As I’m writing today I’m sitting cross legged on my bed near our hotel’s balcony, on the 7th floor overhanging the restless, sparkling blue Aegean sea. Fresh breezes are blowing in the open sliding door; the early evening sun is hanging low in the sky, casting a friendly, enveloping glow that soothes but doesn’t burn. The setting here in Kusadasi is probably as close to a Mediterranean paradise as I could possible imagine, and most people I could tell about it would be envious. You know what’s amazing though? As gorgeous and relaxing and self-indulgent this place is (along with many other truly incredible places and sites on this trip), none of it brings that final fulfillment. I never get the “Ah, I’ve finally made it” feeling. Which is honestly a comfort to me, because I know this world is not my home and my life is not about myself. In fact, it’s not even mine. I’ve given it wholly to the Lord to use for His purposes. What a magnificent thing it is to have a complete and utterly filling joy and peace ever welling up within me because of this fact! This trip is an amazing blessing and privilege! But it is not a mountain-top experience, not a pinnacle. It is my intimacy with the Lord and his work in me which is that. Praise God I have Him even when I’m keenly feeling the separation from fellowship with close believing friends.
Anyway, side note done. This morning I experienced the amazing feeling of history and scripture really becoming real and alive to me as we walked through the archeological site of Laodicea, yet another of the churches in Revelation. The city, I learned, was opulent and grand; it had two theaters, one facing where it would get sun in the morning, one facing the sun in the afternoon. It also had two large pools and two agoras; the main street and many side streets were lined on both sides with marble pillars. According to our guide, it endured many earthquakes, and after one of them the emperor of the land offered his financial assistance with rebuilding, but in their pride and confidence in their riches, they refused. The letter to the church in this city takes on a whole new meaning. “You say, ‘I am rich; I have acquired wealth and do not need a thing.’ But you do not realize that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked’” (Rev. 3:17). Standing in the city, we could see on one side still-snow-capped mountains, and on the other, the calcium deposits with the hot springs we walked in last night. It was apparently quite a a big deal that the Laodiceans had pipes with water mixed from the cold and the hot, rather than the usual two separate faucets. It’s quite enlightening, then, to continue reading the letter: “I know your deeds, that you are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were either one or the other! So, because you are lukewarm—neither cold nor hot—I am about to spit you out of my mouth!” (Rev. 3:15-16). Wow, it’s literally the coolest thing to see how much more real scripture becomes when you’re standing in it (we got to walk through the remains of the magnificent church there!) and hearing the context! These were real places and real words. I’ve been continuing through Lewis’ Four Loves and was particularly struck today by Affection, or storge love in the Greek. Affection is built on the familiar, the old, the comfortably worn in. “It is not discriminating; there need be no apparent fitness between those it unites; it ignores the barriers of age, sex, class and education.” We can choose our friends, like books, to suit our tastes, but “the especial glory of affection is that it can unite those who most emphatically are people who, if they had not found themselves put down by fate in the same household or community, would have had nothing to do with each other.” I find that this type of love is particularly relevant to me on this trip, as I struggle without those people with whom I share deep conviction and past experiences. I love that Lewis talks about how in Affection, as it grows without us really noticing when it began, we in some measure love those unlike us. I have not discovered any soul friends here, but plenty of comfortable companions who are sharing my journey. Can we find something beautiful in those we do not choose? “In my experience it is affection that creates this very thing, teaching us first to notice, then to endure, then to smile at, then to enjoy, and finally to ‘appreciate’ the people who ‘happen to be there.’ Made for us? Thank God, no. They are themselves, odder than you could have believed and worth far more than we guessed.’” I praise God for teaching my particular self how to love in a new way during this time.
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I keep telling myself the last couple days, “Ok, this blog post can be a short one. They don’t all have to be long; just do a quick one and go to sleep.” That hasn’t exactly happened! Maybe tonight.
