By Ibrahim Ozdemir, Muslim Environmentalist, Philosopher, and CMGT Board Member
First Khutbah
Alhamdulillahi Rabb il-’alamin.
All praise belongs to Allah, Lord of all worlds — the One who raised the heavens without pillars, spread the earth as a dwelling for all living beings, placed the mountains as anchors, caused rivers to flow, and set the great balance of creation in motion.
Peace and blessings be upon our Prophet Muhammad, who planted trees, protected watersheds, established sanctuaries for wildlife, and forbade the wasting of water even on the banks of a rushing river. May Allah’s mercy be upon his family, his companions, and all who follow his guidance until the Last Day.
Brothers and sisters,
We live on a planet of breathtaking beauty and extraordinary complexity — a world of towering mountains and vast oceans, of ancient forests and intricate ecosystems, of species beyond counting, each one sustained by the mercy and provision of Allah.
“…He (Allah) set up the balance (al-mīzān) so that you may not exceed the balance. Weigh with justice and do not fall short in the balance. He has spread out the Earth for all living creatures“. (Surah Ar-Rahman, 55:7-9)
As you notice, the word mizan — balance — appears three times in three consecutive verses. This is not poetic repetition. This is divine insistence. The balance of creation is not optional. It is not a preference or a policy. It is the law written into the very structure of existence by the One who created it.
And we have broken that balance.
The burning of fossil fuels at an industrial scale has fundamentally destabilized the climate system that as sustained human civilizations for 10,000 years. Deforestation has eliminated billions of acres of the Earth’s lungs. Industrial agriculture has poisoned the soil and the waterways. Plastic waste now circulates through every ocean on the planet. Species are disappearing at a rate one thousand times faster than the natural background rate of extinction.
Yet today, this magnificent trust is under unprecedented threat. And so, we gather — as Muslims, as stewards, as witnesses — to reflect on one of the most pressing moral obligations of our time: the protection of the earth that Allah has entrusted to us.
As Muslims, our relationship with the natural world is not incidental to our faith. It is woven into its very foundation. Allah, Glorified and Exalted, did not create this world carelessly or without purpose.
As the Quran teaches from the first revelations, every species — every plant that reaches toward the sun, every creature that moves upon the earth, every bird that navigates the open sky — exists by divine will, carries divine meaning, and fulfills a role in the intricate ecological balance that Allah Himself designed and sustains.
Reflecting on these relationships, on the profound interdependence of living organisms and their environments, is not merely a scientific exercise.
The Quran presents it as an act of worship, a path toward deeper knowledge of the Creator through contemplation of His creation.
This is why protecting the environment and caring for animals are not peripheral to Islamic belief — they sit at its moral center. We are not the owners of this earth. We are its trustees, its stewards, charged with preserving what was here before us and passing it on, intact and flourishing, to those who will come after us. This sacred custody — this amanah — will be accounted for.
Brothers and sisters,
Allah says:
“We offered the Trust to the heavens and the earth and the mountains, but they refused to bear it and were afraid of it. But the human being took it on. Indeed, he has always been deeply wrongful and ignorant.” (Surah Al-Ahzab, 33:72)
This Trust — this amanah — is not merely the trust of prayer and fasting, of honest business dealings and faithful marriages.
It is the trust of this entire earth.
It is the trust of the rivers and forests, the oceans and soil, the animals and insects, the atmosphere and climate systems that sustain all life.
We were appointed not as owners of this world, but as its stewards, its vicegerents, its guardians.
Today, that trust is in crisis.
The Quran Invites Us to Read the World.
Just remember, the very first word revealed to our Prophet ﷺ was Iqra — Read. There was no text before him. What was he being asked to read?
He was being asked to read the natural world (kawn) itself — to perceive creation not as raw material to be exploited, but as a book of signs pointing to their Author.
