Holy Trinity Catholic Church has stood empty and quiet for four years. Now, Muslims want to fill the former church with their prayers.
But first, they want to remove the six stone crosses off the top of a North Side church.
The crosses have become a neighborhood battle, herding Catholic grandmothers and Islamic men together into small, uncomfortable rooms.
It turns out they agree on much: They want to help feed the poor along Park Street. They want the community to be safer. They respect each other’s right to worship in a different way. They don’t mean to sound bigoted.
But teeth clench when it comes to the crosses. Former parishioners and neighbors of the century-old historic church can’t fathom the building losing its crosses. And the mosque-builders won’t have a mosque with crosses on top. In Islam, religious symbols of any kind are barred from places of worship.
The Syracuse Landmark Preservation Board ruled Thursday that the crosses can be removed from the former church at 501 Park St. The group must come back to the board to get a specific removal plan approved. They intend to store the crosses in the building.
The debate starts with the crosses, but it stretches far past them. It is about change -- for the neighborhood and the building. The North Side is struggling to blend the old with the new.
An area of the North Side that was once mostly German immigrants has increasingly become the place where international refugees are resettled. U.S. Census data shows that more than 20 percent of the families living on North Side speak a language other than English at home. About 16 percent of the people who live on the North Side are foreign born, according to the same data.
Accidental mosque
The North Side Learning Center bought Holy Trinity Church in December from the Roman Catholic Diocese of Syracuse for $150,000. The nonprofit group, which teaches English to adults and children on the North Side, wanted the school building on the church grounds for a permanent home. At the time, the group, whose board is primarily Muslim, had no plans for a mosque.
But when the learning center board members were told they had to take the church and rectory, too, the idea for a mosque was born, said Mark Cass, chairman of the center’s board.
The diocese, which closed the church in 2010 because of declining attendance, does not oppose removing the crosses, said spokeswoman Danielle Cummings.
“The diocese acknowledges that changes to a former parish building may be difficult for some; however the building is once again being used to meet the needs of a growing population on the North Side, just as Holy Trinity Church did as it served the Catholic faithful,” she wrote in an email.
Yusuf Soule, executive director of the North Side Learning Center, estimated there are about 5,000 Muslims who would be served by the mosque.
The population of Muslims in Onondaga County more than doubled in the last decade. Between 2000 and 2010, the number of worshiping Muslims in the county rose from 3,109 to 6,566. The county’s total population is more than 450,000.
A walk through the North Side shows the change: Many of the women on the sidewalks and in the parks wear traditional Islamic headcoverings.
A meeting last month about the proposed mosque brought out men from 15 different countries who said they needed a place to worship.
One was Acho Urufla, who came to the U.S. from Ethiopia in 2004.
“We don’t have any place to pray,” he said. “We need help.”
Changing of the guard
Patty Poole’s great grandparents raised money to build Holy Trinity in 1904. Her great-grandfather, Frederick Schneider, dug up one of the first shovelfuls of dirt for the church. It was to be a new spiritual and educational home for the German immigrants who settled the North Side, she said.
For her entire life, the crosses peeking over the hill were always a sign that she was home, Poole said. The Catholic diocese’s decision to close the church still stings for her and the others now opposed to cutting off the crosses.
They fought to keep the church open, Poole said. And, when there were plans to sell the stained glass windows to a church in Louisiana, they fought and won that battle.
Poole and the others opposed to tearing off the crosses didn’t hear about it from the North Side Learning Center or the city. Instead, word spread on Facebook. That did not sit well.
Neither did plans for a fence around the church yard.
“My feeling is they fear us and they don’t even know us,” said Katie Scott, a former Holy Trinity parishioner. Scott was speaking directly to board members of North Side Learning Center at a coffee hour the group hosted last week to try to address community concerns.
No one at the meeting said they minded the church being used for a mosque. But the families who worshipped at Holy Trinity for decades don’t want their landmark to look different.
And they are still worried that the massive stained glass windows might be removed next. They depict scenes from the life of Christ.
“I’m so happy someone wants to maintain the building,” said Tom Schultz, whose family celebrated many milestones at Trinity. But he wondered out loud if there was a way to keep the crosses and the windows without violating the faith of the new worshippers.
The answer on the crosses was clear. They cannot stay atop a mosque, Soule said.
Moving forward
At the coffee hour in the old Trinity school basement, the pain of change was clear.
“I am one of those people who is really hurting,” said Anne Angiolillo, sitting in the old school where her 10 children learned to read and write.
Angiolillo played organ in the church for more than three decades. She can see the crosses from her yard.
But there has also been pain for the people who are trying to build the mosque, said Michele Abdul Sabur. Sabur, a Muslim, is on the board of the North Side Learning Center. She worked in the Syracuse City School District and raised five children in Syracuse.
“It is frightening,” Sabur said. A flag the group put up in front of the church was recently stolen. Internet hate groups have picked up the story about the learning center’s plans for the church. One, she said, called for destroying a mosque a day.
The Muslim group’s intent, Sabur said, was to create community and a place to worship for people who need it. The goal is not unlike that of the Germans who built the church 100 years ago.
“This is for the people next door to you, across the street from you,” she said.
The Muslims could not keep the crosses on the church. But they chose the mosque’s name to build a bridge between the old and the new: The Mosque of Jesus, Son of Mary.
Angiolillo may never get over the loss of the crosses or her church. But at the meeting, in the basement of the school where her children grew up, she took a step forward with the strangers.
“I really like your name,” she said, referring to the mosque. “And I would like very much to be invited to a service.”