may grant all people fairness and sound judgment. May He allow them to see the truth as it is, in accordance with its full value and dignity. Rather than spending their time in bitterness, stubbornness, and exclusion, may they embrace the good that is being done and allow it to find a place in their hearts.
This community has a generous spirit. No matter who it may be, if someone offers even a small act of kindness, they embrace them and carry them with pride. Our goal is clear: to win hearts and to earn God’s pleasure by helping build a world of shared peace and harmony. None of us has any other agenda. Those who fabricate conflict as if it were real are, in fact, the very source of the unrest.
We are the spiritual heirs of Rumis and Yesevîs. That is why our hearts beat with love for all humanity. Those who sit and rise with hatred, vengeance, or rage—they are others, not us. We have made a vow: we will not see anyone as “the other.” Even toward those who see us that way, we will keep our arms open.
Even if someone were to approach us with hostility or harm in hand, we would respond: 
“Come, dear friend—there is still a place for you in my heart.”
May God grant us the strength to walk this path, and the ability to carry forward these good efforts in growing measure. Amen.
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