The Grandest Creation-Guided Worship Experience I Ever Attended

A few of you who have been reading between the lines of my blog know that I have been doing some reflecting (with the help of Calgary CRC church-planter John Van Sloten's book The Day Metallica Came to Church) on the reality of God speaking to us through two books - the Book of Scripture and the Book of Creation.  Well, the other day we 'read' a passage from the Book of Creation and nearly fell off our seats.

First, by way of Scripture, Revelation 3, God is warning Laodicea, one of the seven churches of Asia Minor, that they have been 'lukewarm' and God is ready to spit (actually the Greek is translatable as 'vomit' so it is no minor annoyance).  Now, in our culture, we think of lukewarm as 'halfway' or 'not quite passionate about.'   But God isn't ready to spit, like some locker-room coach about the Laodiceans lukewarmness just because he wants them to heat it up a notch, he actually says, "I wish you were one or the other - hot or cold!"  What God is saying is that it does them no good to be middle ground, they need to make a choice on how they live out their faith.  And Laodicea, and the town that it was, knew what it was to be neither hot or cold.

Laodicea was halfway between Colossae (famous for their cool refreshing springs) and the hot springs of Hierapolis.  Now, I have preached on this, more than once.  The Zondervan Illustrated Bible Background Commentary does a great (and pictoral!) job of laying this out.  This past Thursday, I had the incredible privilege of seeing the warm springs of Hierapolis and getting an overwhelming sense of what God was saying to Laodicea.

We took a bus from Selcuk, just outside Ephesus, Turkey, beginning around 9am.  On the bus, we met a wonderful couple from Calgary, Dave and LoriLynn, and their friends Eric and Erna who warmly welcomed us into their friendship for the day.  Carol and I remarked about that if we lived in the same town, we would certainly be friends.  Dave and LoriLynn told us about their faith and their church and their desire to know God at a deeper level.  Since I was just finishing a book by a Calgary CRC church-planter, I recommended his church and book to them.  You see, Dave and LoriLynn are photographers, and one of the things VanSloten does well is connect with people who are trying to connect with God on any level, particularly through arts and culture.  As I listened to Dave talk about light in photography and how he and his photography friends could be mesmerized by a simply garbage can because of the way the light might be hitting it, I knew that Dave had allowed God to train his sight in a way that I hadn't even considered.  So I turned it into a prayer, and asked God to show me something of what I wouldn't naturally see on my own.

 After nearly three hours on the bus, we were in the incredible little town of Pamukkale, which is in fact, Hierapolis.  Actually, its not so much the town that is incredible as much as what the town looks up at:  the "Cotton Castle."

An entire mountainside COVERED with calcified pools created by the springs of warm calcium-rich water which flows from the top of the mountain.  Originally, Hierapolis was at the top of the mountain and a stroll through the ruins of the old town is the first part of the tour, but the overwhelming highlight is seeing and experiencing the hot pools.  Where you see me standing ankle deep is our first encounter with the pools.  Our new photographer friends were having a heyday with their cameras, especially, I think, because the cloud cover provided a certain kind of light.  Carol and I just started wading around, feeling odd and awed that our feet were encountering warm water up on this mountain and that it was all naturally occurring.

After some time in these shallower pools, we toured more of the ruins and then saw the hot baths - again all naturally occurring - that we could swim in for 20 Euro per person.  We opted to watch, but when the opportunity to take part in a second locally occurring natural phenomenon -- Garra Rufa fish -- we didn't hold back.  These fish, which only live in naturally occurring hot water springs in Turkey, are little suckers.  They are naturally predisposed to eat the dead skin of people.  For just 15 Euro for both Carol and I, we had the opportunity to put our feet in a large Garra Rufa tank while the fish took a ten-minute snack of all the dead skin on our feet and ankles.

(my legs aren't really that red, it's just the way the flash and water react, I'm sure Dave would have taken a better picture :))

When the fish are biting, biting your ankles that is, you have some time to think.  God is incredible to have made both these phenomena - the Garra Rufa fish and the Cotton Castle - the micro and the macro, and put them together.

