Travelogue No. 4: In the Syrian Churches

To the native Christians of the Middle East, Syria offers something of a safe haven. It has not always been so: the 1860 massacre and destruction of Damascene churches is notable, even in a part of the world where this sort of thing has often been far too common. But the Christian communities seem to be hanging on here, and well integrated within the larger society. (Of course, that could have once been said of Iraq, as well.)

• My time was limited in Aleppo and I was unable to really investigate the Christian community there, as I had hoped. Churches are scattered throughout this large city, and I was confined to walking the more touristed areas in the old city. The Christian quarter is known as Al-Jdeide, although at first glance, there is nothing to particularly distinguish it as such. The neighborhood is a maze of twisting narrow streets, alleys, and passageways, much like the rest of the old city. Occasionally, you will catch a glimpse through a opened door into the inner courtyards, where the real life of the city occurs. The Maronite church, the Armenian church, the Greek church and the Suriani Church are all clustered together in Al-Jdeide. All except the Maronite church are as hidden as the residences. You have to stand back from the neighborhood to be able to see the domes, bell towers and crosses which rise from behind the walls. (Note: this only applies to the Christian Quarter of the old city. Many churches are located throughout the city at large, entirely visible.) On some afternoons, the door to the Armenian church compound is opened, and tours are possible. I chanced upon such a time on my second day in Aleppo. The church is known as the Church of the 40 Martyrs, and the current structure dates only to the mid 1800s, I believe. The interiors of some of these monophysite Armenian churches seem more reminiscent of Catholic churches than Orthodox ones. There are a number of icons of Armenian saints, as well as two large icons, one of the Last Judgment and one of the 40 Martyrs of Sebaste, each several hundred years older than the present church. I chatted with a young deacon of the church, and he showed me the translation of an Armenian text that he was translating into Arabic. He claimed that there were 60,000 Armenians in Aleppo. Undoubtedly, there are other Armenian Orthodox churches scattered throughout the city. An open courtyard lies between the outer wall and the church itself. From here, passageways and stairs lead off in all directions to the offices, classrooms and apartments which fill out this large compound. The bell tower of the adjoining Greek Orthodox Church is hard against the one wall.

Armenian Church of the 40 Martyrs, Aleppo






















St. Elias Maronite Cathedral, Aleppo

• I spent the better part of two days checking out ruins--mostly Christian--in the environs of Aleppo. To the north of the city, I visited the sites of Qalb Lozeh (5th-century), St. Simeon (5th-century) and the Monastery of St. Daniel (6th-century), as well as some Roman ruins and traces of old Roman roads. To the south of the city, I visited the so-called "Dead Cities," provincial towns from the early Byzantine period. The entire area was once within the Antiochian sphere of influence. From the heights above Aleppo, you can see the fertile valley leading down to Antioch, now part of Turkey (In 1939, France ceded this Syrian region to Turkey, and Antioch become Turkish, for the first time in its history. Memories are long in this part of the world, and the Syrians have not forgotten--but that is another story.) During the sweep of Islam across the Middle East, Aleppo fell first, and then Antioch. Aleppo (Halip) fell in 637, and except for a brief Byzantine reoccupation between 974 and 987, has remained under Muslim control ever since. The Byzantines lost Antioch in 637, only to regain it in 969, only to lose it again in 1085 to the Seljik Turks, and then the Crusaders in 1098. The city finally fell to the Muslims for the last time in 1268. But despite all the vicissitudes of history, the countryside remained heavily Christian, as these ruins attest. The ruins of Qalb Lozeh date back to the 5th century, and as one of the earliest structures of this design, are considered to be architecturally significant. I was particularly impressed with the craftsmanship, the great attention given to beauty, even in the smallest details of its construction. A Christian temple was to be a microcosm of heaven and of earth, and as such, a place of rare beauty. The contrast with the wreckage of modernity could not be starker. Although I had seen pictures of the ruins of the St. Simeon complex, nothing prepared me for the actual experience. The church built around the pillar of St. Simeon is simply incredible. The church commanded a windswept hilltop, overlooking the valley out of Antioch, and became a major pilgrimage destination for Christians, from both East and West. The main structure is cruciform in shape, and according to my rough measurements and calculations contained in excess of 55,000 square feet of floor space. In its day, it must have rivaled the Hagia Sophia in Constantinople.

Qalb Lozeh, northwest of Aleppo
























St. Simeon, north of Aleppo






















Monastery of St. Daniel, northwest of Aleppo

• In transitioning from Aleppo down to the Monastery of St. George in the "Christian Valley," I stayed one night in Hama, a conservative Muslim city. Hama is most noted for the 1982 heavy-handed crackdown by Hafez al Assad on the Muslim Brotherhood. While human rights organizations have condemned the assault on the city, Syria has never since been troubled by Islamist extremism. Even so, Hama retains a reputation for religious conservatism. Most of the old city center destroyed in the fighting has since been rebuilt, and the suburbs boast attractive new apartment complexes. (A large army base is situated nearby--just in case.) I was a little surprised to see a large Greek Orthodox cathedral in the center of the city, with newly-constructed adjoining educational complex .
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Orthodox Cathedral, Hama
  
  
  
  
  
  

• In northwestern Syria, between Latakia and the Lebanese border, 27 small Christian towns are nestled in the "Christian Valley." The differences between these communities and the nearby Muslim towns are subtle. Obviously, churches in a village are a sure sign. In one village we passed through, homeowners had erected crosses on the tops of their homes--some of them outlined in neon. In Christian villages, you would occasionally see men wearing shorts; not so in the Muslim villages. Women wearing dresses were a sure give away as well. But in one village, I had noticed several younger women with their heads uncovered. I asked Mohammed, my driver, if this was a Christian village. No, he replied. Islamisme moderne.

