Every morning, long before the Adhān for Fajr echoed through the masjid, Brother Musa was already there mop in hand, quietly sweeping the marble floors that glistened under the dim lights. To most people, he was just the janitor. But to the angels, he was among those who rose before dawn to seek Allah’s mercy.
He lived a simple life. His slippers were worn, his clothes faded, but his heart was rich rich with remembrance. He never spoke much, yet everyone who met him felt a calmness in his presence. Musa never missed a single Tahajjud prayer. Even on days when the rain flooded the streets or when illness made his body weak, he would whisper, “If Allah gives me breath, I will stand before Him in the night.”
One young man, curious about his routine, once asked,
“Baba Musa, what makes you wake up every night when others are asleep?”
He smiled and said, “My son, when the world sleeps, the door of Allah’s mercy opens wide. Why should I miss the time when my Rabb descends to the lowest heaven and asks, ‘Who is calling upon Me so I may answer him?’”
Years passed. People came and went, imams changed, renovations were made but Musa’s Tahajjud never stopped. Until one day, the masjid doors opened, and he didn’t come. The floor remained untouched, and for the first time, the masjid felt empty.
He had returned to his Lord that night after praying Tahajjud. His janitor’s hands, once rough from work, were now still in peace.
When the imam announced his death, tears filled the eyes of those who never truly knew him. It was then they realized the man they thought was cleaning the masjid was, in truth, purifying his soul.
Lesson: Greatness in Islam isn’t in titles or status, but in sincerity. The quiet acts of worship done in secret often shine brightest in the sight of Allah.
