Sunday evening in Mesta. We are having our last Geek meal and ready (not) to move on. We ferry back to Cesme in the morning, hang out for 12 hours then bus to airport in Izmir for our 3 am flight to Berlin. Two days in Berlin, then on to Chicago. Only three more countries and we'll be home. Here are some pictures I did not get a chance to post earlier, all from Chios. Sorry. Not enough bandwidth for pictures. We'll have to wait for another continent for that.
Good bye and good night. I am sitting in the village square of Mesta; small girls on bikes, stray cats slinking, birds singing (Laurie, I do not know what kind), a frappe on the table for me. This village is amazing. It sits on arid hills on the south west side of the island of Chios. It's history goes back well over 700 years. It is a double walled village - which means, i think, an outer wall of stone structures (today homes) and an inner wall within which the rest of the village sits. All the streets and small alleys twist in a labyrinth like plan, some dead ending, others folding back on themselves, others diverting you to outside the village walls. All this to thwart attack and invasion by pirates after the valuable mastic. It's early success came about because of this mastic production (resin from the mesta tree) which was one of the first gums and during the late Ottoman Empire was worth as much as silver, by weight. It's value to the Ottomans afforded the citizens of the island, who were Christians, special privileges under Ottoman rule. In 1821, as the Greek mainland pushed for independence, they came to Chios to launch an attack and enlisted the help of Chians. The Turks trounced them and the Greek population of the island suffered horrible slaughter as punishment for participating.... after they had been granted special favors. Some estimates I've read say 5/6 of the islands 120,000 population was killed, enslaved or fled.
The village we stayed in in Turkey, Sirence, was a Greek village until the Greco-Turk war. During the war, by choice, and after the war by force, an estimated million Greeks fled Turkey and a million Turks fled Greece. The "population exchange" it is called. Whole towns transformed in the process. It is a process repeated over and over throughout history. It is a process we have the chance to divert everyday. We are in the last few days of this extraordinary journey and I am trying to hold onto the wonder still before me instead of forfeiting these days to the tasks of next week. O.K. So I wrote this 4 days ago, when I had some reliable Internet, which died part way through. Ugg. Today is the birthday of my favorite son-in-law!
I know I only have one, will only ever have one, but even if I hade five, he would still be my favorite. He loves my daughter like crazy. He plays with, protects, provides for and inspires my grandchildren. He makes wine and houses and dinner. He also reads poetry and likes his mother-in-laws cooking. I think he even likes his mother-in-law. I know she likes him and is so very thankful for him. Today. Everyday!!!!, Here is where we have laned this time, after a splashing ferry ride from Cesem, Turkey to Chios, Greece (all of 8 km). This is the beach that is 50 feet from the entrance to our guesthouse, and it is the beach to which I shall retire just now, book and towel in hand, to read of Paul and swim in the healing and refreshing sea and dream of something fine.
We came this close (I'm holding my fingers 1/4 apart) to missing this. My guide book is sort of humdrum about it. The entrance fee was listed at 30 TRY (Turkish Lira). We were tired and still had a three hour ride back and there were people EVERYWHERE. We almost turned around...but...it's a World Heritage Site. Suppose to be one of the most beautiful parks in Turkey. And, we came all this way to see it. So we trudged up the hill to the entrance gate. The entrance fee was only 20 TRY so we decided to go on in. From a distance it looks like a billion gallons of white paint spilled down the hill. Up close Pamukkale, which in Turkish means "cotton castle" is an astounding wonder of beauty and fascination. Hot springs of rich, mineral soaked water emerge from the hills. As the water pours down the hillside, the gases and minerals transform the landscape into a playground of pools and castles and ribbons of calcified white. Sometimes it looks like cotton or lace dripping down the hill, with a thin cascade of water flowing over the whole beautiful face of it. Sometimes its smooth with a gray tone...but that is when it fools you. That is when it's a mushy paste of mud and squishes up between your toes. Children splashing, young nymphs posing in bikinis, old women hobbling-supported on either side by son or daughter, conversation flitting by in more languages than I could count, warm pools to soak in (at the top) and cool pools to splash in (at the bottom), and a feast of texture for the feet (shoes must be removed to walk up the hill to protect the travertine structures). Oh, so very glad we grabbed this one. It would have been worth 40 TRY! My pictures are so inadequate. Check out Mark's pictures. Staying true to form, we had an adventure trying to find the remains of the ancient city of Colassae - which is an un excavated city abandoned by the 9th century. Today it looks like a hill surrounded by apple orchards. If you look closely, you will see the depression in the hill in the shape of a ampatheater, fragments of pottery, a singular capital by the road and an delapidated sign explaining the site.