We left Izmir behind this morning and drove first to Sardis, another of the 7 churches of Revelation; long ago abandoned, all that remains is a very impressive archeological site. The first highlight there was a gymnasium (greek word referring to being stripped of all clothing; hence a location where men had vigorous physical training in the nude). From one side all we could see was a giant brick wall as our tour guide explained that Sardis was the capital of the Lydian empire, Ionian greeks over whom Croesus ruled from 560-546 BC before Lydia fell to Persia. (Later the Ionian Greeks would revolt and defeat the Persians at Sardis, before they were beaten again at Ephesus.) As we walked through the archway, however, the enormous room beyond nearly took my breath away! The gymnasium, reconstructed by archaeologists, was huge, with elaborate pillars in both Ionic and Corinthian styles around the walls. The site also contained what was the largest Jewish synagogue outside of Israel, which the Romans allowed to be constructed there; we walked on original mosaic tiles, flowery patterns of stone on the ground from the first few centuries AD. After Sardis we proceeded to a Temple of Artemis. The pillars left standing at this site were larger than any we’ve seen thus far; 6 feet in diameter, shooting several stories into the sky. The grandeur in this temple, made entirely of marble, truly gave me the feeling that I was an ant walking in the home of a giant. The reverence which the ancient Romans gave to the gods of mythology is astounding; what astounded me even more, however, was a small sentence on the information page which said that many temples such as this one were abandoned and destroyed as Christianity arose after the coming of Christ. Is that not amazing?? The life of one man resulted in such heart-change that the pagan worship of literally centuries, along with its architectural feats and monuments, was cast away. What a sign of the power of the true God. "Lord, my strength and my fortress, my refuge in time of distress, to you the nations will come from the ends of the earth and say, 'Our ancestors possessed nothing but false gods, worthless idols that did them no good.' 'Therefore I will teach them- this time I will teach them my power and might. then they will know that my name is the LORD'" (Jeremiah 16:19, 21). We finished the afternoon in Pamukkale (literrally “cotton castle”), where we saw an immense Roman theater that would have sat 15,000, and then walked up and down the vast hills of calcium deposits, which run in the hot springs down the mountains and have turned them a snowy white! With the golden hour giving perfect light to the pale shades of white, peach and red, the walk through the shallow, warm water at one of the most well-known spots on earth could not have been more enjoyable. I’m about halfway through one of Plato’s most famous writings, his Symposium, which, funnily enough, centers on a drinking party in which the attendees amuse each other by giving speeches about love. One of the most interesting concepts is presented by Pausanias, who proposes that in the beginning, people were actually doubled, with four hands and feet, two faces, etc. When they became too powerful, the gods split them in half, and now men and women are forever searching for their other half, the one who will complete them and fulfill their every longing. He essentially redefines love as this search for wholeness. Interestingly enough, this idea from the 400’s BC is certainly popular today; Hollywood, music and literature alike portray that search for a soulmate, the one who is made and destined for you. Even amongst Christian circles, there is some division over whether God has one “right” person destined for you, or if you can choose to build a holy, God-honoring relationship with one of many possible people. What really stood out to me is that this idea of Eros, of love on this earth, is indeed a search for wholeness; but this wholeness can only truly be found in Christ! God ordained marriage as a great mystery which Paul said refers to Christ and the church; the sacrificial love with which the lover lays down his life for his beloved. Our relationship with Christ truly brings us into union with him, as he is in union with the Father. May our discussions and even debates on love always point us to Love himself, through whom all things hold together, the One who sought us, redeemed us and is bringing us by his grace ever closer to the ultimate marriage supper of the Lamb! PS. Well, I guess I didn’t get much shorter. Will reattempt. After visiting a very impressive Roman agora (greek for marketplace, the city’s meeting place and commercial center) from around 100 AD and then an impressive museum of sculpture, ceramics and coins from centuries before Christ’s birth, our group made our way from lunch to what I was most looking forward to today, the oldest church in Izmir that is still active: St. Polycarp Catholic Church, constructed in the 17th century.