• The Orthodox Monastery of St. George is one of the landmarks of this region, nestled in the shadow of the great Crusader castle of Krac des Chevalliers. The "new" church (mid 1850s), is built above an older church, which itself is constructed above an even more ancient church. I arrived at the monastery at the same time as two chartered busloads of pilgrims arrived from the church in Latakia, the seaport in northwestern Syria. Fr. Isaac welcomed me to St. George and encouraged me to stay for the service (not that I had any plans of leaving!) The Orthodox Christians from Latakia could have been any church group from most anywhere--normal everyday people behaving normally. There was a short service and then a homily in the church. Of course it was all in Arabic, but as it was still during Pentecost, I recognized the "Christ is risen from the dead..." done in the Greek style. And of course, I was right there with all the alleluias. And so, there I was, a displaced Texan, perfectly at home in worshipping with my Syrian brothers and sisters. Fr. Isaac introduced me to Fr. George, the priest from Latakia, who is, as it turns out, an iconographer.



















Krac des Chevaliers Castle
















Fr. Isaac and Fr. George, St. George's Monastery
















St. George's Monastery, "old" church


















St. George's Monastery, new church


• In driving into Damascus for the first time, we passed several large churches, though I was unable to re-trace my steps to inspect them closer. On my first full day in Damascus, my nephew joined me for the remainder of my travels. We visited a number of churches in the old Christian quarter of the old city. The Patriarchate of Antioch is headquartered at St. George's Church, and the Church of St. John of Damascus is located nearby. Armenian and Suriani churches are scattered about, as well. The Catholics maintain a chapel at the reputed house of Ananias, and have also built a church in the city wall where St. Paul was let down in a basket. We viewed an exhibit of early Syrian iconography in the National Museum. My nephew and I even checked out the Omayad Mosque, which is really the oldest and greatest of such in the Islamic world. I hate to be flippant (again), but after a while, one mosque looks much as another, even this grandaddy of them all. But this mosque was built on the site of, and with the stones of the great Christian cathedral which once stood here. The central portion of the mosque, looks nothing so much as like an early Christian basilica. The Muslims maintained the shrine to St. John the Forerunner, whose relics were contained within the cathedral. This was actually our main purpose in visiting this site.






















Shrine of Head of St. John the Forerunner, Omayad Mosque, Damascus


















Omayad Mosque, Damascus



















Patriarchate, Damascus

















Church of St. John of Damascus, Damascus



• My nephew and I took a day trip out from Damascus and visited the Monastery of Mar Mousa, as well as the churches and monasteries of Maalula and Sednaya. Mar Mousa is named after St. Moses the Ethiopian. The monastery sits at the top of a rocky crag, overlooking the eastern desert. The setting is quite remote, and reaching the monastery requires quite a bit of effort. I took it slow and easy, while my nephew bounded up the steps (though he paid for it dearly all the next day.) The main church is in a fortress-like enclosure dating to the 6th century or so, which can only be entered through a small opening in the wall--forcing one to bow when entering. The church itself is small and intimate. As in mosques, one removed ones shoes before entering. The monastery is supposedly shared by both Orthodox and Catholics. The only monastics I saw were Orthodox, and the iconography and interior of the church was as well. The only Catholic item was a crucifix at the southwest corner. Visiting the remote monastery was one of the more moving experiences in my travels. The monastery accommodates overnight visitors, and if I ever return to Syria, I plan to take them up on it. Between Mar Mousa and Damascus are the two Christian towns of Maalula and Sednaya (or at least they used to be predominately Christian). In Maalula, we visited the Monastery and Church of Sts. Sergius and Bacchus and the Convent of St. Teckla. Both were well worth our efforts. The Church of Sts. Sergius and Bacchus dates to the early 4th century and was converted from a previous pagan temple. Wooden beams in the church have been carbon-dated at 2,000 years. In fact, the marble altar predates the Council of Chalcedon as it is not square, but oval in shape. The church was home to several unique icons. I noted one in particular--a double icon, perhaps the only one of its kind. On the top was a depiction of the crucifixion and below was a depiction of the Last Supper. What was different was that Jesus was sitting to the side of the table, instead of in the center as it is usually depicted. A young lady of the church quoted Matthew 20:28, where Jesus said that he "did not come to be served, but to serve..." and she went on to explain that hospitality was and is so important in the Middle East. The guests, not the host, would have the place of honor, and the host would serve. So, in their understanding of the event, Jesus would be to the side, where he could serve. Another icon depicted John the Baptist at rest, as his labors were over. The young lady also recited the Lord's Prayer in Aramaic, which is still known, if not exactly spoken regularly here, and in a couple of adjoining villages. As is often the case, I was a little sheepish in my lack of foreign language skills. She spoke Arabic, obviously, and Aramaic, a near-dead language, and had just spoken to an Italian group in that language before speaking to us in English. If some French tourists had wandered in behind us, I feel confident she could have spoken to them as well. We talked briefly about how English is the universal second language. She corrected me, however, and said that it was the universal first language. Finally, we purchased a bottle of monastery wine that we were to enjoy at a later date. We also enjoyed the shrine to St. Teckla at the Catholic convent of that name. Sednaya is a large resort town, closer in to Damascus. The famous Convent of Our Lady of Sednaya, an ancient pilgrimage site, sits atop the hill overlooking the city. This convent contains one of the icons of the Theotokos written by St. Luke himself, or an early copy. The icon is on view in a small shrine, but almost totally covered in silver, and gifts that have been left there, so that you really cannot see it. A nun sits in the corner and I feel confident that if anyone made an untoward move toward the icon, that she would take them down. The terrace atop the convent provides a spectacular view across the city. Spilling down the hillside and up the next are any number of churches, but the city is growing fast, and it's predominate Christian character may already be past. The infamous Sednaya prison in on the outskirts of this otherwise pleasant locale.





