After our fish trip, we headed back to the cotton castle, this time to experience it more fully and hang out in some of the deeper pools.  Here are some pictures, but believe me they don't do it justice.

And somewhere around when I was watching and listening - it occurred to me.  This was a worship service.
All the traditional markers:  a sense of preparation as park staff made certain we removed our shoes before entering;  a sense of awe as people were mostly respectfully silent while others adventured; there were people of every trible, tongue, nation and languge present.  All ages were represented.  People were caught up in the beauty of  the place.  The was a reverential awe and nearly the only sound was that of laughter and excitement.  There was even a moment of "is that allowed in here (church)" when a dog was running through the place.

Scripture, in Revelation, describes heaven as a place of awe and wonder.  A place where every tribe, nation, people and language will be in wonder together.  That there would be no temple because God himself would be there.  And, that there would be a river running through it.

The pictures again don't do it justice, but if you could imagine this gush of hot water coming out of the top of the mountain and creating this, you'd  have something of the picture.  It was truly incredible.

I've had cool water from a spring before and it is refreshing, and also of God.  But on this day, I came to understand a little more about what God was saying to the Laodiceans.  They knew about cool springs (like Colossae) just like you and I do.  And they lived in the shadow of the Cotton Castle white hills of Pamukkale, or Hierapolis or "Holy City".  They knew that that the cold springs from below and the hot springs from above were both gifts from God.  And they were simply being urged to make sure that -- hot or cold -- their deeds were lined up with what God was doing in the world.

Another great reminder for us today.

A Call to Prayer

What a day of travel!
Shuttle, ferry, walk, bus, taxi, customs, ferry, customs, taxi -- and now, rather than being in the very religious Orthodox Christian island of Patmos, we are now in the very religious Muslim city of Selcuk, Turkey, just 3 km from the ruins of Ancient Ephesus which we will see on Friday after seeing Hierapolis tomorrow.
On our first ferry today, we met a Christian couple from Texas, Lutherans, Tommy and Kit Kendall, in their 60's -- a delightful couple, or as a Texan might pronounce it - deliiiiiiiightful - or something liiiiike thaaaaat.
Tommy and Kit had begun the day resigned to staying over on the island of Samos for two nights and not having the time or where-with-all to figure out how to make Ephesus work.  We convinced them that with a little bit of help from us, they could make it work.  We shared our guide books, told them they could come with us to Selcuk, and they convinced each other that this last-minute change of plans was a good one.
And then, from Akti to Agonthanassi, from Pithagorio to Vathi, from Kusadasi to Selcuk, we stuck together.  We got to know each other a bit, and there was something nice about taking our first steps in a Muslim country with fellow Christians.
Before we got on our last ferry today, we stopped for a bite to eat (ok, Carol and I had a bite to eat and they each had a bottle of Mythos, (Greek for 'Budweiser').  Before we ate, we prayed.  Carol and I are in the habit of praying before meals, so we just prayed.
Maybe you are in the habit of praying before meals, and when you awake, and when you go to bed, and maybe at some point during your day.  I hope so, its a good habit.
The Turkish have a habit of praying.  The town we are in -- Selcuk -- like any other town in any Muslim country, has a Mosque from which the very public and very loud call to pray goes out.  At midday, midafternoon,  sundown, two hours past sundown and again at sunrise, or as it was this morning 4:49 am!, the silence of the sleepy town is broken by the muezzin or town crier, who sings out to the town from the minaret of the mosque, aided of course by a very powerful amplifier and speakers, this morning turned up on high.
Lasting nearly five minutes, the muezzin's 'song' is that God is great and that Mohammed is his prophet.  For those who don't know much about Islam, while they believe in much of what our Bible says, they would suggest that Jesus was merely a prophet, superceded by Mohammed.
There is something to be said for the regularity and discipline of hearing a public call to prayer.  Since I don't understand Arabic (the language of Islam and the call to prayer, even though everyone in town speaks Turkish), I didn't understand the call to prayer.  Looking it up on-line, I saw that it was a simple declaration of Islam (God is great and Mohammed is his prophet) with a summons (hasten to prayer, hasten to success).
Getting up to go to the bathroom, I looked out our hotel window, Minaret right across the street, but off in the distance, a fortress, lit up, on  a hill -- the Basillica on a hill, to St. John.  You see, the local belief is that John, the disciple whom Jesus loved, died in Ephesus, and so in pre-Muslim history, this town had a very high devotion to Christianity.  So I stood at the window and thought.
And here's what came to me:  While the Mosque was dark and loud, the Christian symbol was quietly lit.  In a place where the ominous call to prayer first felt threatening it now became an occasion for me, a Christian, to hasten to my prayer and give thanks that even in this dark loud place, God -- the God of whom Jesus is his Son, the Light who shines in the darkness -- is here!