The church itself was inconspicuous from the outside; a rather plain looking yellow building with a dark green metal fence around its border. It was quaint and french, in the style of its last rebuilders, but it rather blended into the surrounding buildings. The inside, however, took my breath away. It was the most colorfully and elaborately decorated building I have ever seen, and after the Hagia Sophia that’s saying something! Every single wall and the entire ceiling was covered in colorful renditions of scenes from St. Polycarp’s life, the virgin mother, Christ, and other saints. Chandeliers of hundreds of small pieces of glass hung throughout the chapel, and many statues of various persons were scattered around as well. Lush red carpets with typical Turkish flower designs covered the floors. It was an almost overwhelming visual overload! More impactful for me was the reading for my Christian Spirituality class on St. Polycarp, which included one of his letters and an account of his martyrdom. Polycarp was a disciple of John (the only one of Christ’s disciples who was not killed for the faith), and lived from 69-155 AD, eventually the bishop of Smyrna, which is now Izmir. (Fun fact, Smyrna/Izmir is the only city of the 7 cities in Revelation that still currently has an active Christian community!) His letter read like scripture, similar to the letters of Paul—and indeed he quotes extensively from the gospels and from Paul’s writings. His words are such an exhortation, so sincere; fiery in their weight and conviction, yet overwhelmingly compassionate and gentle. For example, "Let us never relax our grasp on the Hope and Pledge of our righteousness; I mean Jesus Christ, who bore our sins in his own body on the tree…who steadfastly endured all things for our sakes, that we might have life in Him. Let us imitate that patient endurance of His; and if we do have to suffer for His Name’s sake, why then, let us give glory to Him!" Polycarp was eventually martyred for his faith, and the account of his peaceful acceptance and stand for the Lord was beautiful and moving. “Polycarp, just like the Lord, had patiently awaited the hour of his betrayal…” He was brought before the governor in a big arena; as the man continually pressed Polycarp, “take the oath and I will let you go. Revile your Christ,” Polycarp’s response was, “Eighty and six years have I served Him, and He has done me no wrong. How then can I blaspheme my King and my Savior?” It was reported that when the pyre was set aflame, his body did not burn; the soldier had to pierce him through. It’s incredible to me to read of this man’s unshakeable faith and devotion to Christ, devotion even unto death! How far does my own life fall short- it was said that Polycarp, while being led to death, was “overflowing with courage and joy, and his whole countenance was beaming with grace.” Lord, I pray you would continue to grow this kind of heart and spirit inside of me. What an unbelievable privilege it would be to die for my Savior. I long to have this kind of heart the martyrs had: “So it was that, with all their thoughts absorbed in the grace of Christ, they made light of the cruelties of this world…for them, the fires of their barbarous tormentors had a grateful coolness, for…looking up they beheld with inward vision the good things in store for those who persevere.” Wow. Jesus, I pray that every day my body would be a living sacrifice to you; alive yet dying. I desire to be a daily martyr, crucifying my flesh and captivated by the highest light of your infinite beauty and glory. I want to finish with the “postscript” to the account of St. Polycarp’s martyrdom; not only did it make me laugh, but it captured a powerful truth which ought to be always at the center of our lives. "The official responsible for his [Polycarp’s] arrest was Herod; the High Priest was Philip of Tralles; and the proconsul was Statius Quadratus- but the ruling monarch was Jesus Christ, who reigns for ever and ever. To him be ascribed all glory, honour, majesty, and an eternal throne from generation to generation. Amen." An early morning drive brought us further south down the coast of Turkey to the city of Pergamum, one of the 7 churches of Revelation. Our first stop was to the Asklepion of the city, the ancient “hospital” of the day, a healing center devoted to Asklepios, the deity of medicine. The remains we explored were quite extensive; it was unreal to step around and upon great pieces of marble pillars, brought into the dust by the ravages of time, so laboriously hewn and erected in the 400’s BC, and to see etched upon an ancient stone the symbol of the staff with the two intertwined snakes which persists in representing medicine today. Wow.