Scenes from the Monastery of Mar Mousa

















Monastery of Sts. Sergius and Bacchus


















Scenes from Sednaya


















• On our way toward Jordan, we stopped at the small town of Es'ra, in far southern Syria, not far from Jordan and the Golan Heights. Here, we visited the Church of St. George. This is not just any church of St. George, but I suppose you would say that this was THE church of St. George. For the relics of the saint are in a corner niche in this church (apparently there is a church in Israel that claims the same thing.) Once the mythology that grew up around the cult of St. George (mainly in the West) is stripped away, we have the story of a real-life saint, who was martyred nearby in 303. This particular church dates back to the 6th century or so, is a somewhat unique in its architecture. The outside appears squarish and fortress-like. The nave of the church is octagonal and sits completely underneath the over sized dome. A gallery extends around the outside of the nave, meeting at the iconostasis. We arrived on Friday morning, while a Divine Liturgy was underway. A nice crowd was in attendance, including 2 or 3 Muslim men. I was pleased to see a number of young people there, and a large number of children. None of the women wore headscarves, but as they queued to receive the Host, there was a hook on one of the columns with a number of scarves draped over it. Each woman, before she reached the priest, would reach over and take a scarf and put it on before receiving--and then take it off. Interesting. Everyone chanted enthusiastically during the service. Afterwards, the young children met with their teachers for a class. Driving out of the neighborhood, I counted at least 3 other churches there, including a large new structure under construction. Before leaving Syria, we visited the ruins at Bosra. The ruins of the Cathedral at Bosra was impressive, as was the Monastery of Bohaira.






















Church of St. George, Es'ra, Syria


• Jordan, overall, seemed to be a more conservative society than Syria. I was surprised to find Amman to be bustling, modern and really quite beautiful. We stayed in the town of Madaba, about 20 km. southwest of Amman. This had formerly been a Christian town of 20,000 or so, and was now a city of 20,000 Christians and 100,000 Palestinians. The city is most noted for the famous mosaics at the Church of St. George. The complex around St. George's is impressive, with a large school for the Christian youth. A gaudy-looking newer mosque dominates the skyline of the city, but at the right time of day, you can still hear church bells ringing, instead of the ubiquitous call to worship. We met a young man who worked at St. George's who was interested to discover we were from Texas. He pulled out his cellphone and called his fiance to come over and meet us. She was from Borger, Texas and had arrived in Madaba, planning to move on to Turkey where she was going to do volunteer work. She liked Jordan so much, she remained there, met Michael, and they fell in love. She was returning to Texas to work on her masters in international relations at the University of Texas. He, or course, was planning to follow. I gave him my card and told him that he now knew someone else in Texas.




School complex adjacent to St. George's Orthodox Church, Madaba, Syria


• Jordan's percentage of Christians is something like 6%, less than that of Syria. The Christians are concentrated in Amman, northwestern Jordan, and in the Jordan River valley. The only other place we visited any churuces was at the baptismal site of Jesus on the Jordan River. Bethany is on the Jordanian side of the river, even though the Israelis have built a sparkling new tourist center on the other bank, not a stone's throw away. The Jordan itself is now a muddy backwater. Our guide showed us where the water level used to be. Of course, the culprit is irrigation. 70% of the water pumped out of the Jordan goes neither to Jordan nor to Palestine (the West Bank). Care to guess where it does go? Before reaching the baptismal site, we passed a large, cordoned-off area. Here several large churches are under construction: the Copts are building a huge church, the Russian Orthodox are well along with a monastic complex, the Catholics plan a church, and the "Roman" Orthodox, as our guide said have a church under construction. I later learned that this is often the term for for Greek Orthodox, as when the Turks say "Rum Ortodox," their old name harkening back to the east Roman (Byzantine) Empire. A young couple from Calgary was in the group being escorted down to the river. The young man, in total seriousness, asked our Jordanian guide: "no synagogue?" I couldn't help but laugh a bit, and say, "I hardly think so!" The guide grinned at me. The young man, undeterred, muttered a common platitude: "Well, the site is holy to all three faiths." A bit embarrased for him, we all let it pass, no one thinking it profitable to try and explain why a Jewish synagogue would never, ever be built at the site of the baptism of Jesus, and on Jordanian soil, no less. A Greek Orthodox chapel has recently been completed nearer the baptismal site. The church was funded by a Greek millionaire, and the iconography commissioned by a Russian politician. The little church (only 1200 square feet) is simply exquisite (look for pictures in next travelogue.)



















Russian Orthodox Monastery under construction, near baptismal site, Jordan

More travelogues soon. In the meantime.....

When Do-Gooders Travel

In the Sunday Times, I always look for "Why We Travel" in the Travel Section. Each week, a photograph and short description highlight a particular traveler's experience.

This issue featured a Georgia couple, Dannie and Vicki Smith, visiting the Orthodox Cathedral in Chisinau, Moldova. The Smiths were part of a Christian mission trip, sponsored by the Christian Medical and Dental Association. Mrs. Smith spoke of the poverty in Moldova and praying with the villagers and the comfort the team was able to bring to their lives. Before returning home, they visited the Cathedral in the capital. Mrs. Smith's commented, as follows:

I remember thinking that all the beautiful icons, paintings and other antique things in the church were beautiful and old, but also that it all seemed a waste of money. I thought of all the ‘stuff’ we were looking at and thought that really, God is simple and seen in creation, not in what our hands can make.

While sad, it is oh so typical: standing in a holy place, undoubtedly bathed in the blood of martyrs, American evangelicals see only a "waste of money." Certainly such things would be out of place in a nondenominational Faith Outreach Center or some such back home in Thomaston, Georgia. In a stripped-down, clinical, cramped, least-common-denominator, protestantized Christianity, beauty must indeed seem foolish (though I suspect a gymnasium attached to the church auditorium would not seem so.) I am hardly the one to make the case for why such a view is so wrong-headed. But Mrs. Smith would might do well to read Dostoevsky, who observed that God will save the world through beauty.

In no way do I intend to discredit good works of the well-intentioned, who offer their medical services to people in need. Mrs. Smith plans to return next year because "we love the people of Moldova and realize that we can offer them hope.” Well, maybe so. But between now and then, perhaps she use the time to learn a little something about the culture, history and yes, the faith of the country she is visiting. The full article, here.

Travelogue 3: The Middle East as seen through 7 Mohammeds

On of the joys of traveling in the East is the natural friendliness and hospitality one experiences there. I have always found this to be so in Turkey, and was to find it even more the case in the Middle East itself. They are people given to small kindnesses and courtesies. Of course, the cynic would note that this was totally wrapped-up in the possibility that you might purchase something in their shop. Granted. But the hospitality goes much deeper--to the core of the Middle Eastern psyche. And this behavior goes all the way back to the beginning. Countless biblical passages recount the kindnesses shown to the traveler, the stranger, the guest. In fact, in Orthodoxy, the only iconographic representation of the Trinity is known as the "Hospitality of Abraham," in which the patriarch receives the 3 angels at Mamre, a type of the Holy Trinity.