By all indicators this place is dead. Empty. The city picked up and moved after wars and earthquakes. The church that was there leaves nothing to show. Hot, dusty, baren. Except there is the loveliest of smells that lightly wafts on the wind. It's just a hint of aroma from a small white flower growing in the dust. Like the Spirit of the church that was there. You don' see it. You can't hold it or photograph it. But still the power of the truth proclaimed there is alive. This is the place from which the slave Onesimus escaped, and to which Paul sent him back, to face possible death. But Paul sent him back with a letter that said to Philemon (the master) the Empire gives you the right to do what you will to Onesimus, but that does not make it right. See the human brother he is and how you are enslaved to love and he is free before God. Break the chains that enslave. YOU do it with the one you see today. We can not hide behind the law or convenience or convention. That is still alive. Today we depart Turkey (and our great wifi access) and head to Chios for a week of reflection, writing and reading. I do not know what the wifi availability will be. If you do not hear from us it will be because we are out of range of the Internet, but always within range of the heart. After another wonderful breakfast and a Skype call with Peter, we are off to see the white travertine pools of Pammukale and the sites of three ancient churches, Hierapolis, Laodicea and Colossae.
These are a three hour drive from where we are staying so we will see lots of Turkish country side. Look for pictures later. Last Sunday afternoon we were walking the quiet lanes of ancient Phillipi. I loved this site because we had it almost to ourselves and could wander everywhere. We took one path through overgrown weeds and stumbled upon the museum (which our guide book said was closed since 1991??). It is open, but it was closed. Not since 1991, but since 40 minutes earlier. As I looked back to tell Mark the news, I saw him engaged in some silly thing at the fence. He saw me and held out his hand. Grapes. He had been picking grapes from the fence by the closed museum of an ancient, abandoned city.
We looked at each other and realized it was Sunday. Quick calculations....it was Sunday morning in Indiana, where the three churches were gathering for joint worship to share communion together. We stopped. We laughed. We gave thanks and ate grapes. For years we have been saying that when we share communion, we share it not just with those in the same room with us at the time, but in a real but mysterious way, we share it with those who have ever, will ever, everywhere. And there we stood, giving thanks for the grapes in the place where people shared communion 2000 years ago, thinking of people 5400 miles way who were sharing communion, and embracing the reality of those who are not even yet a twinkle in their mother's eye but will surely share this now, then. Having a grape time. Glad you are here. Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest awhile... (Mark 6:31) The night before we left the US, I went to bed at my nephew Mike's (thank you Mike, it was a much welcomed pause before the journey). So much to wonder (worry) about. So much had been done to prepare to leave. I was afloat in a river of things. I took out my Bible and it fell open to the above passage. Come away and rest awhile. At that point, some of the most welcomed words I had heard.
