Give Me That Rodeo Religion

In the last few days, I had opportunity to travel around a bit in this weird state of mind called Texas. Obstensibly, I was to attend a one-day continuing education seminar west of San Antonio, but you might say I took the long way there. A freakish accident, resulting in a broken ankle, scotched my seminar attendance and sent me limping home a day early (but that is another story).

I enjoy driving the backroads, savoring the small towns and the occasional cafe where the waitress might still call you "Hon." In these places, you catch glimpses of the unique, the off-beat, and sometimes, the downright bizarre.

Somewhat in that context, I always pay special attention to the churches I pass along the way: their archetecture (or lack thereof), their sloganeering, and especially their names. The Jesus Christ is the Answer, Inc. Church, painted in large red letters on the church roof is hard to miss, or forget. Somehow I suspect someone didn't really think this one through...."Hi, I'm with the Jesus Christ is the Answer, Inc. Church and I'd like to tell you that Jesus Christ is the Answer"....it just doesn't flow. I found the Little Zion Jerusalem Baptist Church, an odd juxtaposition, but then I found the Mother Zion Missionary Baptist Church completely baffling. I am familiar, of course, with the biblical usage of the word "Zion," but what is meant by "Mother Zion?" I don't get it.

But outside of these colorful varieties and the traditional Baptist/Methodist/ Church of Christ matrix, most everything else was of the "new" variety. By this I mean some variation of the phrase "New Life," "New Beginnings," "New Covenant," etc. or something or the other. In fact, 90% of these churches are some jumble of the following phrases:

New Life
New Beginning
New Covenant
Faith
Family
Fellowship
Praise
Community
Outreach Center

Just mix and match to come up with a jazzy name, find a metal building, and you are in business. Interestingly, many tend to avoid the word "church," thinking, I suppose, that if you don't call it a church, then people will come. So you end up with things like New Life Outreach Center, or New Beginnings Family Fellowship, or New Covenant Fellowship Center. A variation in a nearby county is Driven Life Outreach Center. Driven life? Excuse me. I don't mean to put too fine a point on it, but Muslims are driven. Christians are led. Bottom line: more often than not, new is not better.

I take all this in stride, but for some reason, I am baffled and a little disturbed by the phenomenon of the "cowboy churches." Those of you who don't live in the South or West may be puzzled by what I mean. These are churches specifically designed for "cowboys," where they can wear their boots and jeans and whatever else (hats?) and be comfortable and not feel out of place. Invariably, they meet in a large metal building that perhaps once was, or could still double as, a barn. Usually there is a roping arena out back, where the congregation can "rope," I suppose, after church.


What got me to thinking about this was the particular cowboy church I passed down in Central Texas--the All Around Cowboy Church. Now I understand that this is a rodeo term, but it just struck me as funny. If you are a part-time cowboy, or what we used to call a drug-store cowboy, then podner, you'd better jest mosey on down the trail, for this church is for "all around" cowboys.

And therein lies the heart of what bothers me about all this, and why it is just another example, par excellence, of the dissipation of Protestantism. The cowboy church philosophy, I gather, is to create a worship environment that is inviting to the "cowboy." I am speaking only for my part of the state, but real cowboys are pretty scare around here. There are folks who may have a few cows and who may occasionally ride a horse, but by and large it is merely an affectation, a stance, in many cases a mere fashion statement--a preference for wranglers and Tony Lama boots. (Now some truth in advertising here: I am not one, have never been one and have never aspired to be one. But my dad was--a real, old-time cowboy. He did other things, for sure, but at heart he was a cowboy, from cowboy country. So I do know the genuine article when I see it.) So, in effect, what we have here is a denomination created in large part for people who want to dress a certain way. I suppose it is no different than having Surfer Dude Churches in California and Hawaii, where you can carry your surfboard to worship. The raison d'etre of the cowboy churches is their particular hobby, or fashion preference. In my mind, this has trivialized Christianity down to the point where it cannot go much further.

Two final points and I'll stop "beating this dead horse." American religious groups of all stripes have long adopted casual dress in worship. (I have no problem with this, up to a point, because what bothers me more than casualness is pretense.) I never heard of anyone being turned away from any Protestant church around here for showing up in boots and jeans. It just wasn't an issue. So there was no real need for any separate churches. And I wonder what my reception would be at the All Around Cowboy Church if I showed up in khakis and loafers? It's just the same old thing. Finally, the image of the cowboy in American culture is one of lonely, rugged, individualistic, self-reliance. While these traits may serve you well in taming the frontier, I don't see a single one that should be a characteristic of Life in Christ.

By the way, the first picture is our cowboy of American myth. The second picture is the real thing, my g-g-uncle Henry who went up the Chisholm Trail in the late 1870s.

Obsessed

Okay, I'll admit it. I recognize that I have become tee-totally obsessed with this whole Pope Benedict mess. I'm still stirred up about it and the thoughts that follow are far from a measured, calm response to the controversy.

My state of mind was not helped by yesterday's Dallas Morning News. The editorial headline read: "Pope was careless, but reaction is out of line." Although they did bemoan the disproportionate Islamic response, they saved plenty of advice for the pontiff, as well. The editor advised that Benedict should have "chosen a better example for a recent talk that has launched an international furor," and that "wisdom prescribed care and clarity in speaking of sensitive religious matters," concluding that "the current pope cannot afford another blunder like this one."

Careless? Blunder? What pure, unadulterated, pandering crap this is! As I have stated here and elsewhere, I am convinced that Pope Benedict's words were carefully chosen and he said exactly what he intended to say. I do not know his exact reasons for doing so, but they were no careless blunder. Ochlophobist has some fascinating speculation as to his motivations.

And then over at Dreher's Crunchy Con, I found a link to this about the planned "Day of Rage" this coming Friday, in which Muslims will vent their outrage over Pope Benedict's remarks. Oh, so you mean, the last week of rage hasn't been enough? I would suggest a counter "Day" in the West. I'm not sure what we should call it. Maybe "Day of Get-over-it-already" or maybe "Day of Grow-up!" or perhaps "Day of You-Call-That-A-Religion?" I don't know.

And yet, there are hopeful signs of dawning awareness in the West; perhaps a belated recognition of the adversary we face. By this I mean that some of the secular Left, who in former days would counsel "dialogue" and "understanding" and "sensitivity," now view this as the insipid pandering that it often is. Case in point (and a hat tip to my friend Milton) is Sam Harris, a left-leaning atheist whose latest book was entitled The End of Faith. He writes:

But my correspondence with liberals has convinced me that liberalism has grown dangerously out of touch with the realities of our world — specifically with what devout Muslims actually believe about the West, about paradise and about the ultimate ascendance of their faith. On questions of national security, I am now as wary of my fellow liberals as I am of the religious demagogues on the Christian right. This may seem like frank acquiescence to the charge that "liberals are soft on terrorism." It is, and they are. A cult of death is forming in the Muslim world — for reasons that are perfectly explicable in terms of the Islamic doctrines of martyrdom and jihad. The truth is that we are not fighting a "war on terror." We are fighting a pestilential theology and a longing for paradise. Unfortunately, such religious extremism is not as fringe a phenomenon as we might hope....Such an astonishing eruption of masochistic unreason could well mark the decline of liberalism, if not the decline of Western civilization. The truth is that there is every reason to believe that a terrifying number of the world's Muslims now view all political and moral questions in terms of their affiliation with Islam. This leads them to rally to the cause of other Muslims no matter how sociopathic their behavior. This benighted religious solidarity may be the greatest problem facing civilization and yet it is regularly misconstrued, ignored or obfuscated by liberals....We are entering an age of unchecked nuclear proliferation and, it seems likely, nuclear terrorism. There is, therefore, no future in which aspiring martyrs will make good neighbors for us. Unless liberals realize that there are tens of millions of people in the Muslim world who are far scarier than Dick Cheney, they will be unable to protect civilization from its genuine enemies....To say that this does not bode well for liberalism is an understatement: It does not bode well for the future of civilization. For the full story, read here.