The innate Arab friendliness and hospitality makes it easy to strike up acquaintances. In visiting the ruins of the Church of St. Simeon the Stylite, I was the only person there, other than a young European couple (German, I think). I wanted a picture of myself in front of the base of St. Simeon's pillar. So, I asked the young man--as politely as possible--if he would do so. He obliged me, and I thanked him. But all I got out of him was a grunt, and a look of being inconvenienced. I am making no sweeping generalizations based on a chance encounter with a rude western European; only noting how at odds such behavior was with what I was experiencing among the locals.

So yes, it was easy to make friends along the way, and for a time at least, most of them seemed to be named Mohammed. I arrived in Damascus on a flight from Paris about 9:30 at night. In the Middle East, many, if not most flights arrive and depart in the middle of the night. My connecting flight to Aleppo would not leave until 1:30 in the morning, so I had a 4 hour layover there at the airport. There were no more flights arriving or departing until my 1:30 flight, but then I noticed about 4 flights departing after mine and before daybreak. So, until after midnight or so, the Damascus airport was an almost deserted, forlorn spot to hang out. The entire terminal reeked of smoke. I am the farthest thing removed from a Smoking Nazi, but as an American, it has been decades since I have been exposed to anything quite like this. But after a while, I slowly accustomed myself to the lingering haze. The shops in the airport remained open all night, but as there were no customers, the clerks occupied themselves with visiting one another, drinking countless cups of tea, and of course, smoking. About midnight, the airport lobby began to slowly fill with Damascene travelers, arriving for the flight to Aleppo. Two young men in ill-fitting suits sat down beside me. They both appeared exhausted from whatever business they had been conducting in Damascus. But after a while, they introduced themselves as Mohammed and Bashar, and struck up a conversation. Mohammed seemed eager to practice his English. He also informed me that he was studying German on his own. He offered to buy me something to drink as we waited. The offering of something to drink is as natural with Arabs as greeting someone itself. It is also polite, and expected, to ask of family matters. I learned that he was 27 years old, one of 7 children. He was engaged to be married in November, but he and his fiance wanted only 2, or perhaps 3 children. We exchanged cards. I learned that he had a stationary store, and also specialized in printing invitations and other items related to weddings. He wanted me to call him the next day, come to his shop and we would go to lunch together. As it turned out, my time in Aleppo was crowded, and I was ultimately unable to do this. As I have his card, I do plan to email him, thank him for his kindness, and congratulate him on his upcoming nuptials.

I spent the first day in Syria walking the old city of Aleppo: exploring the citadel, checking out the Great Mosque, strolling through the souq (bazaar area), getting lost in Jdeide District (the old Christian Quarter), having a beer at the Baron Hotel bar (T. E. Lawrence slept here), stopping in at an internet cafe and just generally soaking up the street scene. The Aleppo souq is one of the most authentic around--not at all touristy, but catering to the everyday needs of its local customers. I was walking back through the souq, as it was the quickest way back to my hotel. A young man in one of the shops spoke to me in English. In Texas, we have a colloquial expression: "this ain't my first rodeo." Well, this wasn't my first souq, either. Shopowners and/or touts will start off a conversation with you, and before you know it, you are in their uncle's carpet shop. This young man was giving it a good shot, and as long as you understand what is going on, why not go along with it. After all, it is part of the experience. As you can probably guess, this young man was Mohammed No. 2.

Mohammed No. 2 was trying out his English on me. Of course he wanted to know where I was from. I replied, "the U.S." This answer is never sufficient, because everyone then wants to know where in the U.S. I put my hand to my mouth and whispered "Texas." This is my standard overseas response, and will remain so until January 20th, 2009. Everyone usually gets the joke and it is a great conversational ice-breaker. Mohammed didn't know much about the U.S. outside of pop culture references (singers and performers I was unfamiliar with), and the names of a few cities--Detroit and Las Vegas. He then told me that he was using Robin Williams as a guide to learning how to speak English, but that he thought he might be gay. I said no, he's just funny, that's all. He then proposed to take me to his cousin's shop (aah, here we go, I thought.) But then Mohammed mentioned the name of the shop and it was one I was familiar with--receiving good recommendations in travel guides, and one I intended to visit anyway before leaving Aleppo. So, I agreed to accompany Mohammed to his cousin's shop. If I purchased anything, he would receive a commission.

The cousin's establishment was an actually a nice place to stop; a small, corner shop, chock-full of interesting items. The cousin, Mohammed No. 3, seemed to be an earnest young entrepreneur. He could just as easily be selling real estate in Dallas. As it turns out, he had just returned from the U.S., as his wife was from Boston. And he was planning to return again before long. While he was busy talking to a client or supplier on the audio of his laptop, I sat around and drank tea and visited with Mohammed No. 2 and the manager of the store. Before I left, Mohammed No. 3 opened a secret door in the back wall, exposing a tiny staircase going up. We went upstairs, and sure enough--carpets! Like I say, I've been around enough in the region to understand the carpet market a bit. I really don't mind the sales pitch, if I'm rested and in the mood for it. But I walked away without purchasing...this time.

That night, I bumped into the manager of the store, and as neither of us had yet eaten, we had supper together at a nearby cafe. I was introduced to a dish pronounced something like "badinjon," which is ground lamb meat stuffed in eggplant--delicious! We had an interesting meal--touching on foreign relations and even religion. He described an unpleasant recent experience at the American embassy in Damascus. He had traveled there to take care of some visa paperwork for his employer. In his view, the soldiers and embassy staff unnecessarily humiliated him in their various security checkpoints. I replied that Americans are completely paranoid about terrorism. No, he said, Americans are afraid. I did not disagree with him. He asked about my komboschini (prayer rope). I explained to him what it was for and the words of the prayer. He did not understand the word "mercy," and asked me to explain what that was. I did my best to explain, all the while amazed to be reminded that this is a foreign concept in Islam. This episode put me in mind of a Spengler article from 2 years ago, that I re-read once I returned home. Spengler observed:

There is no Grace in Islam, no miracle, no expiatory sacrifice, no expression of love for mankind such that each Muslim need not be a sacrifice. On the contrary, the concept of jihad, in which the congregation of Islam is also the army, states that every single Muslim must sacrifice himself personally. Jihad is the precise equivalent of the Lord's Supper in Christianity and the Jewish Sabbath, the defining expression of sacrifice that opens the prospect of eternity to the mortal believer. To ask Islam to become moderate, to reform, to become a peaceful religion of personal conscience is the precise equivalent of asking Catholics to abolish Mass.

