Ramadan is a sacred month of intensification and embodied learning, formed through action rather than concepts. Fasting disciplines appetite. Staying up late in worship shifts sleep. Desire is restricted. Qur’an recitation and charity increase. Devotion deepens. The body is placed under limitation. The month slows the self in order to refine awareness of our reliance on God.

Over the past decade, repeated cases of abuse and harm have surfaced in American Muslim communities from prominent religious teachers who have abused their positions of authority and responsibility. Each instance carries its own context, its own details, its own immediate fallout, and while the particulars are different, the responses are patterned.

As the winter solstice arrives, the light does not rush back. It returns slowly, almost imperceptibly. This is an invitation to use the winter season as a time to pause and reflect. As Ramadan approaches, focusing that reflection on the religious learning systems that are forming us is particularly relevant.

Large conferences shape more than schedules and speaker line-ups. They shape how religious authority is seen, how learning is organised, and the direction in which we’re formed. This reflection isn’t about whether to attend. It’s about asking what our learning structures are producing, at what cost, and what responsibility we carry within them.

“Everyone wants the village, but they don’t want to be a villager.”

The phrase has been circulating on social media and for good reason.

A myriad of social and technological factors have deepened our longing for community, while at the same time leaving many unsure of how to do the work, or unwilling to bear the sacrifices, that sustaining real community requires.

“I don’t really care about this industry,” a friend recently told me. “What matters is helping people do the right thing.”

Lately, I’ve been thinking about what it means to build a career that honours knowledge of something and practice for something.

For many of us, both matter. Subject expertise gives depth and context; it grounds us in a field of knowledge.

“What’s the last business book you’ve read?”

Someone asked me this recently. After a beat, I realised I couldn’t name one.

It’s not because I’ve stopped reading (the librarians in the NYC libraries of my childhood would still be proud) but because the work I do doesn’t often start with traditional business books.

A few days ago, I came across a post that said:

“These times will keep reminding you over and over again that no one out there is your saviour… especially people in positions of authority. If you keep putting people on pedestals, the universe will keep engineering situations where they disappoint you so that you can reclaim your disowned power.” Xavier Dagba

I’ve been reflecting on what my research on religious learning in American Muslim communities can teach us about narratives, leadership, and organisational learning.

Here are seven key insights drawn from my latest book, insights that apply far beyond religious spaces and speak directly to…

The mainstream leadership development sector continues to praise and elevate systems thinking as the indispensable leadership skill for navigating the complexities of our time.

While understanding complexity is important, the uncritical centring of systems thinking risks becoming a dangerous distraction. Here’s why — and what we need instead:

I look down at the Arabic script and stare. I can no longer read it. It’s a strange fear that I have, that I’ll open the Qur’an one day and be unable to read. When I pick up the book after some time away, despite my daily prayer, my tongue carries this fear, heavy and cautious stumbling over the first few words, until …