A Week in Asia Minor

Else you think I'm lost somewhere in Anatolia, the Asian part of Turkey, I'm posting some extremely superficial informatiopn about my whereabouts. My head is still spinning!
--Cappadocia is truly a fairyland, full of surreal sandstone towers with homes carved into them. People lived in them until 1953 when it was declared a UN World Heritage Site. I tried to check in with the families of the Cappadocian Fathers--and St. Macrina-- but to no avail! (Pictures to follow. )
--Undergound cities abound there. One is large enough to support 3,000 people for three months at a stretch. Early Christians used them to elude the Romans, and Turks used them to escape the invading Arabs. They are complete with stables and the necessary equipment for making wine!
--7th to 12th century chapels carved out of rock, complete with frescoes
-- A visit to a restored caravansaray (a public building for travelers on the Silk Road to stay overnight and receive hospitality for themselves and their camels)
-- A performance by some Whirling Dervishes, brought to us by a coalition of modern tour companies
-- A surprisingly holy visit to the tomb of the poet/Sufi Rumi, known here as the Mevlana Celaleddin Rumi. His resting place is exquisite, though I found town of Konya to be very different from what I expected. It's ythe home of Rumi's form of Sufism, one that speaks of joy and wide-open arms; instead I found a place that takes its conservative Islam very, very seriously.
-- Visit to the Theatre of Aspendos, a very complete Roman theatre, where the entrance for visitors is through the very gates used for wild animals, gladiators ands Christians.
--Visit to the Anatalya Museum, complete with stautes in the halls of gods, emporers, burial culture.
-- A tour of the excavated Temple of Aphrodite and a much longer tour of the city of Ephesus where the former Temple of Artemis was recycled into the Basilica of St. John
-- A fascinating lecture on graffiti in antiquity
-- A demonstration of Turkish carpet weaving and another on Turkish cuisine
-- A visit to the immense Temple of Apollo, and today a visit to Troy, a poorly excavated site, unfortunately.

Tonight I write from a hotel on the Dardenelles. We will take the 8:00 ferry tomorrow morning, drive 5 hours to Istanbul, and visit the Hippodrome and the Blue Mosque before finding our next hotel. Sound like a full day? That's how they've all been--and wonderfully full to overflowing of new expereinces in ancient places, connections that continue to surprise me, and interactions with hospitable and warm people.

Traffic in the Capital

I was told that there are no "traffic rules" in Turkey, only "traffic suggestions." I am now a believer.

We came back from Ataturk's Mausoleum (and his was an unbelievable visionary, leader and activist, if you call mounting a revolution being "activist"). The driver, Mentin, was able to avoid pedestrians that sprang out of nowhere, and taxi (taksi) cabs that are ubiquitous. All was well and good till we mounted the last hill to the hotel. It is a one-way, narrow street that is clearly marked "No Parking". If I could understand that after being here 24 hours, you'd think locals drivers could. But no. They choose to park half on the sidewalk and half on the street, leaving a narrow passage. But the bus is BIG. Mentin made it halfway up and could go no farther. Take a look at that second photo!

Mentin sought help. He went to some strong men on the street, and they walked to the car and tried to lift it onto the sidewalk. Not much luck! And the driver still hadn't shown his face. We literally inched by with the help of some people on the ground.

Adventures! That's what Elderhostel is all about!

Arriving in Ankara

This is going to be an amazing grace, being in Turkey!

Actually, it feels quite amazing to be here after leaving my friend's apartment in NYC at 1 pm on Wednesday and arriving here at the hotel on Thursday at 4:30 pm. Yes, there's a 7 hour difference, but still.... I'm on an Elderhostel with 30 other folks, and am glad to have a guide to get us around and university faculty to give us lectures.

Ankara is the capital, and it gets its name from the goats that used to be here in abudance--Angora goats. It's in the central region, about 3,000 feet above sea level, and it's in the ancient Hittite Empire. (We go the the Hittite capital Hattusas tomorrow on our way to Cappadocia.)

This area has been ruled by Phyrygians and Lydians, too, before the Greeks and then the Romans got here. Doesn't it sound like the Pentecost Sunday reading? Now I know where these real people lived, and today we got to see some of their art and artifacts. It's truly amazing stuff. At the Museum of Anatolian Civilizations this afternoon, we saw things thayt have great detail and personality. I got postcards with the pictures of the Mother Goddesses, and they are as varied as women are today.

I thought Scotland's Neolithic age was old, but Turkey's Neolithic age was 8,000-5,500 years BCE (before the common era)! Again, I have to pinch myself to see if I am actually here.

And why am I here? Because of two reasons: personally, because of my daughter-in-law's having been born here, and professionally to look at Sufi Islam. I read the New York Times world edition yesterday (at SOME airport!) and Sufism was mentioned on the front page. They were looking at a town in Afghanistan where people learn this tradition, and the paper called it a gentle Islam. More later.

Off to the Republic of Turkey

I've just started to digest the first journey of this wonderful sabbatical, and I'm off again. The trip to Scotland had a personal and a professional purpose, and this journey to Turkey has both elements, too.

Personally, my grandchildren a half Turkish. My daughter-in-law was born there, and has opened my eyes to the beauty and the history of this vast country. It's twice the size of California.