The entire article, found here, is well worth a read.

Before we parted that night, we met a friend of his--Mohammed No. 4. This young man operated a shop where he and his brother made towels. I walked over to a shop where his brother was working on the loom--that's right, the loom. They had learned the trade from their grandfather, who had learned it from his grandfather and who knows how far back beyond that. These brothers were at least the 5th generation in their family to operate this loom. They made a variety of towels, including supplying the towels for all the hammams (turkish baths) in the city. I sat there in this shop, drinking tea and chatting with Mohammed, while his brother was operating the loom. I learned that it took them 3 hours to make a full-sized towel. They kept the loom going for about 18 hours a day, with their dad opening early, and the sons working late. The following night was to be my last night in Aleppo. Before I left, I made sure I made my way back to this little shop and purchased a couple of hand towels for our kitchen.

The next morning I had arranged for a car and driver to go out to the Church of St. Simeon and also the Church at Qual Lauzeh. My driver was an older man who introduced himself to me as Mohammed. (Of course you are, I thought!) Mohammed No. 5 spoke some French and a smattering of English. I spoke no Arabic, and a smattering of French. We met, conversationally, at "Franglish," I suppose. Unfortunately, he assumed my French was better than it actually was. While we were driving north of Aleppo, I asked about his family. Mohammed had 2 wives, with 8 children by the first and 1 by the second. I asked if that was a problem. He replied, "for you, yes; but for me, no." He went on to say that Islam allowed him 4 wives. I already knew that, and was really asking if it was problematic having 2 wives together in the same household. But I never received an answer to that question! Later on, he observed, "la vie est dificile." I thought (but didn't say): "well, you should have thought of that before you had 2 wives and 9 children!"

Mohammed No. 6 came along on the last night in Aleppo. I received a recommendation on a nearby hamman. The Arabs, and all peoples of the Levant, for that matter, place great emphasis on personal cleanliness, and these Turkish baths are part of that rich cultural legacy. We would characterize them as just giant steam baths, but there is a definite protocol and etiquette to using these facilities. This particular hamman was of recent construction and contained, of all things, a swimming pool, as well. I am just like a little kid: give me 3 ft. of water and I'm happy. Mohammed, the manager of the hamman, was a real hoot--a cut-up, as we would say around here.

It was a number of days before I met Mohammed No. 7. He was our driver for 5 days in Jordan. This Mohammed was in his early 40s, a professional driver with a nice sedan for hire. He lived in Amman, with a wife and 3 or 4 children. He was consistently good-natured. As my nephew and I pulled ourselves out of the Dead Sea, Mohammed was waiting for us with ice cream cones. Only near the last, did we discover that he was actually Palestinian, whose family was from Bethlehem. He told us that his family had left Palestine for Amman 20 years earlier. Mohammed wouldn't talk about it, but I am sure there is a sad story behind it all.

Pictures:
Rublev's Hospitality of Abraham
Mohammed No. 4 and myself in his towel shop
In the souq, Aleppo

Travelogue 2: Out and About in the Police State

When you travel someplace new and then find that everything is exactly as you expected it to be, than chances are, you just have not been paying attention. The true joy of travel lies in the unexpected discovery. This certainly applies to my visit to Syria.

As mentioned earlier, I took a little perverse pleasure in going to Syria, a country which didn't quite make Bush's "Axis of Evil" list, but is probably number one on the list of "Friends of the Axis of Evil." Our current administration has been huffing and puffing about Syria for years, apparently to no avail. And lets' face it, Damascus has often been something less than a class act. They have been behind perfectly dreadful developments in Lebanon, for example. Every country sees to their own self-interests, maintaining alliances designed for their security, not ours. Syria has managed to survive in a very tough neighborhood. And that's my point, I guess--it's their neighborhood, not ours.

























The al-Assad family has been in power since 1970, a monarchy in everything but name. Hafez al-Assad was the long-running dictator. He was grooming his dashing, daring, race-car driving eldest son, Basil, as successor. But this son died in a smash-up in 1994. The next son, Bashar, did not quite fit the strongman mold. He was a London ophthalmologist, and looked the part--tall and gangly, with a weak chin and somewhat cheesy moustache. But Bashar has apparently taken to the dictator business. He assumed power in 2000 upon his father's death, and the al-Assad machine seems to be running as smoothly as ever.






















Images of the al-Assads are literally everywhere, particularly in northern Syria. It is hard to escape their gaze, either from billboards, or posters in shop windows, or even decals inside of taxis. Some shop owners seem to be competing to see how many posters of Bashar al-Assad they can put up in their stores. Some are of Bashar looking sternly, others of him smiling broadly, some are of him in military uniform, and some are of him with his sons--introducing, I suppose, the next generation to his country. Aleppo seems even more awash in Assads than Damascus. I had to chuckle at what I saw on the outskirts of the city. On the main highway from Damascus, in the middle of a large traffic circle, is a grandiose larger-than-life statue of Bashar al-Assad. He is portrayed in his military uniform, riding a steed, which happens to be in mid-jump. As such, al-Assad is raised somewhat from the saddle. He and the horse are facing Aleppo, so that when one is entering the city from Damascus, the first sight that greats drivers is the rather ample cast-iron butt of Bashar al-Assad. I can say that now.


























