It started with a question—one that made my heart uneasy.
“Will your Lord send down a table spread from the sky?”
I remember the voice that asked it. It belonged to a man I admired, one of the close followers of Prophet Isa—known to Christians as Jesus, but to us, a mighty prophet of Allah. You won’t find my name in the Qur’an, but I was there. I walked with Isa, listened to him speak of Allah’s mercy, and saw with my own eyes the blind healed by his touch. But somehow, this question shook me.
It wasn’t just curiosity. It was doubt. A few of the others nodded in agreement. “We only wish to eat from it,” they said. “And to have reassurance in our hearts.”
Reassurance? After all we had seen?
I didn’t understand what more they needed. Isa—peace be upon him—had raised the dead by Allah’s permission! Still, they looked to the sky, waiting.
Isa’s face turned serious. He warned us, “Fear Allah, if you truly believe.” I saw the concern in his eyes. He knew this was not a simple request. It was a test.
But the words had already been spoken, and Isa—by the will of Allah—prayed aloud, “O Allah, our Lord, send down to us a table spread with food from heaven, to be a festival for us—the first and the last among us—and a sign from You.”
The wind grew still. The sun dimmed behind clouds that appeared from nowhere. Then it came—slowly, gently—descending from the sky like a gift. A table, covered with food the likes of which I had never seen or smelled before. Fragrant bread, cooked fish still warm, fruits we had never tasted, and drink that shimmered like light.
None of us spoke. The sight stole our words. Some dropped to their knees. Others cried. As Isa looked to the sky, I knew: this was not just a meal. It was mercy, a test, and a warning.
Because then Isa said, “Whoever disbelieves after this... they will suffer a punishment unlike any other.”
My hands trembled as I reached for the food. Not because I feared poison or some trick. No. I feared my own heart—feared that I might feast on a miracle and still walk away the same man.
I ate. We all did. Every bite filled not just the body, but the soul. And yet afterward, I watched as some of them still doubted, still hesitated.
But I didn’t.
That day, I understood something. Miracles don’t force belief. They reveal it.
Now, whenever doubt touches me, I remember that table—how it came from the sky, how it fed both our bellies and our faith. And I remind myself: Allah gave us signs, but He also gave us the choice.
I chose to believe.
Story Note: Inspired by Surah Al-Ma’idah (5:112–115), in which the disciples of Prophet Isa (Jesus, peace be upon him) request a table spread from heaven as proof and reassurance, and Allah grants it as a clear sign, warning of severe consequences for disbelief thereafter.
It started with a question—one that made my heart uneasy.
“Will your Lord send down a table spread from the sky?”
I remember the voice that asked it. It belonged to a man I admired, one of the close followers of Prophet Isa—known to Christians as Jesus, but to us, a mighty prophet of Allah. You won’t find my name in the Qur’an, but I was there. I walked with Isa, listened to him speak of Allah’s mercy, and saw with my own eyes the blind healed by his touch. But somehow, this question shook me.
It wasn’t just curiosity. It was doubt. A few of the others nodded in agreement. “We only wish to eat from it,” they said. “And to have reassurance in our hearts.”
Reassurance? After all we had seen?
I didn’t understand what more they needed. Isa—peace be upon him—had raised the dead by Allah’s permission! Still, they looked to the sky, waiting.
Isa’s face turned serious. He warned us, “Fear Allah, if you truly believe.” I saw the concern in his eyes. He knew this was not a simple request. It was a test.
But the words had already been spoken, and Isa—by the will of Allah—prayed aloud, “O Allah, our Lord, send down to us a table spread with food from heaven, to be a festival for us—the first and the last among us—and a sign from You.”
The wind grew still. The sun dimmed behind clouds that appeared from nowhere. Then it came—slowly, gently—descending from the sky like a gift. A table, covered with food the likes of which I had never seen or smelled before. Fragrant bread, cooked fish still warm, fruits we had never tasted, and drink that shimmered like light.
None of us spoke. The sight stole our words. Some dropped to their knees. Others cried. As Isa looked to the sky, I knew: this was not just a meal. It was mercy, a test, and a warning.
Because then Isa said, “Whoever disbelieves after this... they will suffer a punishment unlike any other.”
My hands trembled as I reached for the food. Not because I feared poison or some trick. No. I feared my own heart—feared that I might feast on a miracle and still walk away the same man.
I ate. We all did. Every bite filled not just the body, but the soul. And yet afterward, I watched as some of them still doubted, still hesitated.
But I didn’t.
That day, I understood something. Miracles don’t force belief. They reveal it.
Now, whenever doubt touches me, I remember that table—how it came from the sky, how it fed both our bellies and our faith. And I remind myself: Allah gave us signs, but He also gave us the choice.
I chose to believe.
Story Note: Inspired by Surah Al-Ma’idah (5:112–115), in which the disciples of Prophet Isa (Jesus, peace be upon him) request a table spread from heaven as proof and reassurance, and Allah grants it as a clear sign, warning of severe consequences for disbelief thereafter.