It's is a study trip, a professional development event. I have a stack of books to study and archeological reports to scour, which I was eager to do- to grow my brain and knowledge and skill makes me giddy. But in those few words I heard Jesus call me to another place. A place and journey to him, to rest. I don't need to be the smart one, the skilled one, the one who carries the weight and works so hard to justify this extraordinary trip. Come away was, is, an invitation to be held in his arms, to be still and receive the care and love of the Divine - because that is the kind of Master Jesus is. So, here in the tiny village of Sirince, Turkey, I have arrived at rest. The hospitality of the people (the guest house owner came to the village market to get us when we could not find our way though the labyrinth of alleyways to Doga Pension), the shopkeeper who gave me samples of local wine to taste while we waited, the beauty from the terrace off our room and the amazing breakfast this morning. All of it, rest and embrace. After I try to let Mark win a cribbage game (he is down 4 games) we will head off to the ancient site of Ephesus to explore - still In our Papa's embrace of rest. May you rest in this love today - wherever you are The Spice Bazaar. The Grand Bazaar. Both so bazaar and so delightfully stimulating!!! The sights and the sounds and the crushes of people and the sellers vying for buyers attention made up the center of our day today. We were a little intimidated by the prospect of going to the worlds oldest and largest market- especially for me, who hates shopping - but you can not come to Istanbul, we hear, and not go to the bazaars. So off we went, armed with our fiercest "no" faces ( to combat the very insistent shopkeepers looking to hook a sale) and our courage to stumble through the labyrinth of alleyways and narrow streets and a pocket full of hope that we would eventually make it out alive. And guess what? I LOVED IT, I loved the rhythm of the voices. I loved the feast of color displayed in each stall; glitter and sparkle in the jewelry section, the earthy leather smell in the leather section, the shiny patterns in the ceramic section, the marvelous textures in the fabric section and the smells as we passed by the food stalls. We shared a table with two men who did not speak English but spoke smile and gesture so well. And, daddy, you would have been so proud of how well I bargained for each item! And then on to the Spice Bazaar. Well, you can see the photo above. Imagine hundreds of stalls, all selling exotic, aromatic, vibrant things to eat!! Maybe I do like shopping. Then we rode a ferry over to the Asian side of Istanbul and wondered streets with a very different flavor and tempo. No throngs of tourists taking pictures. No aggressive sellers grabbing our attention. Just a beautiful array of people going about their life. And my really great and handsome date! And finally, the "what is that?" photo for the day. It's really hard. For anyone who gets it right, I'll fix you a meal with spices I bought at the market to day!
A small boy, maybe 2, plays among the crowd, which is hushed in respect inside the Blue Mosque. The boy is oblivious to the significance of where he is - inside one of the most stunningly beautiful structures in the world (in my opinion) and one of the important houses of prayer to the Muslim world. The space is large and filled with many praying and many viewing.. They are all quiet and careful. He is happy and boisterous. He is moving freely, followed closely by his Papa. Watching with a loving smile, from close enough to protect and admire but far enough to allow exploration, it is clear this man loves this boy.
Among the whispers of the people, you hear his little voice, "Papa. Papa." In this house of prayer, it strikes me as the most beautiful,prayer ever uttered in any language. "Papa". The simple word, uttered in confidence that it will be heard by love. Papa. Papa. Amen Today, we did the tourist circuit of Istanbul. As much as I dislike being a tourist, some cities have some pretty cool sites for tourists. Today we went to Hagia Sophia, the Blue Mosque and the underground Basilica Cisterns.