Patmos Rest - the second of two posts today on Patmos

Patmos Rest

On Sunday night we had to make a decision:  take the Monday morning ferry to Samos to eventually find our way to Turkey, take the Tuesday ferry to Rhodes to eventually find our way to Turkey, or wait until Wednesday and take a ferry to Samos, then Kusadasi, Turkey near Ephesus.  Although we had already been on Patmos two days, technically, it had felt like we had just arrived. 

To be fair, on Saturday morning at 3:15 when we arrived, we headed straight off to bed and spent most of Saturday in a sleep-deprived stupor.  Sunday, a day of rest, was packed – a Greek Orthodox morning service at 8am, a trip to the mountain-top monastery, a stop at the Cave of the Revelation, a long mountain-side hike, a swim, more touring of the island and by the time night was falling, we were lacking the kind of rest one expects one would get in a place like Patmos.  So we elected to stay a few more days and with the help of Dimitris, the hotel manager, who was willing to give us a deal on our room, the decision was made to stay until the Wednesday morning ferry, after which our schedule would again be packed. 

Before getting on to tell you about our Patmos rest, I need to describe to you our experience of Patmos religion.  I wish I could tell you they were the same thing, especially since I am, according to Revenue Canada, a ‘minister of religion.’   The religion of Patmos, without equivocation, is Greek Orthodox.  The nice thing about Greek Orthodox is that they know they do things right, which is of course what ortho-dox means, ‘right doing.’   Just like the Sadducees of Jesus day (Sadducee comes from the Hebrew word, Tsadique or ‘righteous’), the Greek Orthodox are easy to pick out.

 For our Sunday morning service, we arrived at the church a few minutes before eight and were whisked upstairs to a gallery where we could stand, apart, and watch but not participate.  I wanted to tell them I was an insider, a Christian, one of them, and should sit with them, but I learned later that Greek Orthodox here do not see those who call themselves Christian (Protestants, Catholics, even other Eastern Orthodox) as ‘one of them’ but rather that they are the ‘first among equals.’   What was immediately apparent about the service was the smell, constantly being waved around was the incense, plumes of smoke jetting and wafting around the small sanctuary.  At the front of the church sat two old men (in fact, other than us and some students also sequestered to the viewing area, the youngest in the church was likely at least ten years older than us).  The two men at the front sang the liturgy, constantly.  I recognized the same core truths in some familiar Greek words – Christou (Christ), Kurios (Lord), Thanatos (death) and Anastasis (Resurrection!), but beyond the words, the feel of the place, the inhospitability of the congregants, and the veil of religion behind which the Story, OUR STORY, was hidden, made me feel like a foreigner in a strange land. 

And yet, like Steve at BritMac in Philippi said of another place, “God is here.”  There is something about Patmos that is rejuvenating.  I ran into a couple of Scottish ladies (I mistook them for Irish but they forgave me) who told me they came here every year for ‘spiritual but not religious renewal.’ 

So while the local Greek Orthodox church seemed to hide the mystery of God behind religious costumes, and the Cave of the Revelation seemed to confuse the mystery by adding to it, Carol and I sought to connect with God in his most obvious ‘other book’ as the Belgic Confession reminds us Creation is. 