And then there is Anne Applebaum, writing in the Washington Post:

Western politicians, writers, thinkers and speakers should stop apologizing -- and start uniting. By this, I don't mean that we all need to rush to defend or to analyze this particular sermon; I leave that to experts on Byzantine theology. But we can all unite in our support for freedom of speech -- surely the pope is allowed to quote from medieval texts -- and of the press. And we can also unite, loudly, in our condemnation of violent, unprovoked attacks on churches, embassies and elderly nuns. By "we" I mean here the White House, the Vatican, the German Greens, the French Foreign Ministry, NATO, Greenpeace, Le Monde and Fox News -- Western institutions of the left, the right and everything in between. True, these principles sound pretty elementary -- "we're pro-free speech and anti-gratuitous violence" -- but in the days since the pope's sermon, I don't feel that I've heard them defended in anything like a unanimous chorus. A lot more time has been spent analyzing what the pontiff meant to say, or should have said, or might have said if he had been given better advice. All of which is simply beside the point, since nothing the pope has ever said comes even close to matching the vitriol, extremism and hatred that pour out of the mouths of radical imams and fanatical clerics every day, all across Europe and the Muslim world, almost none of which ever provokes any Western response at all. And maybe it's time that it should…

Indeed. Read the full article here.

And finally, Lord Carey, the former Archbishop of Canterbury adds his voice:

The former Archbishop of Canterbury...has issued his own challenge to “violent” Islam in a lecture in which he defends the Pope’s “extraordinarily effective and lucid” speech. Lord Carey said that Muslims must address “with great urgency” their religion’s association with violence. He made it clear that he believed the “clash of civilisations” endangering the world was not between Islamist extremists and the West, but with Islam as a whole. “We are living in dangerous and potentially cataclysmic times,” he said. “There will be no significant material and economic progress [in Muslim communities] until the Muslim mind is allowed to challenge the status quo of Muslim conventions and even their most cherished shibboleths.” ...
Arguing that [Samuel] Huntington’s thesis has some “validity”, Lord Carey quoted him as saying: “Islam’s borders are bloody and so are its innards. The fundamental problem for the West is not Islamic fundamentalism. It is Islam, a different civilisation whose people are convinced of the superiority of their culture and are obsessed with the inferiority of their power.” He said ... it was the “moral relativism of the West” that has outraged Muslim society. Most Muslims believe firmly that the invasion of Iraq is 2004 was solely about oil, he said. He went on to defend the Pope’s fundamental thesis, that reason and religious faith can be compatible. “The actual essay is an extraordinarily effective and lucid thesis exploring the weakness of secularism and the way that faith and reason go hand in hand,” he said. He said he agreed with his Muslim friends who claimed that true Islam is not a violent religion, but he wanted to know why Islam today had become associated with violence. “The Muslim world must address this matter with great urgency,” he said.

Read here for entire article.

End of rant.

We Are All Paleologi Now

The furor over Pope Benedict's remarks continued unabated over the weekend, following what is now a predictable and depressingly familiar pattern. Only two sentences from an academic speech by this former academician have apparently offended the whole of Islam. The silliness and absurdity of the protests rival that of the Danish cartoon "scandal." For Islam, this may be another Emperor-has-no-clothes moment.

But protests in the Muslim street appear to be the order of the day. In the face of their own homegrown poverty, endemic and institutionalized corruption and near hopeless economies--all legitimate reasons for protest--many riot over this obscure quotation of a 14th-century Byzantine emperor by a German Pope. The indignation is not confined to the "streets." Muslim political leaders compare Pope Benedict to Hitler and recall their ambassadors from the Vatican. Official apologies are demanded across the board, but it is doubtful any will be sufficient to assuage the tender sensibilities of the professionally agrieved. Meanwhile Palestinian churches are indiscriminately torched, with Orthodox and Anglican churches suffering alongside Catholic. (Proof, if any were needed, that despite the distinctions we ourselves make, we are all very much in the same foxhole.) And apparently, elderly Catholic nuns are now to be shot in the back, as evidenced by the tragedy in Mogadishu.

That is the world we live in now. Of course, the irony here is that this reaction in the Muslim world only validates and reinforces those very sentiments--expressed by Manuel II some 600 years ago--that the protestors find so reprehensible today.

Victor Davis Hanson has some insightful comments here, and including this absolutely spot-on summation:

... by quoting from the emperor rhetorician Manuel Paleologus—whose desperate efforts at strengthening the Morea and the Isthmus at Corinth a generation before that awful Tuesday, May 29, 1453 all came to naught—the Pope failed to grasp that under the tenets of radical Islam of the modern age, context means little, intent nothing, learning less than zero. If a sentence, indeed a mere phrase can be taken out of context, twisted, manipulated to show an absence of deference to Islam, furor ensues, death threats follow, assassins load their belts—even as the New York Times or the Guardian issues its sanctimonious apologies in the hope that the crocodile will eat them last.

Rod Dreher has a good discussion here, with a link to Michelle Malkin here, who in turn has a link to a must-read article that puts the original 14th-century remarks of Manuel II Paleologus in their proper context, here.

Dreher thinks something about the reaction to Benedict's speech seems to have pushed Christians...over the line, concluding that if any good is to come out of this mess that began with Pope Benedict's speech, it will be that fewer and fewer ordinary people will be gulled by political correctness, and will start to understand exactly what we're all up against.

One can hope.

Finally, Dreher notes "in any case, Benedict's speech will go down as a defining moment in this conflict."

Remembering Oriana Fallaci

Oriana Fallaci is dead. After battling cancer for 10 years, she returned to her native Florence to die. A take-no-prisoners journalist, Fallaci had bested the likes of Arafat, Kissinger and Khomeini in her day, as well as being shot 3 times and left for dead at the Mexico City Olympics of 1968. Always controversial, she was perhaps never more so than in the post 9/11 years.

I came to appreciate her rather late. A New York Times review of her The Rage and the Pride in September 2002 was my first introduction. I ordered the book, read it overnight in one sitting, and then promptly ordered 5 copies to give as gifts. It is neither a well-written nor even a well-reasoned book, but it is quite simply the most passionate book I have ever read. It is a cry of truth, and truth is often an inconvenient and uncomfortable thing. An extended passage from her The Rage and the Pride follows:

Good Lord, I don't deny anybody the right to have fear. A thousand times I have written that whoever claims not to know fear is either a liar or an idiot or both. But in Life and in History there are moments when fear is not permitted. Moments when fear is immoral and uncivilized. And those who out of weakness or stupidity (or the habit of keeping one foot in two shoes) avoid the obligations imposed by this war, are not only cowards: they are masochists.