Syrians love to discuss world events and politics--obviously, just not Syrian politics. Our own president loves to speak of the Middle East's "yearning" for liberty and freedom. Most of our country (or at least 72%) now recognize this as the self-serving, self-justifying, fantasizing rhetoric that got us in the mess we now find ourselves in. Admittedly, my exposure to Syria is limited to this recent 10-day stay in their country. But I detected no such Bushian "yearnings." In fact, time and again in my travels, I am struck by the utter sameness of the human condition. Blue jeans cost nearly as much over there as they do here, but my friend in Aleppo only makes $60 per week. Syrians yearn for the same things we do: economic opportunity, a house of their own, food on the table, education for their children, a little security in old age, and maybe a day at the seashore now and then. If the central government is not too obtrusive, I don't think they are terribly concerned that theirs is an authoritarian regime. The problem Syria faces is providing jobs for its burgeoning population (one is immediately struck by the number of children in the country). But I saw no evidence of a downtrodden, resentful citizenry. In fact, Syria showed every sign of being a going concern, with lots of commerce amidst something of a building boom.

This brings me to where I am going with this. An abiding passion of mine is the plight of the ancient, authentic, indigenous Christian communities of the Middle East. In this regard, we are accustomed to certain images and news stories: the persecution and dhimmitude of the Egyptian Copts, the plight of the diminishing Palestinian Christians caught between the Israeli confiscation and Palestinian Muslim extremism, the destruction of the 2,000 year old Iraqi Christian society, the massacre of southern Sudanese Christians, beheadings of priests in Kurdistan, Armenian genocide denial, and the on-going strangulation of Orthodox Christianity in Turkey. The common thread which runs through all these stories--their precariousness--is an unrelentingly bleak picture.

I am pleased to report that such does not seem to be the case in Syria, or Jordan either for that matter. In Turkey, our churches are hidden, closeted behind walled compounds. In Syria and Jordan, Orthodox and Catholic churches are out in the wide open, for everybody to see. In Turkey, the Orthodox are not seen as Turkish at all, but a foreign element--Greeks, to be precise (the fact that they were there a 1,000 years before the Turks is an inconvenient and forgotten historical fact among Turks. ) In Syria, Christians are seen as Syrians, and Arabs....just Syrian Arab Christians. Christian society is not at all hidden. Such seems to be the case for Jordan, as well. In Aleppo, there are 60,000 Armenian Christians alone. In Hama, one of the most conservative Muslim cities in Syria, a new Greek Orthodox cathedral, and educational complex sit un-walled, in the very heart of the city. In northwest Syria, a string of 27 Christian towns and villages is known as "Christian Valley." At the monastery of St. George, I met up with 2 busloads of "church ladies" on a pilgrimage from the Orthodox Church in Latakia. Churches are dotted throughout downtown Damascus--certainly not as ubiquitous as mosques, but noticeable all the same. We were blessed to attend a liturgy in THE Church of St. George in Ez'ra, which contains the actual tomb of St. George. The church was full of young people, with enthusiastic chanting that would make any Baptist or Church of Christ member proud. This 4th-century church was impressive in its own right, but I noticed 3 other churches in the near neighborhood, including one large new church under construction. Looking out over Sednaya, from the terrace of its famous convent, I counted at least a half-dozen church domes. In Madaba, Jordan, I would watch the Muslim boys walking to their school in one direction, and the Muslim girls, in their green tunics, walking to school in the other direction. But the best school in town was the huge Orthodox school in the center of town.























In short, the safest place for Christians in the Middle East is in Syria, and I suppose, Jordan. In fact, most of the Iraqi Christians who have fled the destruction of their community have settled here. Maybe that is why I give the Assad regime a bit of a pass. The Assads themselves are a member of a small minority--the Alawites, a heretical offshoot of Shiite Islam, in a country that is overwhelmingly Sunni. (It would be somewhat akin to a Mormon being ruler over a country of Southern Baptists.) Obviously, this situation may not last...things can change (see Iraq). And as I understand it, many of these Christians have an exit strategy, in case things turn sour. But for now, Syria is a place of Christian refuge. And for this, they deserve more credit than we have given them.

More on the Syrian Christian community in my next post.

Pictures:
me at the ruined Church of St. Simeon the Stylite
Damascus street scene (Four Seasons Hotel on left)
near the old city, Damascus (with billboard of Bashar al Assad)
Aleppo castle (the one the Crusaders didn't capture)
Sunday school class after liturgy, Church of St. George, Ez'ra

I Just Love Irony

Today I read where Dr. James Dobson took issue with Barack Obama, here. I particularly noted one quote:

"I think he's deliberately distorting the traditional understanding of the Bible to fit his own world view, his own confused theology," Dobson said, adding that Obama is "dragging biblical understanding through the gutter."

Maybe the word "traditional" has a different meaning to Dr. Dobson. But of course, he should be an expert when it comes to "confused theology."

Like I say, I just love irony.

Actually, I think Dr. Dobson is a bit flustered, as things seem to be falling apart in the Southern religio-political coalition. He doesn't like John McCain any better. Maybe he's losing his focus.

Death of Henry Chadwick

James notes the death of Henry Chadwick, here.

Travelogue 1: Thoughts On Travel

No way around it--travel is one of life's luxuries. I consider it neither a right, nor perhaps even a privilege, but rather an indulgence reflecting the affluence of our age. Nor does travel necessarily bring out the best in human nature, exposing one as it does to temptations heretofore unimagined. Throughout history, travel for pleasure, or even for education, was something of a novelty. But in all times, there were those who were curious to see what lay on the other side of the hill. So, I am deeply thankful that at this stage of my life, family and financial obligations have arranged themselves in such a manner as to allow me the luxury of travel, and to--as this picture illustrates--stand in a Street Called Straight.

I am best as a solitary traveler. I broke from my pattern last summer when I traveled for a time in a company of others, making friendships I hope to keep for a lifetime. But admittedly, a group touring Georgian monasteries is, by definition, something of an eclectic group. All things considered though, traveling alone allows you to stand back and really contemplate the new environment in which you find yourself.

This point was brought home to me while wandering the ruins of Serjilla, one of the "dead cities" in northern Syria. These were prosperous provincial towns of the early Byzantine era, abandoned in the 8th century or so. The sites remain in a remarkable state of preservation--mansions, storehouses, churches, monasteries, mausoleums, etc.--and as William Dalrymple noted, some of these structures need only a roof to be habitable again. These cities fascinated me, being something of an amateur Byzantinist. Theirs was a society like none before or since--Roman power married to Greek philosophy, and all baptized with the Apostolic Faith. Standing on that windswept hill, one could almost sense the life of this ruined Byzantine cityscape.