Allah says:
“Indeed, in the creation of the heavens and the earth, and the alternation of night and day, there are signs for people of understanding — those who remember Allah while standing, sitting, and lying on their sides, and who reflect upon the creation of the heavens and the earth, saying: ‘Our Lord, You did not create all this without purpose. Glory be to You.’” (Surah Al-Imran, 3:190-191)
As you may know, the Arabic word used here for signs is ayat — the very same word used for the verses of the Quran. This is not a coincidence. The Islamic intellectual tradition has long understood that Allah gave humanity two Books: the written Quran and the living universe. Said Nursi, one of the greatest Islamic scholars of the modern era, described the cosmos as “the mighty Quran of the universe,” whose every page, every word, every letter points not to itself but to its Author.
Dear brothers and sisters,
But what does it mean, today, to truly read these signs Allah?
It means reading the melting glaciers of Greenland and the Hindu Kush—silent yet powerful testimonies that the balance created and sustained by Allah is being disturbed.
It means reading the bleaching of coral reefs in the Pacific, where entire nations stand on the edge of disappearing beneath rising seas.
It means reading the spreading deserts of the Sahel, where farmers watch their ancestral lands turn to dust, their sustenance slipping through their fingers.
It means reading about the floods that have submerged vast areas of Pakistan, the wildfires that rage across Canada, Australia, and the Mediterranean, and the droughts that afflict the Horn of Africa.
My dear brothers and sisters,
It also means reading the devastation of war.
Today, we witness cities turned into ruins, families shattered, and millions displaced. But war does not only destroy human lives—it devastates the earth itself.
It’s truly heartbreaking to see forests burned, rivers polluted, and soil damaged—disrupting the delicate balance that Allah has lovingly created.
This is not separate from our faith. This is not outside our responsibility.
Allah says:
“Corruption has appeared on land and sea because of what people’s hands have earned…” (Surah Al-Rum, 30:41).
What we are witnessing—whether environmental collapse or the destruction of war—is part of this فساد, this فساد في الأرض.
These are not distant events. They are not mere headlines we scroll past. They are āyāt—signs from Allah.
And these signs are crying out—not only to be seen, but to be understood… and to be answered. So let us ask ourselves on this beautiful and blessed Friday:
Are we among those who merely look… or those who truly read?
Are we among those who consume… or those who act as khulafā’, as stewards of this earth?
Brothers and sisters,
To read these signs is to awaken responsibility.
To read these signs is to renew our covenant with Allah—to protect life, to uphold justice, and to restore balance. The Quran is unambiguous about fasad fil-ard — corruption upon the earth.
“Corruption has appeared on land and sea because of what the hands of people have earned, so that He may let them taste part of the consequence of what they have done — perhaps they will return.” (Surah Al-Rum, 30:41)
This verse does not describe some future punishment. It describes the present moment. The floods, the droughts, the wildfires, the extinctions — these are consequences already unfolding. They are a summons to return, to repent, to change course.
One of the most remarkable ecological teachings in the entire Quran is this:
“There is not an animal on the earth, nor a bird flying on its wings, but they are communities like you. We have not neglected anything in the Book. Then to their Lord they will all be gathered.” (Surah Al-An’am, 6:38)
Read that again slowly. As Imam al-Ghazali, who is highly regarded, advised and encouraged us to explore deeply to uncover the layers of meaning embedded in this and other verses of The Qur’an.
Every species on earth — not just human beings — constitutes a ummah, a community, before Allah. The humpback whale singing in the deep ocean is a community.
The monarch butterfly navigating across three thousand miles is a community. The honeybee pollinating the orchards that feed a billion people is a community. The ancient forests of the Pacific Northwest and the Amazon basin are communities.
And Allah says:
“There is no moving creature on earth whose provision does not rest with Allah.” (Surah Hud, 11:6)
Allah is the Provider — Al-Razzaq — not just for human beings, but for every creature that breathes and moves upon this earth. When we destroy the habitats that sustain those creatures, when we drive species to extinction through our carelessness and greed, we are interfering with the providence of Allah. We are cutting off communities that praise and worship Him in ways we cannot even understand.