Masochists, yes, masochists. And on this subject let's finally speak of what you call Contrast-Between-the-Two-Cultures. The two?!? If you really want to know, I feel uncomfortable even when you pronounce the words "two cultures." That is, when you put them on the same level as if they were two parallel entities. Two realities of equal weight and value. Don't be so humble, my dear. Because behind our culture there is Homer, there is Pheidias, there is Socrates, there is Plato, there is Aristotle, there is Archimedes. There is Ancient Greece with its divine sculpture and architecture and poetry and philosophy, with its principle of democracy. There is Ancient Rome with all its grandeur, its universality, its concept of the Law, its literature, its palaces, its amphitheaters, its aqueducts, its bridges, its streets built all over the then know world...There is a revolutionary called Jesus who died on the cross to teach us the concept of love and justice. (And so much the worse for us if we didn't learn it). There is a Church that...gave a tremendous contribution to the History of Thought, and after the Inquisition began to change. Not even an anti-clerical like me can deny it. Then there is the cultural awakening that started and flourished in Florence, in Tuscany, to replace Man at the center of the Universe and [re]concile his need of freedom with his need of God. I mean the Renaissance....There is also the heritage left by Erasmus from Rotterdam and Montaigne and Thomas More and Cartesius. There is also the Enlightenment....There is also the music of Mozart and Bach and Beethoven and Rossini and Donizetti up to Verdi and Puccini and company....Finally, there is our Science, by God. And the technology that derives from it....Enough with bullshit, my dear: Copernicus, Galileo, Newton, Darwin, Pasteur, Einstein were not followers of the Prophet. Were they? The motor, the telegraph, the light-bulb, I mean the use of electricity, the photograph, the telephone, the radio, the television, have not been invented by some mullahs or some ayatollahs. Have they? The train, the automobile, the airplane, the helicopter, (that Leonardo da Vinci fancied and designed), the spacecrafts with which we have gone to the Moon and to Mars and will so go to God knows where, the same. Right? The heart and liver and eyes and lungs' transplant, the cures for cancer, the genome's disclosure, as well. Wrong? And let us not forget the standard of life that Western culture has achieved at every level of society. In the West we don't any longer die of starvation and curable diseases as they do in the Moslem countries. Right or wrong? But even if all these were unimportant achievements, (which I doubt), tell me: what are the conquests of the other culture, the culture of the bigots with the beard and the chador and the burkah?

Look and search, search and look. I can only find the Prophet with his sacred book that sounds preposterous even when it plagiarizes the Bible and the Gospels and the Torah and the Hellenistic thinkers. I only find Averroe with his indisputable merits of scholar...Omar Khayyam with his fine poetry, plus a few beautiful mosques. No other achievement in the field of art and in the garden of Thought. No accomplishment in the domain of science, of technology, of welfare...When I mention this truth, some object with the word mathematics....Mathematics was invented more or less simultaneously by the Arabs, the Indians, the Greeks, the Mayans, the Mesopotamians. Go and check. Nor did your ancestors invent numbers. They simply invented a new way of writing them. The way that we Unfaithful have adopted, thus facilitating and speeding the discoveries you never made. That invention is highly commendable, I agree. Undoubtedly meritorious. But it is also insufficient to define Islamic culture superior to Western culture. As a consequence, I feel fully authorized to affirm that, apart from Averroe and some poets and some mosques and the way of writing the numbers, your ancestors have substantially left a book and that's all. I mean that Koran which for a thousand and four hundred years has tormented humanity even more than the Bible or the Gospels and the Torah together...

As you see, Fallaci pulls no punches. I would like to think that Fallaci was becoming uncomfortable with the atheism she professed throughout her career. Some of the best writing in the book is her defense of the churches in Florence and her indignation and rage over their desecration by Somali Muslims. The Somalis, protesting the hesitancy of the Italian government to renew their visas, erected a tent city in central Florence. Taped recordings of "calls to prayer" by a muezzin drowned out the bells of the churches. Some Somalis used the bapistry of the Santa Maria del Fiore Cathedral as a urinal and defecated in front of the 9th-century Church of San Salvatore al Vescovo. Fallaci complained to the newspaper, then the Mayor of Florence and finally the Minister of Foreign Affairs. All were sympathetic, but no action was taken. Finally, in desperation, she called the chief of police. She informed him that if he did not see to the dismantling of the tent city, that she would burn it down and "that not even a regiment of soldiers could prevent it." Furthermore, that she fully expected to be arrested, handcuffed and locked in jail, and that the newspapers and TV stations would report that "Fallaci has been incarcerated in her own city for defending her own city. And this will throw shit on all of you." The tent city promptly came down, but as she states, it was a Phyrric victory. The government quickly and quietly re-issued all the visas.

I know she respected the new Pope, and even had an audience with him within the last year. I would like to think that she was informed of his comments earlier this week that have ignited such a furor. I think she would have been pleased. What a woman!

Obituaries here and here, and a book review from earlier this year here.

Memory Eternal.

Pope Benedict's Byzantine Moment

It is always noteworthy when a 21st-century Pope quotes a 14th-century Byzantine. Pope Benedict XVI did just that at a speech given at Regensburg University.

Benedict addressed the issue of Islamic holy war, noting that it was "against God's nature." He quoted, interestingly, a 14th-century Byzantine Emperor, Manuel II Paleologos.

Show me just what Muhammad brought that was new, and there you will find things only evil and inhuman , such as his command to spread by the sword the faith he preached.

Benedict went on to explain the emperor's repudiation of, and unreasonableness of, the use of violence in spreading faith.

One spectator was impressed, noting that "Muslims aren't going to take us seriously until we become conscious of our own values."

Exactly so. Read here.

Wedding Feast at Cana

No commentary, just a beautiful fresco.

Haghia Sophia Church, Trabzon (Trebizond), Turkey; 13th Century.

A Belated Plug

I want to take opportunity to put in a good word for good man--Steven Robinson. As most visitors here already know, he is the co-host of "Our Life in Christ." His audio archives are an incredible resource--whether you are just inquiring into Orthodoxy, have already become so and need help with Protestant friends and family, or are a lifelong Orthodox looking to deepen your faith. If you don't already have it bookmarked, do so NOW.

Steve is devoted to pastoral work and is to be commended for his recent article in the Spring 2006 issue of AGAIN magazine: "I Am Not My Sin: An Orthodox Pastoral Approach to Same-Sex Attraction." Unfortunately, this article is not online. You can subscribe to the magazine (and purchase back issues, I suppose) on the Conciliar Press website.

Finally, Steve is a man with a wicked, wicked sense of humor. If you don't believe me, check out "poor little Billy's" plight on his blog.

Thanks, Steve, for everything.

The Middle East, As Always

Rod Dreher takes on President Bush's recent speech before the American Legion. He observes:

Lord have mercy, will he not observe that to more than a few people in the Muslim world, freedom does not mean the same thing it does to Americans. Freedom means freedom to live as they believe God has commanded them to live. Democracy means electing people who will implement God's law, as they understand it. This crazy hubris, believing that everybody in the world wants the same thing as Americans, is wrecking us.

For the full article, read.

In last weekend's Dallas Morning News Dreher writes about Suyyid Qutb, founder of the Muslim Brotherhood and the "philosopher of Islamic terror." His conclusions are worth reading. Go here.

William J. Abraham is a Professor at Southern Methodist University's Perkins School of Theololgy. In spite of that, he hits the nail on the head, here.

And finally, common sense and reality from, of all places, The Boston Globe, here.

Travel Journal--26 June 2006

I awoke on the morning of June 26, 2006 in a Swiss-style chalet high in the Kackar Mountains of northeastern Turkey. I had left the Republic of Georgia 11 days earlier. This area of Turkey is known in the travel guidebooks as the Georgian Church country. The region was once part of Georgia, both ethnically and politically and a few ruined, soaring Georgian-style Orthodox churches from the 10th-12th century remain. Even so, they are quite a draw. I had hoped to visit four. While this appeared to be easily managable looking on the map, the reality of the mountainous terrain and twisting dirt roads defeated this goal. We managed to visit three, and by that time I was ready to come down out of the mountains.