The first step was to rent a motorcycle, ok, a Scooter.  The next, to get a map.  And the third, to make a plan.  SEE as much of Patmos as we can in two days, driving every mountain road and hairpin turn and visiting every beach and even climbing some of its mountains.  We scampered around and collected rocks and took pictures and left footprints and were truly amazed. 

Here are some of the pictures of God’s second book of revelation (again I reference the Belgic Confession).    A hunchbacked farmer parking his ATV at the end of the lane after a hard days work and walking to his home; a Scuba diver, appearing out of nowhere on Lambi Beach while we collected stones; a senior citizen taking a stroll, completely nude, and holding a small towel in front when we passed by out of deference to the lady I was with; a string of mountains and bays and incredible inclined roads and smooth stones and bushes and flowers and rocks of every shape, size and colour.  We saw children happily ending their school day at 1:30 (we hardly dared tell them it was Victoria Day back home and that our children were off for the day); a conversation with an old fisherman about the legendary location where John is said to have baptized the first converts on the island.  We took pictures with the camera too, but we are sure none of them actually capture what we saw or felt.  You be the judges. 

As I reflect on our Sunday day of rest and the days of rest that followed, I am blessed and baffled by the ‘revelation’ that the times of most intense spiritual joy and wonder were not those moments when we were in the confines of the church building subjected to the wafts of incense, but rather when we were out in His Sanctuary, as the songs says, “the heavens declare the glory of God…day after day they pour forth speech.”  We are glad, because in these days, we have heard Him speaking.  And THAT’s a revelation!  

A Revelation - the first of two posts today on Patmos

Patmos. 

The first time I heard the word, I was a child. 

From the opening verses of Revelation.  John, exiled to the island of Patmos for his faith.    Now, we are here.  Today, the island of approximately 3000 people, stretching at most 20 kilometres long, is a collection of goat farms, fishing villages, and tourism, almost all centered around ‘the mountain’, or in Greek, the Chora, with its Monastery of St. John. 

The island’s geography is incredible.  In the time of John, it was a place of exile, a prison, like Riker’s Island.  Mostly rocky ground, none of it level, the island is virtually uninhabitable.  Lush fields for farming are few and tiny.  Roads and paths are twisted, steep and precarious.  

From the central port town of Skala, the ocean (Agean Sea) is visible on both sides.  Mountains, from neighboring islands and Patmos itself, are visible in every direction.  The protected ports and bays around the island provide innumerable beaches, most of them publicly available yet private in ambience.  As we toured the island on our scooter, the mountain-top, hair-pin, guardrail-less turns first had our guts wrench and then our spirits soar as the turns opened us to yet-more-incredible vistas.  We walked a mountain path to a private sandy beach for a brief swim.  Along the path we could look down on the ocean below or up to scampering mountain goats above.  I remember speaking to the store owner in Philippi about a religious site near him and he said to me, “God is there, you can just feel it.”  There is something of the same sensation here in Patmos.  It is not hard to believe that John received the Revelation from God here. 

The islands history is equally incredible.  Shortly after John received the Revelation, early Christian communities built a basilica here, a church, at the top of the Chora.  Over the 6^th to 9^th centuries, Muslim raids all but destroyed the Christian presence here.  Then, around the turn of the millennium (1000), a Christian Turk, Eastern Orthodox, Revered Father Christodoulos (Greek for ‘Servant of Christ) received permission from the Byzantine Emporer Alexios I Komnenos to have possession of the island for the purpose of preserving the site where John received the Revelation and to house a monastery here. This monastery was built at the top of the Chora, in the same place a great Basilica once stood.   Over the centuries, the island has passed between the hands of the Greek Christians and the Ottomans and in the last century has been ‘owned’ by the Italians and Germans but since the end of the Second World War has been back in the hands of the Greeks. 

The history of the island is something of a backdrop for the history of the site of the Revelation.  John, the writer of Revelation, is believed to have received the Revelation from God while staying in a cave about half-way up the Chora.  This cave has been well-preserved and revered by the Greek Orthodox church over the years and they oversee the conduct of visitors to the cave to this day.  They have also added some of their own tradition to this Unesco World Heritage site.  Among the things they ‘know’ and are able to pass on are: 

1.       The exact location of the cave.  They have gone through the trouble of building a monastery above it with a place to sell religious artifacts, so they have some investment in sticking to their story. 