At that point, a French tour group came upon the scene. They were chattering incessantly among themselves, and resembled nothing so much as a flock of noisy guinea hens, clucking and pecking their way across a farmyard. Maybe they were able to appreciate the site, but it is hard to see how with all the commotion.

I do not understand escapist travel either: mindless cruises, hedonistic spas, self-indulgent gambling junkets and such like. Unless one discovers a way to leave your mind at home (which is apparently the whole draw of Las Vegas), there is no possible way to "get away from it all." What a colossal waste of time and money.

Travel does offer a different perspective through which to view one's own life. This does not mean that you simply replace your traditions, views, and values with those of the places you visit. Rather, travel provides a differing context in which to better understand your own life situation, your place in the world and most importantly, to contemplate those things of a salvific nature.

That's all very high-minded and all, but how do I explain my recent travels to Syria, Lebanon, Jordan, Palestine, and inadvertently, Israel? Particularly in regard to Syria, Lebanon and Palestine, I have several flippant retorts at the ready. One, to quote Kinky Friedman's 2006 Texas gubernatorial campaign slogan--"Why the hell not?" Next, I do not like to stand in lines, so I go places where tourists aren't. Finally, the mere thought that the Bush-Cheney gang might not approve of my travels in Syria, Lebanon and Palestine is just all the more incentive to go.

On my flight from DFW to Paris, I couldn't help but overhear a one-sided conversation in the seats behind me. A man in his early 60s--garrulous, talkative and a bit profane--determined to strike up a conversation with his seatmate, a man of his early 40s. The older man had been quite literally everywhere, starting with a tour of Vietnam in the 60s. He was now headed for--as he said, Slovania and Croatia. The younger man was not at all talkative. He was an engineer for some large Texas oil drilling firm, that was sending him to Toulouse to meet with French designers of a specialized drilling tool. He was almost moping about the trip (oh yes, an expense paid trip to France in the spring is perfectly dreadful!) By the time we were in the air, the older man was already on his first vodka tonic and carrying on what was very much a one-sided conversation about travel and places around the world. He asked the younger man if he was familiar with Slovania and Croatia, to which the man replied that he had never heard of them. Finally, the younger man, in an apparent effort to contribute something to this conversation, asked "Well, why in the world are you going to Slovenia?" The older man seemed taken aback, and momentarily at a loss for words. He paused briefly and replied, "Well, I've never been there." At this point, I leaned over my seat and said "that is exactly the right answer."

But the real reason I chose Syria has a lot to do with William Dalrymple, and his From the Holy Mountain. This book from the mid 1990s chronicles the plight of the ancient and now-beleaguered Orthodox Christian communities in the modern Levant. Dalrymple is simply one of the best travel writers around, and much of my explorations in recent years have been in retracement of his steps. Since my first exposure to his work, I have become Orthodox myself, which obviously adds another dimension to my travels.

Though taking root here and there, Orthodoxy remains something of an exotic hothouse flower in America. And yet, contrary to some, I am not at all pessimistic about Orthodoxy's prospects in our country. For it is a permanent thing, tenacious and resilient. I see pockets of the ancient faith that survive (and even prosper) in parts of the Middle East, in the face of a prevailing culture that is overwhelmingly in opposition, if not downright antagonism, to Orthodoxy. So there are lessons for us here as we strive for lives of authentic faithfulness. Our own culture, with its artificial divide between all things secular and the Divine, is no less antagonistic.

Other travel posts to follow...

Photographs, in order:

The Street Called Straight, Old City Damascus

Bazaar, Old City Damascus

The Final Judgement, Mar Mousa Monastery, Syria

View from Mar Mousa looking East

Church of St. George, Ezra, Syria

Your Man in Damascus

Just checking in...I have spent the last week in Syria, as well as 1 day in Lebanon. Later on, I will be in Jordan and Palestine. Smooth sailing so far...

Blogging Doldrums

I'm in a bit of a blogging slump these days. I remain determined to avoid any discussion here about the current presidential race (at least until it's over). That takes a lot of material off the table.

Some of my favorite writers are certainly not suffering through any slump. For starters, I enthusiastically recommend the two posts below:

Fr. Stephen Freeman posts his thoughts on "The Orthodox Church and Personal Salvation," using a recent Franklin Graham Crusade to Ukraine as a springboard, here.

And over at Second Terrace, here, I find one of the best essays I've read on the nature of true conservatism.

On Memorial Day, I will be leaving to do a bit of traveling. When I return on June 17th, I'm sure I'll have much to discuss.

May at my house

Gardeners out there will appreciate these pictures, and I ask that the rest humor me a bit as I show off my oakleaf hydrangeas. I have over 30 of these plants scattered around the yard--most raised from cuttings and some now 8 ft. high. I raised 9 plants from cuttings this year that I will add here and there, and around the neighborhood. The pug is Bert, the benevolent and lovable ruler of our household.

Struggle or Surrender

Things are moving along at our little Orthodox mission here in East Texas. I like to sit in on the inquirer's classes offered before Saturday Vespers. We are currently studying An Exact Exposition of the Orthodox Faith by St. John of Damascus. This is one of those works that I have read at, but might never have really engaged if not for the discipline of a weekly class and discussion. St. John of Damascus is rich beyond measure, but I was particularly struck this week by a turn of phrase in the 3rd chapter.

For the things appertaining to the rational world, I mean angels and spirits and demons, are subject to changes of will, whether it is a progression or a retrogression in goodness, whether a struggle or a surrender....

St. John continues on with this line of thought, but I kept coming back to the phrase--a struggle or a surrender. That sums up our earthly existence rather well, don't you think? We either live lives of struggle, in cooperation with the grace God so richly bestows on us, or we surrender to our passions, desperately attempting to ignore the mutability--in St. John's language--of our nature, and the immutability of our Creator.

Struggle or surrender? As mottoes-to-live-by go, we could certainly do worse.