Three amazing experiences. I really must try to post pictures again. Yea. Not working. Please look at Mark's page. It's full of all the pictures. Such extraordinary structures dedicated to God. Soaring heights and light dancing through space. And thick, thick history. Hagia Sophia was originally built in 537, commissioned by the Emperor Justinian. It was converted to a mosque by Mehmet the Conquerer in 1453 and to a museum by Ataturk (father of modern Turkey) in 1935. There is layer upon layer of history and ideology and theology in this stunning building. And masses of people coming in to view and photograph and study. And people outside trying to sell some piece of it to anyone passing by. "But the hour is coming, and is now here, when true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and truth..." (John 4:23) As I traverse these amazing buildings and learn the reoccurring cycles of history I realize how difficult humanity finds this....and imagine how much God wants this...and how long God is waiting May we all hold spirit and truth as solidly as we hold pillars and columns. Good night The inter- net has been intermittent...so I'm backing up (as in going back) a few days. Our day to Phillipi was such a nourishing day. We drove up the coast, which made Mark so happy to be in a car again, and to be out of a big city... The site was, in one way, just like the other half dozen ancient sites we have been to in the last week, but in another way it was very different. How you ask? Well, it was open and we could walk over and through everything and there where no crowds, but mostly, it was because we were in such a different frame of soul. There was time a space to sit and think and pray and read. We read all of Paul's letter to the saints in Phillipi. The words did resonate so differently sitting on the hillside above the ruins. I imagined a small group of people gathered in one of those reconstructed rooms, hearing words, not from a dead theologian who's legacy changed a world religion, but a note from a dear friend and teacher...who knew them and loved them and had a good word for them. "Let those of us who are mature be of the same mind; and if you think differently about anything this too God will reveal to you. (3:15).
Nice words from history but sitting in that room, I think I would be moved to look at that guy on my left and realize that his "stupid idea" had more merit than I realized and that it is not a threat to me but an opportunity for God to move both of us closer to truth. And we prayed....for so many and as the wind rustled through the grass and the ants crawled across the pages of my Bible, I was renewed in the reality that the church is not a building, a period in history or a theology, but the living spirit of God let loose on people. Which brings me to another thought (sorry. You can skip this if you want). "The Church". Is not a building, but has buildings. Many buildings. Big, small, old, new, fancy, utilitarian. And why? This is a church in Thessaloniki. Ok the Internet is gruelingly slow uploading pictures, so forget the pic of the church in Thessaloniki (which is very lovely, by the way). It's a picture of the doors. Big double wooden doors. The shim next to the handle, where it locks, is chipped away...like someone was trying to break in, as if there was something valuable in there that people WANTED. But were kept out instead. Kept away from the valuable things in the church. Makes me cry. I want churches to act as if what is in there is very valuable AND we want people to come in a take it away with them! Open the doors. Leave them open all the time. Let the stuff that is so valuable be taken. Until the place is emptied of the treasure and it is all over town, in people's homes and schools and in the parks and stores and AA meetings and hospitals and jail and bus stations. Let them come in any time and pray and sleep and dance. The silver candle sticks might get stolen, but someone might also be healed and comforted. I know it's ridiculous and impractical, but I think it is also true. Monday morning. Time to pack and head to a new country again. Greece has been wonderful. The food (grilled feta at a tiny lake side cafe..oh so simply delicious), the people (a bus load of strangers, each on their way to someplace exciting or demanding or distracting, become a laughing gaggle of friends- as each joins the task of getting two lost travelers closer to their destination. It took one observant woman to notice that we looked lost, another to go ask the driver which stop, one to interpret into English, one old man to laugh and tell us a joke entirely in Greek, and laugh so hard that I got the punch line, everyone else to jump in with what they knew and one woman, who is struggling to keep her furniture import business going during the "hard times" of the $ crisis, to actually walk us to our stop. Thessaloniki has defiantly been the funniest place to be lost in.....and the one in which we have most often been lost! , the beauty - the colors of the sea....just as the ocean in Wrangell has an extraordinary pallet of gray throughout the year, the sea of northern Greece paints blue of vast and breathtaking hues. This is the worst photo of a most beautiful sea. What is that?
Can you guess? (Submit your answer in the comments and enter the drawing for a prize). Often over the last few days, that has been our question. So much is written using only the Greek alphabet...which I know I learned in seminary.....but even so it takes my brain a few seconds before it registers the sounds and a few days for the meaning. Look closely above. Try to figure it out. That is where I have been! And guess what? We are about to board a plane for Turkey, with a alphabet I never learned. I'm ready. This morning, while you likely slept, we are off to Phillipi to spend the day. We are renting a car for the 99 mile drive.