2.       The place where John lay his head when resting, a bit of a hole in the rock, as if he had laid his head on rock to sleep.   I would have thought that John, living into his nineties, would have taken better care of his body than that, but the hole in the rock, now ringed in silver, does have a religious rightness to it.

3.       The hand-hold in the rock which John used when he wanted to get up from his sleep.  Also ringed in silver, it becomes another occasion to locate the wonder of John’s revelatory moments.

4.       A three-part crack in the rock in the ceiling of the cave.  The Greek Orthodox are able to determine that this three-part crack is obviously representative of the Trinity and was therefore obviously caused when God spoke to John. 

In addition, they have hung seven oil-lamps just like in John’s vision (although the day we were there they accidentally had eight hanging) as well as a icon-rich wall baracading the local monk’s working quarters from the public viewing area.  I wondered why, since they had added the oil-lamps , they they hadn’t included some of the more marketable elements from John’s revelation – I would have thought that four horsemen or a dragon or a lake of fire would really bring the pilgrims in. 

Ok, you’ve caught me being a little cynical.  Which, when I do, causes me to be a little reflective.  I wondered what would have happened if the Christian Reformed Church would have been put in charge of this important artifact.  What are the ways that we would have dressed it up or embellished the story?  Would we have survived the temptation to dress it up and sell a few more trinkets?  Or was I reading the local Greek Orthodox folk all wrong, that all of this addition to the story was simply borne of their sincere devotion, perhaps aided by further revelation from God? 

It’s hard to say, and for the purpose of me helping the people of Maranatha communicate our faith to the people of Cambridge, an irrelevant question. 

Or is it?

Maybe this is my revelation on Patmos.  When we add to the story, we pollute it, make it trite or unbelievable.  But when we communicate the truth of Christ’s love and sacrifice without trying to dress it up, then those who hear, aided by the Spirit, will have a revelation of their own.  

to Patmos

The other day as Carol and I were speeding along the Via Egnatia (Ignatia Odos) at 130 kmh, we talked about how much different our experience is from the apostle Paul's.  Our trip from Philippi to Thessalonica, for example, took a little more than an hour; his would have taken more than a week, maybe two.  There are many glaring differences between his experience and ours, not the least of which was that while we looked from the outside at his prison cell, he looked from the inside out.
So, as we sped along the Aegean Sea the other night on our way to Patmos (yes, I know, Paul wasn't recorded as having gone to Patmos, it is our strategic stop on the way to Turkey to see Ephesus), it struck me how easy our experience was.
First, price:  43 Euro per person for an eight-hour, 158 nautical mile trip.  Now, 43 euro is a little less than $60.00, for most adults, less than half a day's pay.  We have it pretty easy.
Second, options:  the Blue Star II is capable of carrying a few thousand people and hundreds of cars and trucks.    The top floors of the boat have cabins with beds, showers, and sitting areas.  There is even a pool up there for when people want to jump in the water without going overboard.
The main floor, where most of the people travel, has a fancy restaurant seating a few hundred up front, a bar seating a few hundred more at the back, and a 'Flo-Cafe' (Greek for 'Tim Horton's') in the middle.  In addition, there are sections of small theater areas, where the 'Air Seats' are about the size of a First Class Airplane seat but with way more leg room.
Because the ferry ride began at 7pm and ended at 3:15am, we chose the air seats, wanting comfort for rest and not wanting to shell out hundreds of dollars for a cabin.
So, we were having a pretty easy time of it.  We read, we journaled, we had dinner and snacked and slept.  It wasn't bad at all.

But there were also hundreds of other people.