Our pension was in Barhal, a small village wedged between the base of a mountain at the confluence of 2 rushing streams, 19 miles and 1 hour and 20 minutes up a torturous dirt road from Yusefeli. If you are looking to get away from it all, Barhal is a likely spot. A dolmus or two make the run up from Yusefeli, but the village doesn't see much traffic beyond that. My bed and board, including supper and breakfast cost $25. The only other tourists there consisted of a party of Swiss mountaineers. Incredibly fit, they all seemed about 6'2", wore hiking shorts and boots, and looked liked they could be extras from any old Nazi propaganda film. I had to wonder--if you are Swiss trying to decide where to go on holiday, wouldn't you rather go to the beach than the mountains?

That morning, we drove up the trail past the village towards the Barhal church. Up until last year, it had served as a mosque and was currently closed pending restoration as a museum. The 10th or 11th century building was perhaps the best preserved of the three I visited, but the least prepossessing. This was due in part to it being wedged in on the side of a hill, with a grade school immediately adjacent, and trees closing in all around. There simply wasn't anywhere to stand back and get a perspective of the structure. I peered through the cracks in the doors--all the frescoes had received a thorough Islamic whitewashing years ago. It merely looked like a bland, deserted mosque. Before we left, my guide and friend, Turan, climbed a nearby mulberry tree and shook down plenty of delicious fruit for us.

Leaving Barhal church, we continued away from the village, further and further up the mountain valley. I kept thinking that we had reached the end of the road, but on and on it went, following close to a mountain stream. A single strand of electric wire paralleled the road and stream--sometime precariously--and sure enough, here and there, clumps of cottages and huts lay clustered along the hillsides. We passed 2 backpackers and stopped briefly to talk with them and give directions. They had a copy of a page out of the Lonely Planet guide, but were otherwise close to being quite lost. Turan was able to be of considerable assistance. We asked where they were from and they said "Chicago." They then seemed surprised to learn that I was an American as well. When we left, Turan assured me that they were not Americans, but Israelis trying to disguise their nationality. I tended to agree, they certainly did not seem American at all. Interesting, though. Later we passed a young woman herding a few head of cattle along the road. I'm afraid our vehicle scattered her charges. Eventually, our driver Belial, dropped Turan and I off at a bend in the road. We were to hike up and around the mountain and meet him at another crossing. Hiking the Kackars was a little more than I had bargained for.The steep climb certainly dispelled any lingering illusions about my youth and vitality. As we ascended, we found ourselves approaching a solitary cabin with unlimited vistas. A young woman worked the field in the foreground, as an adolescent boy performed chores around the house. The head of the family was on the roof, building a porch roof across one side of the cabin. He invited us to have tea. In short order the daughter of the household brought out a large wooden tray, the teapot, and the ubiquitous tulip-shaped glasses and sugar cubes for our tea break. We squatted on our haunches, drank the strong tea and smoked. Turan and the man talked at length. Later my friend was to relate the man's story to me. This was their home only during the spring and summer months. The snow forced them out during the winter. During those months, the family lived in an apartment in Yusefeli while the father would go to Istanbul to work as a day laborer. Theirs was a hard existence. He said the government was encouraging them to suppliment their income with activities such as beekeeping. This led to a story about "crazy honey." In some of the mountain valleys, the bees feed on the poppies that grow wild. Their honey is to be eaten with great moderation and in very limited qualities. The man had a friend who had helped trap a bear on the other side of the mountain. His payment was a spoonful of this honey. He was angry, believing that he had been taken advantage of. They warned him only to just taste it. The friend did not heed the warning, however, put the entire spoon in his mouth. Ten minutes later he started to feel a little groggy, and the next thing he remembers is waking up 2 days later. After 3 cups of tea, we thanked our host for his hospitality and trudged on up the hill. I tried not to let on, but I was forever thankful when Turan took the trail that began to descend the mountain! We trekked through one hillside village where the old lady laughed at Turan when he ran from her bees. I was exhausted by the time we caught up with Belial and our vehicle. I settled into the back seat for a long rest. Before reaching Barhal, we were stopped as a maintainer worked on the road--scraping away a recent rock slide. Interesting, a mini-van from Georgia was parked in front on us, of which more will be told later.

We arrived in Yusefeli a couple of hours later. This is a bustling little hub, the only place in these mountains for a town of any size. Yusefeli was a conservative town where all the women on the streets wore the headscarf. Men clustered around the cafes, drinking endless glasses of tea, and the women walked together and kept completely to theirselves. Yet, the town's main draw was tourism, so you could still get a beer in the riverside cafes. We bought a watermelon, some homemade cheese, homemade bread, some juices and water and headed for our next destination--Dort Kilisesi. In Turkish, that means "4 Churches." Only one was left, but it had never been a mosque and was one I particularly wanted to see. It lay probably 20 miles out from Yusefeli in the opposite direction than Barhal. But here again, the mountainous terrain was make it a 2-hour journey. All roads in this region follow the streams, and this was no exception. I was intriqued to see rice paddies between the road and water. At Tekkale we turned right, heading further up the mountain valley.

At long last we reached Dort Kilisesi. The church was not completely visible from the road, but sat on a high bluff, which an orchard falling down the hillside to the road. We sat on the ground in the orchard and ate our picnic feast (really, Turkish watermelons are the best in the world). As it was threatening rain, I decided to go on up the hill alone. And perhaps Turan and Belial were tiring of my churches, as they chose to remain in the orchard. Dort Kilisesi sort of sneaks up on you. I was not prepared for the size of the structure. Simple in design, but immense. I entered into the cavernous interior. Dirt has silted up quite a bit on the floor, but the church is still solid, with roof completely intact. Rows of 4-story columns line the interior. The frescoes are fading fast, that, in fact being a major reason I chose to visit here. I took many snapshots, but other than Christ Pantocrator and angels, I was not generally not able to determine who they depicted. Sadly, the old church has also been an obvious and favorite site for teenage graffiti. I lingered for quite a while in the sanctuary, before stepping outside. Of the three churches I had visited in the region--Osk Vank, Barhal and Dort Kilisesi--this was my favorite by far.

As I stood outside I heard a noise--lots of voices and commotion, in fact, coming from down the hill. I then saw a man approaching the church. I observed him as he slowly crossed himself three times in the unmistakable sweeping movement of the Georgians. My heart lept--the Georgians are here! I approached and tried to make him understand that I too, was Orthodox. I didn't think to show him my cross. Needless to say, we were having trouble communicating--the only word I knew was "madlapt" (sp.), Georgian for "thank you." But we eventually understood each other well enough and shook hands heartedly. The rest of his party had joined us by this time. It seems he was the driver of the minivan we were behind way back in Barhal. The group included 2 female teacher/chaperones and a gaggle of teenagers being taken on a cultural tour of their heritage in what is now Turkey. The young people seemed excited to be there and anxious to see the church and frescoes, once they had finished with their extensive greetings to me. Now I ask you, how many of our teenagers would submit to doing something like this, much less be excited about it? Not many, I fear. We posed for pictures and the one here says it all.