We walked down into a cool, dark tunnel built into the ground, through which doctors would lead patients of psychotherapy to the accompanying sound of trickling hot water, creating steam laced with opioids, as the physicians whispered to their patients. Another part of the healing center was the theatre, the semi-circle of rock benches and steps descending from a wide top to the narrow, circular “orchestra” at the bottom, where only comedic entertainment would be shown. It was intriguing to realize that 2,400 years ago doctors realized the connection between physical well being, mind, and soul, and sought to treat their patients in that light. Even more visually stunning than the elaborate ruins of the Asklepion was Pergamum’s Acropolis, much more extensive than Athena’s Temple at Assos. This acropolis was found high upon a hill overlooking the city. With the red shingled roofs of the town spread in one direction and a still lake in the other, the views were stunning, and it was not surprising that the emperor Trajan of long ago chose the majestic spot to have his magnificent temple and the Altar of Zeus built there . While the Temple of Athena at Assos consisted of only a few reconstructed pillars in the rather plain, Doric style, this site in Pergamum was an absolute gold mine of archeology. A long row of perhaps 8 ornamental, elaborately chiseled pillars towered towards the sky, and an entire corner of the temple had been reconstructed in front of them. We descended under the temple into the base which the ancient builders had to construct—for they were building right into the side of a mountain—and saw the classic Roman arches, whose ingenious architectural design supported the weight of the literal tons of rock and marble. We stood amongst the remains of the biggest library of the ancient world, famous for being the first to use parchment (animals skins, which were able to be written upon on both sides), which would lead to codex writing like the books of today. I’ve been reflecting the last couple days on the vast amount history that extends behind us. It is difficult to comprehend that nearly everything about our country, our culture and our way of life is so young and new compared to thousands of years before us. Seeing places and actual relics from so long ago makes it impossible not to lose one’s tiny, self-focused point of view, and forces you to acknowledge that countless generations did life on this earth in ways very different from our modern, western culture in America: different in regard to worship, marriage, entertainment, leisure, and work. Some of these things were very similar for millennia and have only recently changed. Having just finished reading Pamuk’s My Name is Red, I was reminded that for most of history, the idea of choosing one’s spouse and of the importance of love in a marriage was a foreign concept, for matrimony centered around security and social stability. I have also been reminded that throughout history, worship of deities of some sort has played a significant part in nearly every culture. Now that we are becoming “liberated” from the “shackles” of religion and morality, what kinds of implications is this going to have? Innovation and change can be good; but it’s hard to tell what it will mean to leave behind the center of civilization that has held society together through many ages. Perhaps we aren’t close to that yet, but it’s hard to tell. Currently we are driving past the gulf of Izmir in our next city. The now-familiar minarets signaling mosques surround me on ever side, for multiple can be seen through each of the bus’s windows. The sun is setting over the water and it sparkles beneath swirling, hazy clouds. Time to rest. Did I neglect to mention yesterday that we visited Troy? I thought I had better include that little detail today. The small town of Troy is known as that ancient city upon which Homer expounds in his Iliad and Odyssey, relating the famous abduction of queen Helen by Paris and the resulting Trojan war, in which the Greeks eventually sack the city after 10 long years of bitter fighting. It is from Troy that Odysseus and his men are sailing home when they encounter beasts and goddesses and adventures at every turn in the Odyssey; and it is in Troy that Chaucer’s classic love story Troilus and Criseyde takes place, combining the ancient Greco-Roman world with elements of the medieval courtly love style in a tale that speaks of devotion, betrayal, and sorrow. To see a model of the Trojan Horse and walk through the archeological site, among the very walls from 1,250 years before Christ ever walked on earth, was an incredible, surreal experience. I never dreamed when reading these works in class that I would get to physically step into their stories more than 3,000 years later.
Today I had another such experience in ancient ruins, when drove through the winding, small, hilly roads of Assos up to its Acropolis and the Temple of Athena! The sight of the ruins, with the original base and about 5 remaining pillars, tall and magnificent against the backdrop of the crystal Mediterranean, was truly a wonder to behold. One can imagine the villagers from 400 BC ascending to this highest point of the city in worshipful devotion to their deity of wisdom and warfare, gazing across to the island of Lesbos, from whence came the famous ancient poet Sappo. To add to the rich historical significance, one of the villagers of Assos was Aristotle, who lived there after he left the Academy in Athens when Plato died, and went on to be the instructor of Alexander the Great. Furthermore, Paul also came very near the place during one of his missionary journeys. After taking a nap this afternoon and missing when most of the group swam, I myself tip-toed past the nappers and readers around the grounds of our hotel up to the line where the sparkling, blue Mediterranean lapped gently upon the black sand and pebbles of the shore. As I gingerly stepped deeper and deeper, the vastness of the gorgeous, crystal clear water before me, the beauty of solitude before the wonders of creation again brought joy to my soul. The water was cold and invigorating; so still, completely at peace, yet somehow filled with strength and mighty force. It’s a difficult feeling to explain. There were no waves; only my own thoughts and imaginings of the war ships and fishing boats of yore, carrying ancient Greeks, Romans, Turks, Persians, Egyptians, apostles, heroes, philosophers and villagers through these very waters. Wow. C.S. Lewis’s thoughts on nature in his Four Loves are so very wise and relevant for those who revel in the great outdoors; he reminds us that nature lovers who