Watch out, there may be many photos of old broken things tonight. A note from yesterday...we went to the Museum of Byzantine Culture. So much. At one point I was weary from the walking and all the information. I left the exhibit with Mark still going strong. I found a bench and sat. In the quiet, I picked up from where i had been reading Paul's letter to the Thessalonians; we do not want you to be uninformed brothers and sisters, about those who have died, so that you may not grieve as others do who have no hope. For since we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so, through Jesus, God will bring with him those who have died. (4:13-14). The exhibit I happen to be looking upon at the moment was Byzantine burial customs. The room was filled with tombs, maps of burial plots (pre-Byzantine buried outside city walls, Byzantine begone burying in churches) jewelry and objects found in tombs, markers and decorations. There in my hands the words, there in my view the habits. Off to more. The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you. You've had one, right? A pop tart? Well, we went to a restaurant tonight and ordered a something that was to a pop tart what a Ferrari is to a Ford Pinto. Luscious layers of warm crispy fillo dough wrapping fresh feta cheese baked to perfection then drizzled with golden honey and sprinkled with black sesame seeds. Oh dear. It's like my mouth was the autobahn and these perfectly balanced flavors raced across my taste buds.
Dddelight. I also want to tell you about the Greek Orthodox service we went to tonight, but I am too confused and ignorant to tell you much about it. I will do some studying and report later. Suffice it to say that it was a moving experience which captured my senses and piqued my curiosity. Tomorrow morning, early, we are off to Thessaloniki. We have discovered that it is far easier to plan an itinerary than to travel it. We have decided to make some adjustments to the schedule and go to fewer places for longer periods of time - so I am sorry to report that Corinth has been abandoned- both from our schedule and from the modern world. Ancient Corinth is simply a n archeological site and general strike was anticipated for today (which could have made bus travel complicated), so we stayed in Athens. We will still read and pray those Corinthians passages and prayers. The pictures are still uploading so, I'll write a few thousand words instead. Today we took in the National Museum of Archeology and the Areopagus. I am not sure how to say, "wow" in Greek, but I wish I did.
My favorite from the museum - a grave stele (marker) from the late 4th c. BC. A young woman sits on a stool, one hand rests gracefully on a cushion. The other reaches out, offering a bird. She was likely a poetess, by the books and scrolls beneath her seat. The folds and sheerness of her garments are rendered in the Boeotian stone such that I could hear the fabric rustle as I gazed at her. From 2500 years ago, her life reaches out to mine. From cold stone a sculptor's story touches me. For an instant, there is not time, there is no gap. There is only the urge to say, in the deepest way possible, "I am". "I have been". Today, as a testament to life and in response to the Divine force which gives it, I say, "I am". And, on top of the city, on ground once dedicated to the god's of Ancient Greece, stand marble temples and monuments made by a people who used every skill they knew to craft a culture to say "I am". We ventured to the acropolis at the end of the day, as the heat softened and the light glistened, and in that soft, glistening light, the white marble, reaching to the sky in pillars and arches, turned the color of honey. It glowed with beauty, a beauty possible because of the light falling on it, enveloping it, dripping down and around it. The whole hill. And here, on the very hill we walked, the apostle Paul once walked. And in a quiet corner where he may have sat, we sat, and read the words he spoke to these people who made their marble gods....and he said....it is not in the marble. It is a living, vibrant Light that illuminates us. Reach higher, deeper, truer than stone to find the one "I am" that makes each of us full of the urge to be, and to have that moment when we know that we are. And so, today I looked back on a poet who was. I experienced beauty that helped me know I am, and from where and when I am, I pray that your soul would feel,it too - the Light that wraps you and makes you! |
Mark & WendyOn the road again...we take to the road again, this time to the ancient road of the Apostle Paul and of the early church as it leaps and crawls across Turkey, Greece and Italy. Archives |
Rev. Wendy Olson