I said goodbye to my Georgian friends and brothers and walked back down the hill, and back into Turkey. I did not realize how much I had missed Georgian society in these 11 days. I do not want to engage in any cheap, simplistic Christian triumphalism. But, this incident brought home to me a great truth. We were only a few miles away (as the crow flies) from Georgia proper. But between there and here lay a deep, cultural chasm: the division between a Christian society and the Muslim world. I am still at something at a loss to express it adequately, but the sense of it is as real as anything I have ever experienced. The strictures of the Muslim world, the separation of men and women, and the very presuppositions from which they order their life may not be so obvious at first, until that is, they are contrasted with these curious, lively, noisy, loving, and sometimes untidy Christians. Thank God for the Georgians.

My Akdamar Poll

If you find yourself in far eastern Turkey, in the environs of the breathtakingly beautiful Lake Van, you are probably there to visit Akdamar Island. Such was the draw for me. Akdamar was the locus in this part of "Armenia" from the 900s until about 1918 or so, when the last of the local Christians were killed in the Armenian genocide. At one time, the island housed a royal palace complex and an extensive monastery, in addition to the cathedral church. The church served a comunity of over 140 area churches and 40 monasteries. Today, only the church is left, and it has stood vacant since the end of the First World War.

The church is currently undergoing a government-sponsored restoration, after decades of neglect. Admittedly, this may be cause for concern--the restoration of an ancient Armenian church by the Turkish authorities--but I will give them the benefit of a doubt. Ankara's aggressive PR campaign and overtures to join the EU undoubtedly play a part in this. That, and the dawning realization that there are tourist dollars in these crumbling Christian ruins. Day in, day out, three ferries continuously ply the 2 kilometers between shore and island. Our ferry carried 36 passengers--35 Turks and 1 Texan. I believe that this is a hopeful sign. Turkish nationals are apparently interested in visiting Akdamar and picnicking among the jumble of ancient Armenian tombstones with their huge, ornate crosses. The point is this: there is no way to "Turkify" Akdamar. It is wholly, completely, totally Armenian--and Christian.

My 35 Turkish fellow travelers broke down into 19 men and 16 women. In my journey throughout Turkey, I took to observing the number of women wearing headscarves. They have become common (and an issue) in Turkey only in recent years--tied to political and social conservatism, a "return to traditional values," if you will. I find the wearing of headscarves to be an obviously inexact, but not unreliable, measure of Islamist sentiment.

Lake Van lies in far eastern Turkey, in supposedly one of the most conservative regions of the country. Nevertheless, only 4 of the 16 women wore headscarves. Again, I find this hopeful, and is illustrative of the complex and changing nature of Turkish society.

The Islamist agenda, just as the practice of Islam itself, is somewhat different in Turkey. The Turks are both staunchly Muslim and secular at the same time. This dichotomy precludes making hard-and-fast conclusions about the culture. In fact, the only place I visited where all women wore headscarves was in Yusefeli, deep in the mountains of northeastern Turkey, although I am sure that is also the case in most rural villages, as well. I have been told that for many women, the wearing of the headscarf is more of a political statement than a show of religious fundamentalism. Throughout eastern Turkey, I could draw no firm conclusions--some women wore them, many did not.

There seemed to be no sifting-out between those who did and those who did not. Young women in headscarves--or even dressed "full burkha"--walked arm-in-arm with girls without the scarf who wore western-style blue jeans. My guide told me that each girl made the decision for herself, that there was no pressure one way or the other. I doubt seriously if this is the case in many rural areas, but otherwise I suspect it may be so. What is frowned-on, however, by all parties, is the wearing of short skirts. This is really just not done in Turkey.

I did not notice appreciably more headscarves in eastern Turkey than in Istanbul, as one might expect. In fact, Istanbul is such a cosmopolitan place that it is much like New York in that you are liable to see anything there. For example, the old Greek Phanar district has been largely taken over by poor, fundamentalist Muslims from eastern Turkey. The bearded men are in woolen skullcaps and the women in black burkhas--some with eyes and nose exposed, and some with only the eyes exposed. You might as well be in Kabul. (And believe me, this dress--and what is signifies--is as alarming to most Turks as it is to us). Yet, just across the Golden Horn, along the Istiklal Cadessi, I had to look, and look, and look to spot even one woman in headscarf among the crush of shoppers. As I sat in the sidewalk restaurant, observing, I eventually counted three.

Most of Istanbul falls between these two extremes. Many young Turkish women who opt for the headscarf also wear attractive white close-fitting tunic-style coats. Older women often wear the ubiquitous, shapeless floor-length overcoats endemic to Turkey. They come in two colors: gray and taupe, and they wear them regardless of how hot it is outside. Unfortunately, women who wear these seem cursed to assume their shape. On the other hand, young women in headscarves are often dressed elegantly from head to toe, with special attention to footwear.

I am trying not to obsess on this issue, but merely attempting to gauge the extent and direction of Islamism in the one Muslim country in which I have some limited experience. Blanket assumptions about the Middle and Near East can be ill-informed, and as we are finding out, dangerous. My gut feeling is that Turkey's westward orientation is irreversable; no matter how long it takes, they will eventually join Europe. But they will do so as a decidedly Muslim nation. And Europe, no longer Christian in any real sense, but retaining enough of a veneer of such in their collective memory to be alarmed, is scrambling to confront this dilemma. I am also convinced that if the West ever comes to an accomodation or truce with Islam--and clearly, I am not at all hopeful that such will ever, or should ever occur--it will have to be on the Turkish model.

All or Nothing

I recommend most anything Theodore Dalrymple writes (and concerning Dalrymples, anthing William or Ian writes as well). He recently reviewed Efraim Karsh's Islamic Imperialism: A History. Dalrymple observes that:

The urge to domination is nearly a constant of human history. The specific (and baleful) contribution of Islam is that, by attributing sovereignty solely to God, and by pretending in a philosophically primitive way that God’s will is knowable independently of human interpretation, and therefore of human interest and desire—in short by allowing nothing to human as against divine nature—it tries to abolish politics. All compromises become mere truces; there is no virtue in compromise in itself. Thus Islam is inherently an unsettling and dangerous factor in world politics, independently of the actual conduct of many Muslims.

There's a lot of truth there. Read the entire essay here.

You're known by the company you keep

This picture may add fuel to the speculation about Prince Charles being a wannabe and/or closet Orthodox. This picture hangs in the reception room at Mar Gabriel Monastery, in the Tur Abdin region of southeastern Turkey. Charles visited Turkey in 2004, Tur Abdin being his only stop outside of Istanbul.

My Akdamar Poll

If you find yourself in far eastern Turkey, in the environs of the breathtakingly beautiful Lake Van, you are probably there to visit Akdamar Island. Such was the draw for me. Akdamar was the locus in this part of "Armenia" from the 900s until about 1918 or so, when the last of the local Christians were killed in the Armenian genocide. At one time, the island housed a royal palace complex and an extensive monastery, in addition to the cathedral church. The church served a comunity of over 140 area churches and 40 monasteries. Today, only the church is left, and it has stood vacant since the end of the First World War.

The church is currently undergoing a government-sponsored restoration, after decades of neglect. Admittedly, this may be cause for concern--the restoration of an ancient Armenian church by the Turkish authorities--but I will give them the benefit of a doubt. Ankara's aggressive PR campaign and overtures to join the EU undoubtedly play a part in this. That, and the dawning realization that there are tourist dollars in these crumbling Christian ruins. Day in, day out, three ferries continuously ply the 2 kilometers between shore and island. Our ferry carried 36 passengers--35 Turks and 1 Texan. I believe that this is a hopeful sign. Turkish nationals are apparently interested in visiting Akdamar and picnicking among the jumble of ancient Armenian tombstones with their huge, ornate crosses. The point is this: there is no way to "Turkify" Akdamar. It is wholly, completely, totally Armenian--and Christian.