Professionally, I want to explore a piece of Islam. It's impossible for me to understand this religion if I depend on the media. Reading about Islam adds to my head knowledge, but not to my heart knowledge. So I want to keep an eye out for Sufism, the mystical part of Islam. If you've read Rumi or seen the Whirling Dervishes, you have encountered mystical Islam.

Last December's Smithsonian magazine (thank you, Frank and Sandy!) had as its lead article "The Sufi Question: Can the joyous Muslim movement counter the forces of radical extremism?" Sufis are not trying to counter anything; they are simply seeking a direct and personal communion with Allah. I will have the opportunity to visit Konya where Rumi did so much of his writing. I'm reading through The Compete Idiot's Guide to Rumi Meditations. (Yes, it really exists; got it at Half-Price Books, and it's quite good!) And I will have an opportunity to witness again the mesmerizing dancing of the Whirling Dervishes. When I saw them at the University of Indianapolis a few years ago, my heart was deeply touched. It was like a profound group meditation in movement and sound.

There's more to see in Turkey, of course, and I am psyched for it! I'll blog if I have better internet connection that I did in Scotland! Do stay posted!

Celtic

I'm not sure what I expected to find when I looked for things Celtic in Scotland. Maybe men with long hair walking through the oak forests looking for misletoe, as in the Druid stories. Maybe the values of ancient Celtic Christianity being lived out in modern Scottish life. But all that I could find of Celtic writ large is what you see in the photos!

Celtic Christianity has a rather complicated history. This sketchis way too short, but here goes. Roman Christianity never did make its way up to the Highlands or to Ireland. When Rome was sacked in 413 and all the troops were called back to the continent to help, Roman Christianity pretty much went with them.

What remained in the western fringes was a Christianity that grew up in isolation. St. Columba brought the Celtic version of Christianity to the Isle of Iona from Ireland in the 500's. He set up a monastery there on what might have already been a sacred site. His approach to missionary work was like St. Patrick's. Neither saw benefit in trying to erase all they found in the communities they "discovered." Rather, they found what was compatible with their truth and incorporated it. St. Patrick said, "Christ is my Druid," kind of like St. Paul when he found the temple to the Unknown God and said to the worshippers, "Ah! I see you have been worshipping the true God all along. Jesus is the name!"

The Celtic branch of Christianity valued creation, seeing God in all things. It called all creation "good." They understood God to be with them in the dailyness of life, the visible and the invisible being inseparable. Women were allowed to use their leadership skills. They were not hierarchical. The focus was not a city or cathedral but rather a monastery that interacted with a rural community. They "listened to the heartbeat of God" in daily life, following St. John the Beloved Disciple.

Rome tended to follow St. Peter, and the church, having become the official religion, was concerned about order, structure, and not too many heresies. The church was an urban one, and the bishops were socially at a level with other high ranking city dwellers who were close to power.

When I asked the Dean of St. Mary's Cathedral about what he saw as the impact of Celtic Christianity on the church today, he could find no impact. "Celtic is 'airy-fairy' and you are more likely to find a book of Celtic spells in the bookstore than of Celtic prayers."

As we conversed, we agreed that the 21st century church has woven together many threads to create the fabic she is today. The values of the Celtic Christians of so long ago are addessed by others. Praying without ceasing, slowing down to listen to the heartbeat of God in creation and in one another, using the gifts each brings, integrating worship into daily life as opposed to leaving it for Sunday--these are a few of the gifts of a Celtic approach to us moderns.

What do you think?

Visiting My Husband

It's an odd thing to say, isn't it--"Visiting my husband." Most husbands don't need visiting and, I'm afraid, get taken for granted. But my Love, all 6' 2" and 190 lbs of his handsome self, has advanced Alzheimer's Disease at age 65. He is totally incapacitated now and doesn't know me. That's really what made it emotionally possible for me to go to Scotland; he responds to me no differently now than before I left. For a few seconds during each visit he seems to focus on my face, that's all. A friend said I am "neither wife nor widow," and that feels right on. Being away from him for three weeks, during which time he did just fine, made that feel real. (The photo is of Tom four years ago with one of his wonderful nurse-friends at the Indiana University Medical Center's Alzheimer Clinic. She's also a sometimes Parish Nurse.)


Anyway, I was massaging his feet last evening at the Friends (Quaker) Fellowship Community, a.k.a. nursing home. There's no obvious way to connect with him, so I try touch. Everybody deserves loving touch. I noticed that he now has no callouses on his feet. That seems like a little thing, almost silly. But it says a lot to me. I think of how hard he--and we--work at developing callouses: wearing the right (or right-looking) shoes, standing, walking, running, generally banging around life and paying no particular attention to those appendages down there that support us all the day long. Tom doesn't use them anymore. They just are.

And I wonder what would happen to us if we did less using and less callous-building in our lives, and more being. I wonder if our souls would become soft and innocent again.

Here's a poem by a Hoosier who made her way to Vancouver Island in British Columbia:

"Feet to Head" by Susan McCaslin

Hey, dude, give us some space and turf,

you, rumbling up there

in your bright, abstract buzz.

You could go off, incapacitated

without us down here to keep you real,

you in you bulbous, bloodless dome.

Remember, we are your contact with ground zero.

Bathe us with myrrh and balm,

massage us once in a while

and maybe we will remember you

when the two of us lie tip to toe

partnered for the long journey home.