The Funeral and the Church

Sr. Maryam’s Janaza was so packed Mashaallah. Our little parking lot was no match for the throngs of people that showed up (some sisters I know traveled all the way from Richmond to come). Feeling quite ingenious, I decided to park my car at the neighboring church so that I won’t have to deal with the traffic. Of course, I completely forgot it was a Sunday, and at the time I parked at the Church the back parking lot was quite empty.

I made it to the Janaza in ample time. They had a beautiful recitation of Surah Yaseen, which had me sobbing the whole time. The sisters’ room was packed to capacity with such a diverse array of women, all bonded by our loss. This is the problem with my tears, I begin crying for one reason and then an avalanche of reasons start cascading. I wept for Sr. Maryam’s death, for the loss it represents to our community (I can’t get the image of her smiling face out of my mind), for my own death, for all the people around the world losing loved ones everyday, for war, devastation, for cruelty (I know they aren’t all necessarily related).

It reminds me of another incident where during our pre-Sufyan era, my husband and I decided to go out on a “dinner and movie” date. Our dinner passed without incident, and for the movie we chose to see “Antwone Fisher.” This was a heartbreaking story of a navy sailor who has violent bursts of anger, and is forced to go see a psychiatrist (Denzel Washington), who in turn helps him deal with his traumatic past and come to terms with a horrific childhood rife with abuse. At some point in the movie, Antwone writes this heart wrenching poem:

“Who will cry for the little boy, lost and all alone?
Who will cry for the little boy, abandoned without his own?
Who will cry for the little boy? He cried himself to sleep.
Who will cry for the little boy? He never had for keeps.
Who will cry for the little boy? He walked the burning sand.
Who will cry for the little boy? The boy inside the man.
Who will cry for the little boy? Who knows well hurt and pain.
Who will cry for the little boy? He died and died again.
Who will cry for the little boy? A good boy he tried to be.
Who will cry for the little boy, who cries inside of me?”

Needless to say, I bawled throughout the whole movie. I bawled on the way back from the movie. We went home, my poor husband tried so hard to comfort me; “it’s just a movie habibty”

“But it is based on a true story!” I sniffed back “And not only that, but think of all the orphans all over the world, who cries for them?” I started weeping for the orphans in Africa, Palestine, Afghanistan…I cried for all those children who would never have opportunities like “Antwone” to resolve their issues and get a second chance. That whole night, I kept my husband awake with my sobs.

The next day he swore we would never go to a movie, until he goes by himself to see it and “pass it” before he takes me along. There went our romantic night.

After I left the Janaza, I saw the mess of cars in the parking lot and congratulated myself on my foresight to park at the Church. Dressed for the occasion, I wore my black abayah, a brown scarf on the inside and a black scarf wrapped around my head. The Sunday Church service was just about to begin, so as I made my way through the parking lot, there was lines and lines of cars coming in to park as well. I got so many stares, but just kept walking along, greeting the parking lot attendants with walkie talkies as I walked by.

The only marker I had for my car was that I parked in the empty parking lot. Well, by the time I went around there was no empty parking lot. The whole place was packed to capacity and more people were driving in. I walked and walked all around the church and couldn’t find the car. Finally one of the attendants, came to ask in a friendly way if I was looking for something. I confessed, I “borrowed” one of their parking spots and couldn’t find my car. I was really embarrassed. He just waved my apologies and went ahead to announce to the ten or so parking attendants the description of my car.

As I continued walking I could hear the rally cry being taken up “We are looking for a Mitsubishi” and pretty soon all the attendants were searching for my car. I was so mortified! They were all nice about it though and when we finally located it, they just waved my gratitude “Have a nice day!”

I am pretty sure I scared more than one church member yesterday with my regalia and tawaf (circling) around their building.

My mood was lightened considerably by the cheerful church attendants and the manner in which they went out of their way to help me find my car (even though I “borrowed” one of their full parking spots). It really confirmed my insistence on the intrinsic beauty we all harbor as human beings and the connection threading believers even from different backgrounds and paths.

May God bless them and may He enable us to become beautiful ambassadors of His creation. (amin).