Seen and Overheard

A few weeks back--right around western Easter--my wife and I made a short, overnight trip down to central Texas. She likes to go to Salado, one of Texas' most historic communities, now chock-a-block with shops and boutiques full of the nonessentials of life. My wife enjoys browsing the shops, and ultimately purchasing nothing. There's a good used bookstore we always hit, as well as the main draw for me--the Stagecoach Inn--an old watering hole dating back to 1854 or so, offering some of the best cooking around. Most travelers zip down Interstate 35 totally oblivious (thankfully) to this little detour. About 30 twisting miles west of Salado lies that isolated corner of the Hill Country where my dad grew up. A trip to Salado necessarily involves a loop through this area, where we place flowers at graves of loved ones and touch base with the remaining familiar landmarks.


On any road trip, one of my favorite pastimes involves observing the churches I pass along the way. I commented on this at great length, here, a couple of years ago. American religiosity provides endless fodder for the irony mill. We were not far from home, before I noticed a banner outside a small Methodist Church. The church sits on a small lot on a side street of a once-rural, now thoroughly suburbanized community. The Methodists are struggling, it seems, to remain relevant and attract new congregants. The church itself was built back in the 1920s, with a large front porch, flanked by shady sycamores. Worship services are now livened-up with a bluegrass band, made up primarily of their own church members. For Easter, they staged a bluegrass concert on the front porch, and invited people to back their trucks up to the church and sit on their tailgates for the service. The banner read something like "Have a tailgate Easter at _____ Methodist Church." So much for your timeless tradition. It's a different setting, of course, but the exact same formula as the "Jazz Communion" I spotted at a toney Presbyterian Church in Houston a few years back. I wish them no ill-will, but when you see this sort of thing, you know that the battle has already been lost there.


On down the road a bit, the highway slices through a particularly bleak little community. It has been a tumble-down sort of place for as long as I can remember. But I happened to take note of a ramshackle little church that I have seen all my life. What struck me this time was that their steeple--sitting a bit precariously atop the roof--had been duct-taped together, so that it was now a shimmering silver color. I was touched--there was something Flannery O'Connor-esque about the sight. Somehow, this little church with the duct-taped steeple engendered more sympathy with me that I had for those toe-tappers over at Tailgate Methodist.


Churches along the Interstate can be even more bizarre than what one finds on the backroads. For a church to be located on the interstate means that marketing, by definition, plays a large role in their decision-making. On the south side of Waco, I spotted a large church of the non-denominational variety--I forget the name, but I'm sure it had the word "Outreach" somewhere in the title. Anyway, the church sported a long banner stretched across the entire front of the building, promoting their new "30 Minute Worship at 9:30." Frankly, I don't think they're trying hard enough. You can't tell me that with a little work, that they couldn't shave that down to 23 minutes or so. Maybe they could install credit-card swipers where you enter the building. Certainly, this could cut out all that down time spent passing the collection plate. What with the pressing need for welcoming remarks, jokes and announcements, and the absolute necessity to have 3 or 4 uplifting and zippy praise songs, I feel like they should drastically scale back the sermon--maybe have one of those "Minute with the Master" type sermonettes one used to hear on the radio. Certainly, I think with a little more planning, they could get everybody in and out and on their way to Starbucks in 23 minutes or less.


Though only about 30 miles out of Salado, it takes a bit of doing to reach the family cemeteries. The old communities of Oakalla and Maxdale are well off the main road, on the way to nowhere in particular. My grandparents are buried in my grandmother's family cemetery, which is relatively accessible. My granddad's parents, however, are buried in the old community cemetery down on the river, some 7 miles distance. Even though my dad and granddad were both born there, only the great-grandparents are buried in that community. I always took a bit of secret pride in going there. My family's monuments are generally of a modest nature, but these 2 stones are impressive and commanding. I later learned that my granddad and my two great-aunts purchased the monuments with the money they received from the sale of the farm in 1919--a totally impractical and foolish thing to do, some would say. But I understand completely, and love them all the more for it. Anyway, the community, as such, is no more--the only touchstones remaining are the historic old 1914 bridge over the river (seen in the movie Second Hand Lions), perhaps the most beautiful cemetery in Texas, and the little Baptist church. The church is a one-room affair, with a high-pitched tin roof, built in the late 1890s or early 1900s. The site still maintains a permanent outdoor arbor for revivals and dinner-on-the-groud. This was never our church--my paternal lines divided neatly between Presbyterians and Campbellites, but never Baptists. Yet, the church was always something of a touchstone for me...until now. The little chapel in the valley is now a "cowboy church." The sign out front displays not a cross, nor a verse of scripture, but a silhouette of a cowboy roping a steer. For better or worse--and believe me, back in my Church of Christ days we used to have heated discussions with them--the Baptist Church had theological legs. They stood for certain perceived truths. In the past, we would argue our "faith which works" against their "faith without works." I don't know what positions the Cowboy Church takes....Wranglers vs. Levis, perhaps. The bottom line, the church is now defined by the hobby and fashion choice of its members.


I recently visited a local coffee shop on my way downtown. I arrived too early, for a gaggle of attorneys were still holding court inside. I got my bagel and coffee and found a corner table where I thought I could read my newspaper in peace. But it was impossible not to overhear their banter in this one-room shop. They were discussing the various civic organizations of our city, and the self-congratulatory nature of these groups as they passed awards back and forth among the usual suspects. One attorney commented on how this had always been the path to success in the business community here. He went on to say that such is not the case anymore. The fast path to riches now requires membership in the local Baptist megachurch. The "Baptidome," as it is commonly described, reportedly has 20,000 members (though this seems a little over-stated), has completely subsumed a neighborhood and has its own television station. I have always known that I paid a price, professionally, for not being a member there. But, it was a price I was gladly willing to pay! Anyway, another lawyer responded by saying that if one buys into the notion that one church is as good as another, then why not belong to the one where you can make a little money? I think (hope) he was just playing devil's advocate, but the comment absolutely brought the discussion to a halt, as I suspect the rest were grappling with this uncomfortable truth. For if one church is as good as another, then you can also have a "tailgate Easter," you can streamline worship down to 30 minutes or less and you can fashion your church around your latest delusional hobby.