Mawlana Jalaluddin Rumi, drawing on this Quranic vision, wrote words that still astonish us: “Never think the earth void or dead — it is aware, it is awake, and it is quivering.”
He cautioned his students that the mountains, the rivers, the stones, the trees — all are engaged in praise, all are witnesses, all carry meaning beyond what our distracted eyes can perceive.
When we reduce nature to a warehouse of resources to be extracted and sold, we have committed a spiritual impoverishment far more dangerous than any economic poverty.
Brothers and sisters,
Our Prophet Muhammad ﷺ was not merely a spiritual teacher. He was an environmental activist fourteen centuries before the word existed.
Our Beloved Prophet understood this with a clarity that still astonishes us fourteen centuries later. He did not merely speak about environmental responsibility in the abstract. He embodied it in practice — planting trees, establishing protected conservation zones, forbidding the destruction of vegetation even in times of war, and extending his moral concern to every living creature.
He made the planting of a tree an act of ongoing charity, a sadaqah jariyah whose reward continues flowing long after the planter has departed this world.
He established hima — protected sanctuary zones around Makka and Madinah — where no tree could be cut, no animal hunted, no vegetation disturbed. These were the world’s first nature reserves, established not for recreation or tourism, but as an expression of the sacred character of creation.
Anas ibn Malik (RA) reported that the Messenger of Allah ﷺ said: “There is none amongst the Muslims who plants a tree or sows seeds, and then a bird, a person, or an animal eats from it, but it is regarded as a charitable gift for him.” (Bukhari)
Jabir (RA) reported that the Prophet ﷺ said: “No Muslim plants a shoot, except that whatever is eaten or stolen from it, or anyone obtains the least thing from it, is counted as almsgiving on his behalf until the Day of Judgment.” (Muslim)
And in a sobering reminder of the gravity of environmental destruction, Abdullah ibn Habashi reported that the Prophet ﷺ said: “Whoever cuts a lote-tree without justification, Allah will send him to the Hellfire.” (Abu Dawud)
These are not isolated traditions. They reflect a comprehensive prophetic vision in which the natural world is sacred, its protection is obligatory, and its destruction carries spiritual consequences.
He said: “If anyone plants a tree or sows a seed, and then a bird, a person, or an animal eats from it, it is counted as charity for him.” (Bukhari, Muslim)
He said: “If the Final Hour comes while one of you has a sapling in his hand and is able to plant it, let him plant it.” (Musnad Ahmad)
Think about what that hadith means.
Even as the world is ending, plant the tree. Even when hope seems irrational, act with hope. Because the act of planting is not merely practical — it is an act of faith. It is a declaration that creation has value beyond our immediate utility, that the future belongs to Allah, and that our responsibility to this earth does not expire even in the final moments of time.
He said regarding water: “Do not be wasteful — even if you are taking ablution on the bank of a rushing river.” (Ibn Majah)
Brothers and sisters,
Just consider the moral weight of that. Water was free. Water was abundant at that location.
The act of wasting it caused no immediate harm.
And still the Prophet ﷺ called it makruh — detestable. If wasting freely flowing water from a river is detestable, what is the word for contaminating the groundwater of entire communities? What is the word for diverting rivers until they no longer reach the sea? What is the word for allowing communities of color across America to drink lead-poisoned water for years while authorities looked away?
Brothers and sisters,
I want to speak plainly about something that is often kept out of our khutbahs.
Climate change is not an equal-opportunity disaster. Its burdens fall most heavily on those who have done least to cause it. The nations of the Global South — where the majority of the world’s Muslims live — are experiencing the worst consequences of carbon emissions produced overwhelmingly by wealthy industrialized nations. The farmers of Bangladesh, the herders of Somalia, the coastal villages of Indonesia, the island communities of the Maldives and Tuvalu, the urban poor of Karachi and Cairo and Lagos — these are the people on the frontlines of a crisis they did not create.
Here in America, the pattern repeats itself domestically. Communities of color — Black, Latino, Indigenous, and immigrant communities — disproportionately live near polluting facilities: refineries, highways, chemical plants, and industrial waste sites.