revel in scenery cannot take nature as a teacher, for she will teach you “exactly the lessons you had already decided to learn…the “moods” and “spirits” of nature point no morals. Overwhelming gaiety, insupportable grandeur, sombre desolation are flung at you…in them each man can clothe his own belief.” I love what he explains, though, about nature’s ability to give meaning to our faith: “Nature never taught me that there exists a God of glory and of infinite majesty. I had to learn that in other ways. But nature gave the word glory a meaning for me. I still do not know where else I could have found one.” How true this is, and how marvelous to experience the might and glory of God in such a place as this. I feel, though, for those for whom nature is the highest and greatest thing they will ever know; my heart breaks for the empty eyes of him who glories in the beauty of this trip but fails to rightly see the exalted Word who brought it into being, who stretched out these waters and then stretched out his arms upon a cross to redeem our souls for pure love. Oh Father, remove the scales of this temporal world, the beauty here that will fade away into your eternal, glorious presence. Reveal yourself and save your people! To finish with a return to Lewis- “Nature cannot satisfy the desires she arouses, nor answer theological questions, nor sanctify us. Our real journey to God involves constantly turning our backs on her…leaving the hills and the woods and going back to our studies, to some poky little church, to our Bibles, to our knees.” Lord let it be so. One bus ride and one ferry trip today relocated us from the overwhelming, crowded streets of Istanbul to the serene seaside town of 300 people: Assos. The peace and beauty here is a breath of fresh air; gazing upon the piercing, sapphire blue of the Mediterranean stretching out to a hilly horizon line and the last golden rays setting behind the rocky crags can only call forth the Psalmist’s wondrous exclamations. “The heavens declare the glory of God! The skies proclaim the work of your hands!” “Oh Lord my God, how majestic is your name through all the earth!” Such scenes truly impart some sense of our Creator’s majesty. It is a great and wondrous thing to think on the fact that they represent only in a pale, paltry way the whole fullness of God’s being.
The bus ride gave me ample time to continue in My Name is Red, the Orhan Pamuk mystery; although calling it a mystery doesn’t really do justice to the complexity and depth that Pamuk weaves into his Turkish novel. His treatment of the concept of art is particularly intriguing. The miniaturists in Turkey are struggling between two tensions: on one side are the old masters and ancient arts; following the command to make no graven image, they refuse to give detail to the people and animals they create. The goal is not to show reality, but an ideal of the mind; a representation; Allah’s vision of the subject. Perfection is attained when after 60 years of drawing thousands and thousands of—for example—horses. the painter becomes blind and is freed from the chains of sight to draw the horse in his mind, which is the true form. In this tradition individual style is neither desired nor approved of; it is a letting go of self. On the other side are the new European styles and the Francish methods, which use techniques to create vividly life-like, detailed paintings. Individual flair is lauded, and the magnificence is in the replication of reality, the celebration of individual faces with their distinct features and personalities. I am no expert in art, especially painting. But the philosophical questions that arise from this aspect of the book—there are many others I could discuss!—intrigue me. Within Christianity I see this tension as well. God made the human form and the entirety of his creation to reflect Himself and aspects of his character, glory and nature. Humans specifically reflect his image, a fact that he deemed “very good!” God’s work as a master artist can be celebrated through our own creativity and skillful recreations of his works. We can depict with detail and beauty the unique individualism of people and creatures. On the other hand, however, is this need to be released from our need to have a self into the freedom of Christ as our all. Glorification of the human form and what is sometimes sensuous idolatry can become a thief to the glory of the One who deserves every last bit of it. After all, what is the pinnacle of our life of faith if not completely dying to self that only Christ may live in me? There is a celebration warranted of the majesty of God as creator, and visual art certainly is this celebration. But the precise purpose is Him and His greatness in making us, and making us unique. As soon as pride, love of self and desire for personal glory creep in, we walk in the footsteps of Lucifer. And indeed, is this not our natural state, and that which we who sincerely desire to follow Christ must daily struggle to pull away from? Satan takes all that is good and true and beautiful and though he does sometimes corrupt it, far more dangerous is the subtle way in which he leads us into elevating it far above its rightful place. I began C.S. Lewis’s Four Loves this afternoon and was struck again by his reminder that “Love ceases to be a demon only when it ceases to be a god.” I think this applies to all of the Lord’s good gifts to us. Beautiful, unique, individual and special, yes. The things he gives us are! And we are! But let us not get so caught up in the trees that we miss the forest. Or more accurately, the One who created it. His goodness and glory and love is truly the Ultimate. Today was busy and bustling, something that I’ve noticed is characteristic of Istanbul, a large city with enormous amounts of people packed onto tiny streets. We started the day with a bus ride to Chora Church (to clarify: the bus ride came only after we fought our way in the rain through about 10 blocks lined with tall, skinny buildings; apparently the street our hotel is on, right in the heart of the “old city,” is too small for the bus). After the church visit, we spent some time shopping in Spice Market, an indoor area full of hundreds of shops, all selling teas, candies, scarves, trinkets, and every kind of spice you can imagine. Such beautiful deep hues of blood red, forest green, golden yellow, birch brown! Such colorful scarves of subdued maroon, bright pink, flowered print, and every other color you could imagine. So many vendors offering samples of Turkish Delight, teas made from dried rose petals and beautiful greenery, and candied pomegranates! It was quite a sensory experience.