My 35 Turkish fellow travelers broke down into 19 men and 16 women. In my journey throughout Turkey, I took to observing the number of women wearing headscarves. They have become common (and an issue) in Turkey only in recent years--tied to political and social conservatism, a "return to traditional values," if you will. I find the wearing of headscarves to be an obviously inexact, but not unreliable, measure of Islamist sentiment.

Lake Van lies in far eastern Turkey, in supposedly one of the most conservative regions of the country. Nevertheless, only 4 of the 16 women wore headscarves. Again, I find this hopeful, and is illustrative of the complex and changing nature of Turkish society.

The Islamist agenda, just as the practice of Islam itself, is somewhat different in Turkey. The Turks are both staunchly Muslim and secular at the same time. This dichotomy precludes making hard-and-fast conclusions about the culture. In fact, the only place I visited where all women wore headscarves was in Yusefeli, deep in the mountains of northeastern Turkey, although I am sure that is also the case in most rural villages, as well. I have been told that for many women, the wearing of the headscarf is more of a political statement than a show of religious fundamentalism. Throughout eastern Turkey, I could draw no firm conclusions--some women wore them, many did not.

There seemed to be no sifting-out between those who did and those who did not. Young women in headscarves--or even dressed "full burkha"--walked arm-in-arm with girls without the scarf who wore western-style blue jeans. My guide told me that each girl made the decision for herself, that there was no pressure one way or the other. I doubt seriously if this is the case in many rural areas, but otherwise I suspect it may be so. What is frowned-on, however, by all parties, is the wearing of short skirts. This is really just not done in Turkey.

I did not notice appreciably more headscarves in eastern Turkey than in Istanbul, as one might expect. In fact, Istanbul is such a cosmopolitan place that it is much like New York in that you are liable to see anything there. For example, the old Greek Phanar district has been largely taken over by poor, fundamentalist Muslims from eastern Turkey. The bearded men are in woolen skullcaps and the women in black burkhas--some with eyes and nose exposed, and some with only the eyes exposed. You might as well be in Kabul. (And believe me, this dress--and what is signifies--is as alarming to most Turks as it is to us). Yet, just across the Golden Horn, along the Istiklal Cadessi, I had to look, and look, and look to spot even one woman in headscarf among the crush of shoppers. As I sat in the sidewalk restaurant, observing, I eventually counted three.

Most of Istanbul falls between these two extremes. Many young Turkish women who opt for the headscarf also wear attractive white close-fitting tunic-style coats. Older women often wear the ubiquitous, shapeless floor-length overcoats endemic to Turkey. They come in two colors: gray and taupe, and they wear them regardless of how hot it is outside. Unfortunately, women who wear these seem cursed to assume their shape. On the other hand, young women in headscarves are often dressed elegantly from head to toe, with special attention to footwear.

I am trying not to obsess on this issue, but merely trying to gauge the extent and direction of Islamism in the one Muslim country in which I have some limited experience. Blanket assumptions about the Middle and Near East can be ill-informed, and as we are finding out, dangerous. My gut feeling is that Turkey's westward orientation is irreversable; no matter how long it takes, they will eventually join Europe. But they will do so as a decidedly Muslim nation. And Europe, no longer Christian in any real sense, but retaining enough of a veneer of such in their collective memory to be alarmed, are scrambling to how to confront this dilemma. I am also convinced that if the West ever comes to an accomodation or truce with Islam--and clearly, I am not at all hopeful that such will ever, or should ever occur--it will have to be on the Turkish model.

Odds and Ends

When Bernard Lewis speaks about the Middle East, you had better listen. An excellent interview here.

President Bush has been in trouble lately over his studied use of the term "Islamic fascists." And while I have been none too charitable to our President in recent months, he is correct on this one. The term comes closer to recognizing reality--vastly superior to the nonsensical "war on terror." To separate the Islamic part of the equation from the terrorism, is to purposely miss-characterize what is actually happening. If anything, the term is still too tame. For fascists, to my understanding, were all about order--their order to be sure--but order, nonetheless. We've often heard the old line about how "Mussolini made the trains run on time," etc. I think "Islamic anarchists" is more descriptive.

The chairman of the Council on American-Islamic Relations (CAIR) predictably huffed that it "contributes to a rising level of hostility to Islam and the American Muslim community." Well, that is typical PCBS. Whether it engenders hostility or not, is immaterial. What is needed is an awareness that the current conflict is just the latest episode in the 1400 year-old struggle of Islam against the West. It has ebbed and flowed, but at present, it is flowing our way. One can make the point that the current terrorism is an aberrant and virulent strain of Islam, but the greater point is that it is a recurring strain in Islam. Calling it what it is is healthy.

I suspect everyone is tired of the whole Mel Gibson episode by now. Even so, lest we get into high dudgeon over it, Rod Dreher addresses the Mel in all of us. And in doing so, he invokes Flannery O'Connor--always a nice move. Read it here.


And finally, Maureen Freely has an excellent essay in Sunday's NYTimes about the trouble a Turkish novelist is in over her use of the "G" word. That's right--genocide, as in Armenian. Read it to believe it here. We occasionally read of a nutcase and/or Iranian President who denies the Jewish Holocaust. In Turkey, Armenian Genocide denial has been a matter of statute law. Truth will out, and the official line is becoming harder and harder to maintain, but the legal and military apparatus is still poised to pounce on any writer who dares to speak the truth.

Travels with St. Ephraim

I am a firm believer in traveling light. On my recent journey, I lived for 30 days out of a medium-sized backpack, mastering the fine art of washing and drying clothes in a shower stall. By the time I returned home, I had transited through 8 different airports a total of 14 times, so this philosophy served me well. I found it hard to avoid being a little smug watching tourists struggle with way, way too much luggage. (I was noticeably less smug on the return--trying to keep up with 3 bottles of wine, a bottle of homemade Georgian cognac and a 4x6 Turkish rug I had accumulated along the way). I extended this rule to my reading material, refusing to take any books, not even travel guides. I simply copied what information I needed from them and pasted it in my pocket journal. I made one exception: The Spiritual Psalter of St. Ephraim the Syrian.

I find myself returning again and again to this small treasure of a book. Over the course of the month, I intended to read through all 150 prayers, maintain my regular prayer discipline and spend considerable time in contemplation. Well, truth be told, I failed miserably! My reading from the psalter was sporadic. Worse yet, so were my regular prayers. I do not discount that I encountered much that affected me deeply, that caused me to contemplate spiritual matters. Yet, I realize that I neglected my prayer life. I had, shall we say, a large time, allowing the excitement of new places and adventures to push my intentions into the background. I realized that I spent more time in prayer and spiritual reading in my busy, work-a-day schedule than I did when I had 30 days without restrictions. So maybe there is a good lesson learned there.