Sometimes, especially the Greek men, they were loud, disrupting sleep and being generally annoying.
Sometimes, like a large group of Korean seniors, they were imposing their culture (like the exactness of sitting in the seat assigned to you, though this is not the Greek custom), and thereby raising the ire of the already loud Greek men, who, though there was no common language to communicate, were raising their voices so that while they were being misunderstood, they could at least be heard.  I could identify with both groups.
Sometimes, like the group of Free Methodist Christian College Students from Michigan, they were dazed, sleepy, and intermittently excited and irritable, like the pleasant young man who sat in front of Carol talking non-stop while she tried to sleep.

I wonder if Paul had to deal with so many people?  Maybe we had it rougher on that count.

By midnight, most folks were asleep, and aside from the sound of the door behind our chairs opening and closing so that smokers could go outside and do what needed to be done, it was pretty quiet.

Around 2:45 am, things started to get exciting.  We were all eager to get off the boat and to our hotels.  During the trip, I learned that both the group of 40 or so Koreans and the 30 or so students were all staying in the same hotel as us.  Envisioning the look on Carol's face if we were to have to stand in line behind these folks at the hotel, I resolved that Carol and I would be, nearly, the first ones off the boat.  Apparently, so had a few dozen surly Greek women.

Let's just say that getting off the boat was neither a demonstration of my greatest patience nor anyone elses.  We were all eager, all tired, and many of us, especially first-timers to the island, more than a little disoriented.

When I think that Paul had neither Flo-Cafe, nor Air Seats, nor booked hotel room, but rather, was shipwrecked, then I am reminded that while I attempt to walk in his footsteps, I am not able to walk in his shoes.  You see, he looked around at all those people with a burning desire to tell them about Christ, and not just to get out of his way so he could get to his hotel.

Still, so much to learn.  

Christos, Appollos, and the Cabbie

Christos, the friendly manager of the Aristoteles Hotel, greeted Carol and me the other  morning.  With a bright smile on his plump face, he announced that he had spoken to Appollo, in Ancient Greek thought the god of the Sun, and made arrangements for us to have a wonderful day.  Christos smiled.  I was pretty sure he was kidding.  Certainly this man who shared the same name as Jesus knew better than to put his trust in the likes of Zeus and Poseidon and Apollo.  Surely he whose hotel, the Aristoteles was near the corner of Socrates and Constantine, knew that belief in the gods of Myth was a dead-end.

He tipped his hat, saying he had Apollo’s cell-phone number (ok, he was kidding all along).  In his humour, he hearkened back to a better day when the gods actually were in charge and things were glorious, but ‘now that the politicians are in charge, things are falling apart.’  Those who know me, and the Gospel, know I could write a month of sermons out of that little conversation.  But I bit my tongue.  Well, not literally, but I didn’t speak. 

Things were falling apart.  As we walked Vathis Square, Omonia Square, and down to the Plaka, it was apparent that things were less than their Creational best, when God walked with people in the cool of the day.  The Wailin Jennys have a song, “Waiting for a Saviour”, a cry against the pain-makers and heart-breakers, which includes the line:  “To the one’s you’ve left behind, were they not worth your time?”   Sometimes we refer to the times of Paul in Athens as “Bible times” and I make the mental mistake of filing it as the time that God was present, close to the time when the Greater Christos walked the soil.   But that creates a disconnect, as if just because things aren’t at their Eden-optimum that God is on vacation, like He’s left behind the Vathians, Omonians, and lower ‘c’ Christoses of this world. 

And then, spark-like, He shows up in the unlikeliest of places. 

No surprise, really.  After crawling into a manger, then up on a cross, then into a tomb, and finally to the light of Eternal Day, it was no big deal for him to drive a cab from the armpit of Athens to her port, Pireaus.  I never did get our cabbie’s name, so for fun, let’s call him Alexander, he was great. 