They breathe dirtier air, drink more contaminated water, and face greater health burdens, not because of any natural arrangement, but because of decades of deliberate policy choices that treated their lives as less valuable.
This is zulm — injustice. And the Quran forbids us from being bystanders to injustice.
Allah calls us ummatan wasatan — a middle community, a community of balance and just witness.
“And thus We have made you a median community so that you may be witnesses over the people.” (Surah Al-Baqarah, 2:143)
To be a witness is not merely to observe. It is to testify. It is to speak truth before power. It is to stand with the vulnerable even when it is politically inconvenient, even when it costs something, even when the systems of this world tell us that the suffering of some people simply does not matter as much as the profit margins of others.
The ummah of Muhammad ﷺ cannot be silent when the poorest communities on earth are being sacrificed to the consumption habits of the wealthiest. Our deen does not permit that silence.
Second Khutbah
Brothers and sisters,
A khutbah without action is only sound. Let me close with a practical, communal call rooted in our tradition.
April 22nd is Earth Day — a global occasion now observed in more than 180 countries, when people of all backgrounds pause to reflect on the state of our shared planet and commit to its care.
Its origins are instructive: on April 22, 1970, more than twenty million Americans took to the streets in the largest environmental demonstration in history, a civic awakening that led directly to the creation of the United States Environmental Protection Agency and landmark legislation protecting clean air and clean water.
In 1990, Earth Day went global. In 2009, the United Nations recognized it as International Mother Earth Day — an acknowledgment that the health of this planet is not a local concern but a universal one, transcending borders, politics, and generations.
Muslims have every reason to be at the forefront of this conversation. Our scripture speaks of ecological balance (al-Mizan) as a divine ordinance. Our Prophet ﷺ modeled environmental stewardship as prophetic practice. Our jurisprudence contains centuries of thought on the rights of animals, the sanctity of water, the prohibition of waste, and the protection of the commons.
What the world is searching for — a moral foundation deep enough and comprehensive enough to sustain genuine environmental commitment — our tradition has been carrying all along. Therefore, the question before us today is whether we will carry it forward with the seriousness it deserves.
As individuals and families:
Bring the consciousness of amanah into your daily life. When you turn on a faucet, remember the Prophet ﷺ standing by the rushing river.
When you throw food away, remember the nearly one billion people who go to bed hungry tonight. When you consider your next car, your next appliance, your next home improvement, ask yourself: What does faithful stewardship look like here?
Reduce your consumption of meat — particularly industrially produced beef, which is one of the leading drivers of deforestation, methane emissions, and water depletion worldwide.
This is not a political statement. It is a sunnah-aligned response to the reality that israf — waste and excess — is explicitly forbidden in the Quran.
Allah says:
“Eat and drink, but do not be excessive.” (Surah Al-A’raf, 7:31)
Plant something. A tree in your yard, herbs in a pot on your balcony, a community garden in your neighborhood. Make it an act of sadaqah jariyah — ongoing charity that will outlast you.
As mosques and Islamic institutions:
Our masajid should be among the most environmentally responsible buildings in every community we inhabit. Solar panels, water conservation, composting, elimination of single-use plastics, and sustainable landscaping — these are not luxury upgrades. They are expressions of tawakkul and tawadu — reliance on Allah and humility before His creation.
Integrate environmental education into your Sunday schools, your youth programs, your halaqas. Our children need to understand that loving the earth is not a secular hobby — it is a dimension of loving Allah.
Partner with local environmental justice organizations, particularly those working in communities of color that face disproportionate environmental burdens. The masjid must not be an island of piety disconnected from the suffering happening in its own neighborhood.
As a global ummah:
We must raise our collective voice for climate justice in the international arena. Muslim-majority nations must not be passive recipients of climate policy decided by the wealthy few. We must demand that those who caused this crisis bear the greatest responsibility for addressing it — in the form of climate finance, technology transfer, debt cancellation, and binding emissions reductions.