To return to the more meaningful visit, though, what used to be the church Chora was absolutely beautiful. Built in the early 4th century, the magnificent marble walls were constructed of several different earthy colors and soared up high before curving into magnificent archways. The domed ceilings were stunning; the most significant feature of this church, though, was the incredibly intricate mosaic pictures that cover the ceilings and many parts of the walls. Thousands of tiny mosaic tiles are painstakingly pressed into the plaster, forming large depictions of Christ, Mary, Peter and Paul, as well as scenes from the Biblical narrative such as Jesus’ birth, miracles and resurrection. The detail was astonishing, true art created only a few hundred years after the life of the One whom it depicts. The focus on Christ in the art in this time period gives him true honor and glory, showing him always with a halo of light as our King and Savior. The prayer from Anselm I read this morning was also directed to Christ and resonated with prayers I have prayed for the last two years; I remember before I traveled to east Asia two summers ago, my desire was that Psalm 16:11 would be true for me, that I would have fullness of joy simply in God’s presence. Anselm stirs my heart again on this theme, but more specifically in reference to Jesus: “although I have not yet attained to love you as I ought, / still let my desire for you / be as great as my love ought to be.” “Turn my lukewarmness into a fervent love of you.” This is the deep cry of my soul! “I thirst for you I hunger for you I desire you I sigh for you.” Lord God, I pray along with Anselm that you would increase my longing and my love for you! You are glorious, and the homage given to you in church architecture, frescos and mosaics points to your glory. But call my heart up to a deeper desire and knowledge of your glory on the inside. I am weak. I am too easily satisfied. Fill me with even greater longing for you; help me to love you wholly as your total goodness merits. I was going to open with something about the dichotomy that defined today, but in thinking over it I’m not sure that word choice is entirely appropriate. Perhaps I’ll give some explanation and context and processing my thoughts through writing will help me decide.
The two significant sites of today were the Hagia Sophia and the Blue Mosque. The Hagia Sophia is probably the most gorgeous piece of architecture I have ever seen, an enormous and ancient Christian church that was rebuilt for the third time after destruction in the sixth century A.D. by the emperor Justinian. Everything about this holy place of worship declared majesty; beauty; opulence. It is filled with huge arches, exquisite mosaics of Christ and saints, colorful floral patterns, stately marble, and stone of many hues. As we wandered through it my mind was drawn to the woman who poured perfume upon Jesus; such excess and expense, yet rightly deserved by the only One worthy of it. Of course Justinian’s pride in his feat of building the place of Holy Wisdom (the meaning of Hagia Sophia) ought not be lauded, but the grandiose splendor of the place can still be appreciated. The prayers of St. Anselm, which I began this morning, were written to “stir the mind up to the love or fear of God- or to a consideration of both.” I like that phrase. Though no external beauty is necessary to the Christian faith or to our personal relationship with the Lord, something about the lavish expense and tireless labor spent on a place like the Hagia Sophia inspires the mind to awe and reverence for the Lord, a respect and feeling of smallness or unworthiness which I think can be lacking the plain or “hip” buildings which are more common for American churches today. The Hagia Sophia is practically a palace, fit for a King; the beauty is in celebration of a mystery I was reading about this morning, which has been described as “glorious riches;” the mystery which is “Christ in you, the hope of glory!” (Col. 1:26-27) May these works of art in Christendom draw our minds not down to crass earthly wealth, but up to the contemplation of true riches and unfading Glory. Our visit to the Blue or Sultan Ahmed Mosque, a large mosque in Istanbul—and one of the most grand in the Islamic world, as indicated by its six minarets—was a unique experience. The girls in our group donned head coverings and we all removed our shoes as we prepared to respectfully view an equally esteemed house of worship, this one to a different god. As our guide explained about what we were seeing and hearing, it was striking to me the reverence which muslims pay to Allah and the discipline