Carol and I asked the cabbie why we had seen the police so infrequently and when we did, only in large groups.  Alexander’s response, “It is safer for them.”  This comment began a 20-minute conversation (with the meter running, Alexander was no dummy) about life in Greece, particularly Athens, with the debt crisis, the overwhelming influx of illegal immigrants, the soaring inflation AND tax rates, and the recent murder of an ethnic Greek by a Pakistani immigrant and how things were getting bad, so bad that the police themselves would travel in packs just to ensure their own safety (I’m glad my mom is reading this AFTER we have left Athens).    Alex (we were getting familiar now) said he had lived in Athens all his life, this was his home.  And then, as hopeless as Athens socio-economic-spiritual crisis appeared, Alex expressed hope, however sheepishly:  “Maybe, if the government insists on justice and does something, things can get better.”   

Whenever we express hope against unreasonable odds, we are leaning forward in faith.  The Wailin’ Jennys have another song, “Heaven When We’re Home”  where the lyrics are hymnically crooned, “there must be something better than this…still living one day at a time and doing the best I can….and when we find what we’re looking for, we’ll drop these bags and search no more, ‘cause it’s gonna feel like heaven when we’re home.” 

I think Alex, if he were a singer, might sing along.  

Athens - Part Two: the Areopagus

It’s either pathetic or mystic when the highlight of a trip-of-a-lifetime is a visit to a hunk of rock.  This metamorphic outcropping sits in the shadow of the Acropolis, just below the Temple of Zeus.  To climb to the top of the Areopagus, there are sixteen steps, just sixteen!  The same number the Wolfert children climb when their parents whisk them off to bed.  The rocky surface is uneven, littered with cigarette butts, and slopes off to a gravelly northern edge where garbage cans help stave off what might otherwise be a little more than a garbage hill. 

But, the Areopagus is Mars Hill.  Dionysius was an ‘Areopagite.’  THIS is the pivotal geographic point of my sabbatical!  Other than Cambridge, of course.  J 

The Apostle Paul stood on this same spot, we know this for certain.  As I looked down at my silver and yellow Sauconys, I imagined Paul’s sandals gripping the slippery limestone-turned-marble stones.  As I looked down on the Agora and the Stoa and the ancient artifacts below, I imagined Paul looking down on some of these same sights.  The olive trees on the north slope, likely a similar view to his.  And the Acropolis with the Parthenon, Erectheion and Temple of Zeus above, all in the same places, though in Paul’s day, in better repair. 

As I reflect on this, I want to have something to say, something to write, something to share.  I want to tell those who have helped fund this incredible trip and sabbatical that I “have been to the mountain” and have something to say.   But this early, I’d be making it up.  I don’t know what to say.   In fact, I bought a t-shirt to commemorate the moment with a saying from Socrates in Greek, “the only thing I know is that I know nothing.” 

But that’s not pathetic.  It is truly a highlight.   I am in awe, and for the relief and humour of those who know me to never be without words, speechless.  

Athens - ALL or NOTHING

God is here.  He helped us find our hotel.  I should explain.

This has happened a couple of times on this trip already, a trip during which I am reading John Van Sloten’s excellent, The Day Metallica Came to Church, whose thesis is that God is active everywhere.   You see, we have been driving this car, a Hyundai i-20, pretty small car for someone who is used to driving a Camry.  Even though the transmission is standard, I know how to drive it.   I’ve even become numb to paying 1.75 Euro per litre (or $2.45 Canadian).  But when the street signs, when you can find them, are in Greek, and the traffic zips around seemingly unfettered by rules, it is fairly easy to become lost.  We have.  A few times. 

The first time we ‘suddenly’ found our way was on our way back from Philippi.  We had stopped at a large ‘Carrefour’ (read: Walmart, again) and were a bit disoriented.  Our directions were in our hotel room and we were using our collective memory to find our way back.  Seemingly out of nowhere, our exit appeared, we crossed a few lanes and were off the hiway and into familiar territory.  Yeah God!

But this time, on our way into Athens, it was a bit more extraordinary, even a dull sot like me learned a little about the Providence of God.  Our directions had us going 21.9 kilometres into the city, then 2.1, the 450 meters, then 200 and so on.  Somewhere around the 2.1, we lost track of which street we were on; not a good thing when street signs are few and far between.  Just as I was losing my cool and retreating to a slightly quieter side street to gather my head and plan strategy, Carol called out:  “There it is!  Aristoteles Hotel!”  Sure enough, it was.  Yeah God! Again. 

