The Muballigh should always remember The Almighty in his Tabligh.

Every year during the month of Moharram, when emotions ran deep and hearts opened to reflection, the seminary in Qum prepared to send a group of scholars to different villages for Tabligh. Among them were two young students, eager yet anxious, chosen to travel together. Their mission was clear: deliver three ten-day programmes each, covering six villages over the course of thirty intense and spiritually charged days.

Their journey began with dusty roads, simple meals, and humble welcomes. In each village, the scholars found themselves standing before gatherings of farmers, elders, women, and curious children. They spoke about sacrifice, righteousness, and the timeless lessons of Karbala. Some audiences listened in complete silence, absorbing every word; others engaged warmly, asking questions they had carried quietly for years. Each night, after the programmes ended, the two scholars sat beneath dim lanterns reviewing their lectures, wondering whether their words had truly reached the hearts they hoped to touch.

At the end of the month, they returned to Qum tired, wiser, and carrying a trove of unforgettable experiences. But their task was far from over. A long-held tradition awaited them: the post-Tabligh assessment, conducted before the entire student body and presided over by the Head of Tabligh, a man known for his deep insight and unwavering dedication to nurturing young preachers.

Over the next three Wednesdays, the two scholars were required to present their lectures exactly as they had delivered them in the villages. The hall filled with students, notebooks open, ready to listen and evaluate. Their topics were examined closely. Some students offered thoughtful suggestions, pointing out where an argument could be better structured or where a historical reference required more clarity. Others commented gently on tone, pacing, or the emotional connection of their delivery.

The Head of Tabligh listened with a calm, discerning expression. When he finally spoke, his words carried the weight of experience. He discussed the structure of their sermons, the balance between narration and reflection, and the emotional arc needed to touch hearts during Moharram. His critique was never harsh but deliberate guiding, shaping, and encouraging. He reminded them that Tabligh was not merely about speaking, but about connecting, awakening, and serving.

At the end of the third Wednesday, as the hall emptied, he approached them with a warm smile. “Remember,” he said, “a preacher is always a student first.” Then he added another reminder they would never forget: “When you return from Tabligh and feel that you have delivered a complete message, offer two Rakats of prayer in gratitude to the Almighty for it is He who places strength in your heart and on your tongue.” Their mission, they realised, had only just begun.

Lessons from This Experience

1. Humility before preaching: One should not be arrogant with what one says to the audience
2. Recognition that all eloquence is granted by the Almighty: If the strength was not from The Almighty then no organised conversation would have come out from one’s month
3. The Almighty had prepared the love in the hearts of the audience: Understanding that it is the love for Ahlul Bayt (pbut) within the hearts of the people that allows any message to be heard and gave the opportunity for it to be heard.