We must name what is happening in the language of our tradition: this is a moral emergency, an act of collective fasad that future generations — human and non-human alike — will inherit from us. And we will be asked about it.
Allah says:
“Whoever does an atom’s weight of good will see it. And whoever does an atom’s weight of evil will see it.” (Surah Al-Zalzalah, 99:7-8)
The great Sufi poet of Anatolia, Yunus Emre, gave us what may be the most compact Islamic environmental ethic ever expressed: “We love all creation — for the sake of its Creator.”
This love is not sentiment. It is not the soft romanticism of those who admire nature from a distance, who find it beautiful when convenient and disposable when not. It is not nostalgia, not aesthetics, not the cultivated sensitivity of the nature poet standing at a safe remove from mud and mortality.
It is a theological conviction — hard-edged, demanding, and non-negotiable.
Every creature that exists does so because Allah willed it into being. Not permitted it. Not allowed it as an afterthought. Willed it — with the full intentionality of the One who is Al-Khaliq, the Creator, and Al-Musawwir, the Shaper of Forms.
The microbe laboring in the darkness of the soil, invisible to every human eye, was spoken into existence by the same divine word that flung the galaxies into their orbits. The blue whale moving through the cold abyssal depths — that immensity of flesh and breath and song — is not an accident of biology but a deliberate act of divine artistry, sustained moment by moment by Al-Razzaq, the Provider, who withholds nothing from what He has made.
The ancient redwood, standing silent for two thousand years, is more than just old—it’s a witness. It has persisted across twenty centuries through an unending mercy, a sustaining force known in the Quran as Al-Qayyum—the Self-Subsisting on whom everything depends, and through whom all sustains.
And the child, breathing poisoned air in the shadow of the industrial corridor, her lungs darkened before she has learned to read — she, too, is a trust, an amanah, placed in our hands by the One who will ask what we did with what He gave us.
From the quark to the quasar. From the spore drifting on an autumn wind to the river carving its patient path through limestone over a million years. From the first cry of a newborn to the last exhalation of the dying — all of it held, all of it known, all of it named by the One who says in the Quran:
“There is not a thing but glorifies His praise, but you do not understand their glorification.” (Surah Al-Isra, 17:44)
Thus, to destroy any part of creation carelessly is therefore not merely an ecological error. It is a theological transgression — an act committed against the property of God, against the glorification of God, against the mercy of God made visible and tangible in the world.
This is what grounds the love. And this is what makes it inexhaustible.
Brothers and sisters,
To love creation for the sake of the Creator means we cannot remain indifferent to its destruction. It means that the extinction of a species is not merely an ecological loss — it is the silencing of a voice that praised Allah in ways we will never hear again. It means that the poisoning of a community’s water is not merely a public health failure — it is a violation of Allah’s provision for His servants.
We began with the question of the amanah — the Trust. We end with it.
Allah offered this Trust to the mountains, and they refused, because they understood its weight. We accepted it — impulsively, the Quran says, perhaps without fully understanding what we had taken on. But understanding is not forever beyond us. Repentance is always available. Change is always possible. The door of return — tawbah — is open.
Let us walk through it. Together. And now.
Before the children we are raising inherit a world we were too comfortable to protect. Always remember that everything created has a purpose and meaning.
“Our Lord, You did not create all of this in vain. Glory be to You.”
“Servants of Allah, Indeed, Allah commands justice, excellence, and giving to relatives, and forbids immorality, wrongdoing, and oppression. He admonishes you that you may be mindful.” (Surah An-Nahl, 16:90)
“Remember Allah, the Greatest, and He will remember you. Be grateful to Him, and He will increase you. And the remembrance of Allah is greater, and Allah knows what you do.”
(This khutbah draws on the Quranic environmental ethics developed in “Towards An Understanding of Environmental Ethics from a Qur’anic Perspective,” by Ibrahim Özdemir, in Islam and Ecology: A Bestowed Trust, Harvard University Press, 2003.