Five days after leaving the Republic of Georgia, I found myself in the old city of Diyarbakir, in east-central Turkey. Let's just say that Diyarbakir does not see much in the way of tourists. Home to 1.5 million, the city is beset with problems. Back in the 1980s and 1990s, the Kurdish insurgency rocked eastern Turkey. Whole villages were abandoned as people sought refuge in the cities. Diyarbakir's population mushroomed with the Kurdish immigration. Despite impressive development in the city (and the old city is ringed by a quite modern new city), poverty is still acute and there are still far too few jobs to go around. Additionally, Kurdish nationalism still hangs on in Diyarbakir, and as a consequence, the Turkish military maintains a heavy presence there. A small riot occured, I believe, just the month before I arrived. The Turkish government and military are quite serious about stamping out remaining rebel activity, so the official response to any trouble is swift and heavy-handed. One hundred years ago, Diyarbakir was an ethnic melting pot with Turks, Kurds, Armenians and Syrian Orthodox. In fact, the city was fully 1/4 Armenian Christian. Not so today. The Turkish genocide of the Armenians in 1915-1918 took care of that element, and the Syrian Orthodox have been squeezed out in recent years. Today, the city is overwhelmingly Kurdish. Diyabakir boasts the longest continuous city walls in the world, but that is about all they can put on the tourist brochure. And to top it all off, Diyarbakir has an unsavory (but not undeserved) reputation. Unlike anywhere else in Turkey, gangs of young pickpockets prey on any unwary tourists.

So why would anyone even want to go to Diyarbakir? For me, I went for 1 reason--to see the Meryamana Kilisesi, the Church of the Virgin Mary. This Syrian Orthodox Church dates back to the late 300s, making it perhaps the oldest continuously operating church in the world. I had already visited a number of Suriani churches in Mardin and Midyat. They differ somewhat from the Orthodox churches I am used to, or have seen elsewhere in my travels. I realize, of course, that they are monophysite, like the Copts and Armenians. Beyond that, the altars are different, often more like elaborate niches, actually, with no iconostasis. (Altars in mosques are much the same, though Turks would never, ever admit that they copied this design from the early Christians!) The most noticeable difference, however, is in the iconography. Suriani churches are not covered in icons and frescoes. There may be a large icon or two, and perhaps some tapestries. Finally, the iconographic style is much simpler, almost child-like in some cases.

My guide, Turan, and I passed through the Byzantine walls into the old city. At first glance, it was no different from any number of Turkish streetscapes. We stopped at the Ulla Mosque, built with stones from the ancient cathedral at Diyarbakir. This is one of the oldest remaining Turkish mosques, perhaps 12th-century or so. I hate to be dismissive, but if you've seen one mosque, you've just about seen them all. There was a pleasant courtyard, however, and I took a few pictures so as to not offend my guide, who indeed by this time had become a good friend. From the courtyard, we prepared to venture out into the narrow labyrinth of alleyways leading to the Meryamana Kilisesi. We hid our cameras, and moved our backpacks to the front. The gangs here have the reputation of being able to strip a backpack before you know it. As we made our way towards the church, groups of these children seemed to take an inordinate interest in our progress, though Turan was able to keep them shoed away, for the most part. At one point, a man came out of a doorway and started walking with us. He gave Turan some warnings about what to watch out for, and then walked along with us, just to make sure we made it to the church without any trouble.

We reached the gate to the church compound, and rang the bell. In the East, you don't see much if you don't gain access to the courtyards. The beauty of their homes and lives is always hidden from public view. The caretaker admitted us and escorted us to the 4th-century church. The simple domed sanctuary was exquisite, though other than the altar, somewhat sparsely adorned. One large, bright reddish icon hung on the right wall. The caretaker explained that once the building could not hold all the worshippers. The Kurdish troubles, and the Turkish government's ambivalence to the plight of the Christians (sound familiar?) had forced most of the Suriani to flee in the 1980s. The church was now home to 3 Christian families. The priest ministered to these believers, as well as 2 families of Assyrian Catholics and and one Armenian remaining in the city.

Shortly thereafter, the priest came in and began the vespers service. At first, the caretaker and I and my guide were the only ones there. One by one, 4 handsome young men, ranging in age from about 17 down to 10, came in and took their places around the priest, and assisted him in the chanting. The service was in Aramaic, but I was able to follow the caretaker's lead in prostrations and crossing myself. In a previous conversation with Turan, he was surprised to learn that we prostrated ourselves in worship. So now he had a demonstration of that truth. And I wondered if he realized that the Muslim practice of prostration, like so much of their religion, was not new to them, but borrowed from the early Christians. We eased out after about 15 minutes and worked our way back into the noisy city.

And one more thing. Before the service, I had Turan ask the caretaker who the icon portrayed. Mar Efram, he replied. St. Ephraim, of course.

At the Edge of Christendom

One thing the scriptures make abundantly clear is that the essential nature of the Kingdom of God is spiritual, not physical. Any effort to draw geographical boundaries around it is not only futile, but is to miss the point altogether. But for the sake of illustration in this story, I will attempt to do that very thing. One of the best days I spent in the Republic of Georgia was at the Monasteries of Davit Gareja, located smack on the border of Christian Georgia and Muslim Azerbaijan.

St. Davit Gareja was a pivotal figure in Georgian history. He led a group of 13 Syrian Fathers to Georgia in the 6th Century, establishing a series of monasteries in the remote wilderness. A story connected with the beginning of the monastery relates that Davit, along with Lukiane and Dodo, were saved from starvation. Several does and fawns came up to them, gentle as sheep, and the does allowed themselves to be milked.


The monasteries flourished, and exerted significant influence in Georgia, being a center of fresco painting and manuscript copying and translation. The monks suffered tremendously during the invasion of the Mongols, and later Tamerlane. They persevered and regrouped each time. In 1615, however, the Shah of Persia massacred the entire colony of 6,000 monks and destroyed most of the treasures of the monastery. The monks were well hidden in the caves, but one of the Persians caught sight of a solitary candle flickering in a cave, betraying their position. The monasteries were closed again during the Soviet years. Now, the community of monks is flourishing once more at Davit Gareja.

Davit Gareja is located only 60 km. (36 miles) from Tbilisi, but it might as well be a half a world away. I stood on an outcropping of rock, surveying the wide windswept valley and the rolling, treeless hills, trying to come up with an appropriate description. My son said simply, "It's Rohan." Of course, that is exactly right. LOTR aficianados will know exactly what I am talking about. In the silence, I half expected to hear the thunder of hooves as the Rohirrim crested over the summit.


It is a 2 hour drive from Tbilisi to the monastery--an 18 mph average which gives you some idea of the quality of the roads. The city of Rustavi lies halfway between. A quintessential Soviet planned city, Rustavi had 150,000 inhabitants before communism's fall. A wide boulevard divides row upon row of bleak, despressing, crumbling apartment blocks. They could have been built anywhere from Vladivostock to East Berlin, as Soviet architects seemed to have only 1 set of blueprints. On the far side of the city, the vast, rusting industrial plants--stark, unsettling and soulless--now operate at 30% of their former capacity.

Yet even amid such sterility, the human yearning for God breaks through, like flowers pushing through cracks in the concrete. I noticed between some of the apartment blocks--in the common areas and playgrounds--some noticeably new construction. These small, traditional structures were invariably neat and attractive. They were, of course, minature chapels, all built in the ageless Georgian style. I doubt that the Soviet central planners would approve of this particular change in the layout!


I took no pictures of Rustavi. Our guide, Sophie, lived there and I did not want to embarrass her by taking special note of her decaying city. Later I learned my assumptions were offbase. Although she lived in Rustavi with her parents and brother, they resided in a nice home in the old part of town that predated the Communist era. In fact, their lot is spacious enough for her brother to plan another house on the site. In addition, they maintain a family home on the Black Sea coast.

Sophie explained that in the Georgian tradition, the son always inherits the house. Daughters have the right to live in the home as long as they like, however. This was not so much a matter of law, but simply a long-established custom. She assured me that a brother would never turn his sister out of the house. I am certainly not advocating this arrangement, but what impresses me is the stability and love within the Georgian family--the fact that extra-legal arrangements like this apparently work. I wonder how many American families--without legal safeguards--could pass a test like this.


