The murder of Nazish Norani late in the evening on Tuesday, August 16, happened one block away from St. John’s Church in Boonton. Our driveway was sealed with crime tape. Morris County’s Criminal Investigation and several news vans were parked in front of our church for a week.
On Wednesday morning I texted St. John’s friend, Heather Annen, a member of the Boonton Islamic Center, to ask if Nazish was also a member there. She was. Heather and I talked about what St. John’s or anyone could do to reach out to the mosque and to Nazish’s family. The Imam and the President of the mosque were out of town and unavailable for guidance.
How do you build a bridge across a canyon? How do you respond to the violent, senseless murder of a young mother in front of her child and to the terrible grief of her family? And in Nazish’s case, how could we cross the chasm between culture and faith to do it? And yet, as her neighbors, how could we fail to respond? I kept thinking about Jesus’ journey to Jerusalem to face his crucifixion. He said of the crowd gathered around him, “I tell you, if they keep quiet, the stones will cry out.” (Luke 19:40)
All day long we heard the crying stones.
On Wednesday evening, Debbie, Cynthia, Katie, Allie, Jeanie, George, Matt, Brian and I sat down in Wilson House to plan Italian Night. Frankly, it was hard to concentrate on planning a party next to a crime scene. I’m certain Jeanie felt this as she excused herself to have a smoke. When she returned she told us that she had just been speaking with Nazish’s cousin. He was standing in the street with tears in his eyes. Jeanie told him that everyone at St. John’s was praying for his family. He thanked and embraced her.
After Jeanie shared this story, suddenly, we all knew what to do.
The sun had just about set when we opened the doors of the church and began bringing all of our church candles outside: the ones we use for Italian night, the tapers that are handed out on Christmas Eve, the beautiful candles on brass stands that adorn our altar for worship. In ten minutes the front and side yard of St. John’s were glowing with light. News crews stared at us. We started talking to passers by on the street, inviting them to join us in prayer. Matt and Brian called everyone in our church directory within a 5-mile radius to invite them to a spontaneous vigil. Rosemary and our children, John and Lucy, appeared on the walkway. John brought his telescope. I told him to bring it back to the rectory, and then Allie stopped me. “I said it’s okay,” she said, “and I’m the Warden!”
By the time we gathered for the vigil there were about forty parishioners and neighbors of St. John’s holding hands. That is when the miracle happened.
Suddenly there was a crowd of people walking down Cedar Street. They were women in saris and men in kurta shirts and kufi caps. It was Nazish’s family. They live a block in either direction from St. John’s, and they had come to pray with us. We cried and embraced each other. John went up to one little boy, surely a nephew or cousin to Nazish, and showed him the telescope. Together, they looked at the stars.
Late that night, Andy Jennings changed our church sign to read, “We mourn for Nazish and pray for her family.” It also listed times for prayer services that we decided to schedule for the following day.
The next evening, I was prepared to lead prayers for perhaps half a dozen parishioners and a neighbor or two. I entered the sanctuary through the sacristy five minutes before the service was scheduled to begin. When I opened the door I let out what might have been an audible gasp.
There were at least a hundred people in the church, all of them Nazish’s family, friends and members of the mosque, including the Imam. I put down my prayer book, welcomed them, and asked why they had come. One woman with a baby in her arms replied, “To thank you.”
On a normal day Jesus’ directive that we should “Love our neighbor as ourselves” can seem nearly impossible. So many things divide us from our neighbors – our beliefs, our politics, our backgrounds, not to mention our busy lives. What I want to remember about the week of August 14th is that during that week it was unthinkable to do anything else but love our neighbors. Nothing was more important, seemed easier, or took priority. It was the week Andy Jennings said he swore off saying “them” in reference to his neighbors and vowed to begin using “we.” It was the week Kathy Bender emailed the parish to say “We showed through our actions that in God or Allah, we are brothers and sisters of one world.” It was the week I promised a community of Muslims in our sanctuary, who had actually come for sanctuary, that St. John’s is their church and I vowed that the people of St. John’s would treat the Islamic Center as our mosque.
The murder of Nazish left a hole in her family, her faith community and in this town that will not go away. What I have been reminded of in the wake of her death is that when our hearts are broken, God’s light shines through the cracks in them.
Come Holy Spirit, illumine our church, our mosque, our town and our life together with your love. Amen.