with which they live for him, again, perhaps a devotion and weightiness that is absent in many places of our own country, where Christianity is more a cultural label than a serious way of life. “Should you not fear me? Declares the LORD. “Should you not tremble in my presence? I made the sand a boundary for the sea, an everlasting barrier it cannot cross. The waves may roll, but they cannot prevail; they may roar, but they cannot cross it. But these people have stubborn and rebellious hearts; they have turned aside and gone away.” (Jer. 522-23) This part of my morning reading struck me; the prophets are full of displays of God’s character. He is holy and pure; mighty and righteous. He is not only the man who came to dwell and love and forgive; he is a fiery exacter of justice and the King of the universe. Do we remember both sides? I don’t know that I’ve come to any decision regarding my earlier question. Although I was mentally juxtaposing Christianity and Islam as opposites in stark contrast, in truth they share many similarities. Both are Abrahamic religions, worshipping only one God with the aid of a holy text. Both have half-hearted followers, but at their core are defined by wholly devoting oneself, a radical and different way of life. Both esteem virtue, discipline, piety and prayer, and would agree with Anselm’s prayer, “May I shun utterly in word and in deed whatever you forbid, and do and keep whatever you command. Let me believe and hope, love and live, according to your purpose and your will (prayer 1). Perhaps it would be politically incorrect to label them opposites. But in reality, their beliefs regarding salvation from sin are so different that both claim followers of the other religion will be eternally damned. I think I’ve decided that this difference is significant enough to call the separation between these faiths a dichotomy. What a day it has been! After nearly 17 hours in airports and planes and an hour long bus ride, I finally find myself in Istanbul, Turkey; my body is physically both exhausted and exhilarated. The time zone switch and my efforts to adjust quickly by refusing to let myself sleep for the past 24 hours have not been comfortable, but the initial thrill of the culture shock—rolling hills and architecture, cobblestoned and skinny streets, domes of mosques and spires swirling into the sky—has pumped my mind with enough adrenaline to nearly counteract my sleepy eyes.
By way of a bit of explanation, this travel blog will be updated daily with my reflections as I explore Turkey, Cyprus and Greece with students and faculty from Baylor University. It will not be carefully edited and pruned to perfection; rather, it is my attempt to use pen and paper (all right, we all know there’s no pen or paper here, but you get my drift) to record in some imperfect way my thoughts as they are born the combination of my academic readings with what I see, hear, explore and experience in these countries. No doubt that my faith, philosophical musings, questions and even prayers will get mixed in as well, as I intend my writing here to be holistic; natural; raw. A whirlwind half a day in the country gives me little material to begin with, but I won’t neglect to start with what I can. The first reading I have begun is the book My Name is Red by Orhan Pamuk. Set in Turkey, this book gripped me almost right from the start. It is both a murder mystery and a clandestine romance, painting a picture of the colorful world of miniaturists: serious artists who illustrate the Koran in a painstaking, exquisite, weighty process. I’m thankful to be starting with this book because it introduced me to something that I had not been considering before today: the fact that the large majority (98% according to some figures) of Turkey is a muslim nation. Already in our brief time walking through the city, this has become evident; the women in head coverings; the calls to prayer; and the sunrise-to-sunset fasting for Ramadan, which is currently being observed. What a stark contrast this is to the world I have left behind, both my home in Austin with a church on every street corner, and my home on Baylor's campus where most students pay at least lip-service to the Christian God. The theme God put on my heart a couple days before this trip as I was praying about it was that idea of being the sweet aroma of Christ (2 Corinthians 2:15). I have asked Him to use me and my life for His purposes alone, so what will it look like to be the sweet aroma of Christ this month, both to my fellow students, and to the muslim nation around me? Father, fill me with your Spirit that I might walk in Your will and Your ways. |