Just past Rustavi lies a scraggly, hardscrabble village. There was nothing particularly unique about it, except for one noticeable building. At the edge of the village is a 6-story stone tower. For this is a village of Svans. Years earlier, an avalanche destroyed one of the Svanetian villages deep in the Caucasus Mountains. The government relocated them here, where some could engage in herding, and others could work in the Rustavi foundaries. I was incredulous that these fiercely independent mountain dwellers would be relocated here. And yet, the first thing they did was to build a traditional Svanetian tower, like the multitude that dot their Caucasian mountainsides. I saw the tower--and the adjoining church--as a testimony to the human spirit.

Soon, this village is left far behind, and nothing is left but miles of rolling hills and valleys. When we reach a small makeshift carpark, we are surprised to see the number of vehicles there. Packed marshrutkas from Tbilisi are unloading in front of us. We park and walk up the trail to Lavra Monastery--a compound of churches, cells and caves clustered around a central courtyard on three levels. There seemed to be a lot of activity around the courtyard, so we opt to visit the Udabno Monastery, a series of cave churches on the other side of the mountain. We follow a twisting trail past the watchtower that snakes up to the summit. Perhaps it was the altitude. Or perhaps I am just kidding myself about being in good physical shape. All I know is that going up the hill, I felt every one of the 15 lbs. I have put on in the last year. My dignity suffered further when a group of Italian seniors trotted past me on one of my many rest breaks.


At last I was able to join Sophie and my son on the summit, which afforded a breath-taking view south and east. The valley far below was Azerbaijan. So, in this sense, we were standing on the very edge of Christendom. In fact, much of the southern slope of the moutain was Azeri as well. The trail continued slightly down the hill and then eastward. A low iron railing ran for hundreds of feet near the path. Sometimes we were on one side, and sometimes the other. Only later did I learn that this demarcated the Georgian/Azerbaijan border. So I was able to "do" Azerbaijan on the cheap, without bothering with those tiresome border crossings. In the far distance, we heard an explosion, and then saw a plume of smoke lingering in the air. Sophie explained that the Azeris were exploding munitions. Okaaay.



The Udabno monasteries are heartbreaking. During the 1980s, the Russians used the valley below as training ground for the troops being sent to Afghanistan. The explosions caused most of the cave fronts to collapse. Even so, a number of the cave churches still have beautiful, but fading frescoes. I have retained the image in my mind of one of the frescoes in particular, of Christ Pantocrator. This haunting and sublime icon is still distinct, but with the eyes gouged out. The desecration was done not by marauding Turks, Persians or Monguls of ages past, but by Communist Russian soldiers in the 1980s.


The trail continues past dozens of cave churches. Sophie explained that monks had installed doors on some of the Udabno caves and were now staying in the cells permanently. So, the monastic life is reborn once more in the caves of Udabno.


The trail leads to a promentory, the site of a reconstructed chapel. Sophie explained that a Tbilisi businessman funded the project. Workers and supplies were brought to the site by helicopter. While we sat on a bench and talked, Sophie learned that I was Orthodox. She was pleased, and not a little surprised. She wanted to know if there were many Orthodox in America. I told her there were not so many of us, but that I was hopeful of growth. A young Georgian man was there and heard us conversing in English. He spoke to Sophie. I learned that he wanted to make sure that she told me about the 6,000 martyrs.


From here, the trail doubled back, down the north slope to Lavra Monastery. By the time we returned to the monastery we found even more people there than before. In fact, crowds covered the place. Sophie discovered that this was the feast day of St. Davit Gareja. This was the one time during the year when the Catholicos of the Georgian Orthodox Church, Ilya II, comes to this particular monastery and conducts the liturgy. The Church of the Transfiguration was packed, with the crowd spilling out into the courtyard. I took up a position on the 3rd floor gallery and waited. After a while, the worshippers, along with the monks and priests, and finally the Catholicos, filed out of the church, the crowds in the courtyard swarming around their shepherd.


And so ended my journey to the monasteries of Davit Gareja. I retain a number of memories, not the least of which is the joy and simple faith I saw in the faces of the crowd that day. I also remember the story of the 6,000 martyrs. And the monks now returning to the caves. And perhaps more than anything, the now eyeless icon of Christ. And the ultimate utter futility of those who try to stamp out the message of He who sees all in all.

Dark Grace

A week or so ago, Rod Dreher at Crunchy Con had a link to this excellent article on Flannery O'Connor. The writer laments the fact that the author is not more widely read these days. I agree. In my opinion, she is quite simply one of the greatest theologians of the 20th century, who masqueraded as the greatest American short story writer of the 20th century. The article observes that all of her stories are about grace, but not the kind we Americans would picture. We tend to think of grace as something warm and fuzzy and cuddly. The truth is, more often than not, it hits us like a Zidane head-butt. Go read the article.

Views of Svaneti

Blogspot has apparently fixed the photo upload problem, so here are a few views of Svaneti.

Situation Hopeless, But Not Serious

This comic line from a favorite movie--One, Two, Three with James Cagney--often comes to mind these days. Of course, I have reference to the situation in the Middle East. I am saddened, and alarmed by recent developments.

I hesitate to comment at all, for fear of being misunderstood. I am certainly no apologist for the ascendent radical Islam, or even Islam in general, and probably worry about it as much as anyone. And clearly, Israel has a right to defend itself against Hezbollah; no question about it. I don't believe they have a right to level Beirut and Lebanon in the process, however. As is always the case in the Jew vs. Muslim saga, the local Christians get caught in the crossfire. I wonder if the American evangelicals rooting so strongly for the Israeli offensive believe that the substantial Lebanese Christian community is somehow immune from these attacks? I really wonder if they even know they are there.

I am also not so naive as to believe that a resolution of the Israel question would suddenly solve our problems in the Middle East, or make radical Islam go away. It would not. But I do know that our polices of the last 60 years, by all administrations, have fed the growing, and now raging, discontent within Islam. We inherited an already flawed and discredited policy from the British after WWII. And we have stuck with it. We are joined to Israel at the hip (I would add for better or for worse, but there is no better). A friend of mine overheard former Secretary of State James Baker quip (off the record), "America has no foreign policy. Ariel Sharon has a foreign policy." All too true, I am afraid. The only out for us may lie in the growing alarm among Sunni Muslims (Saudi Arabia, Jordan, Egypt, Turkey, etc.) of their Shiite co-religionists (Iran, Iraq, Hezbollah, etc.). We'll see.

In the meantime, I have been following the on-going commentary. Douglas Ian, over at the Scrivener has some good things to say in 2 recent posts on the subject. Rod Dreher at Crunchy Con has linked two articles I consider to be "must reads:" one by George Will and the other by Spengler. I also recommend Jim's comments over at neepeople under "Catch Up," and the article regarding Robert Fisk here. Finally, Sand Monkey (an excellent, pro-Western Egyptian blogger) vents his frustation over the now-famous picture that is making the rounds; the one of the Israeli schoolgirls writing messages to Hezbollah on missiles. I did a little research, and the scene is somewhat contrived; but still, that is no excuse. It just shows how deep the sickness is on both sides. Check it out here, if you wish. He notes that "they [the Israelis]view us as if we were a headache. We view them as if they are a cancer. And this is why there will never really be any peace in the middle-east."

40 Martyrs of Sebaste

I saw this large icon of the 40 Martyrs of Sebaste in the Ethnographic Museum in Mestia, Svanetia, Georgia. It is 12th Century, painted in the Svanetian style, and one of my favorites.