After settling in to our ‘spacious’ hotel room, we dropped the car off at the local Hertz office (another harrowing drive) and began our walk back to the hotel, a simple 2 kilometre stroll through a neighbourhood in the shadow of the Acropolis, through our hotel’s more seedy neighbourhood in daylight and we’d be settled in for the night. 

Except, not so settled.

We walked back to our hotel around 7:30 pm.  It was still light, but the shadowy side of the city was beginning to show it’s face, or perhaps more accurately, their faces.  Two I remember are these:  a young girl prostituting herself and an old woman with one side of her face so badly bruised it was shocking.  The young girl’s eyes were vacant, as if her soul and spirit had long departed.  She couldn’t have been more than 15.  I wondered where her father was.  Then, I wondered where her Father was.  In my traffic ‘mini-racles’ I had declared God present.  In the face of such sadness, I was forced to wonder.  The older woman, maybe 60, sat at the edge of the street in Vathis Square, the most drug and prostitute infested square in the city.  I wondered what sort of evil had been inflicted upon her face that it was so badly bruised.  I wondered what sort of evil had been inflicted upon her self-esteem that she hadn’t left town but was still here in its saddest spot.  Again, one wonders in moments like this, “Is God really present everywhere?” 

“Yes”, my faith says, hoping to drag my mind and experience along, “but where?” 

G.K. Chesterton has written (and I paraphrase, though only a little), “When a customer picks up a prostitute (he used the words, ‘visits a brothel’) he is actually searching for God.”  I find it hard to swallow as I try to erase the 15-year-old's face from memory,  that the men who misuse her are actually reaching for God.  It seems too perverse. 

My impulses want to grab the vermin who inflict this kind of pain by the scruff of the neck and throw them on a garbage heap, in Greek, a Gehenna.  In English, Hell.  I want to, like the Dutch and Jewish wanted to distance themselves from Hitler, claim to have NOTHING in common with 'them.'  I am not, by nature, thinking there is some form or kind of redemption possible for them.  Or that they reflect or respond to the glory of God.  

But Chesterton was working with thoughts on Calvin’s “seed of religion” and how we all have this desire for God, misspent in too many ways.  Chesterton would have said that the customers of this child-prostitute were created with a desire for God, and by their actions showing in the most broken way how that desire, inappropriately directed, leads to the greatest of evils instead of the heights of glory. 

In a sense, that was what Paul encountered in Athens 2000 years ago.  Instead of worshipping the Creator, the learned philosophers were directing their hearts’ deepest attention to the thoughts of mythological gods captured in stone. 

When Paul encountered what he did, he declared, “God is here” in a message accommodated to their yearnings.  Which leaves me wondering, “What should or could be said to the men who hire these street children?”  How would you tell them, “God is here, but not that way?”  

Which brings me back to the topic of Gehenna.  As much as there is measurable moral distance between the Jewish prisoner of war and Hitler, between me and the prostitute's 'john', when viewed from the vantage point of God's inapproachable light, one's a speck and the other is a smudge, both deserving of Gehenna, or Hell.  

The gracious truth, all the more glaring in the deepest darkness of Athens, is that Jesus demonstrates pure unprostituted love for ALL of us, not simply by having his face bashed and bruised but by submitting his entire body, and his life, to the cross and the tomb.  

Arche Corinthos

Corinth.
The city of Corinth has long been a part of my imagination, as a backdrop for Paul's missionary visits there, as the recipients of the two Biblical letters, and even, in the mid-'70s, as the referent to Ricardo Montalban's enthusiasm for the Chrysler Cordoba's luxuriant leather.  On Wednesday of this week, these outlines were filled in by the colour, smells, and sounds of the Ancient City.
Corinth today is two cities, about 10 km apart.  Modern Corinth, a small city of 30,000, sits at the south-east end of the Gulf of Corinth, beside the Corinthian Canal (built in the late 1800s).  The enclosed picture is taken from just below the main bridge, from the vantage point of the bungee-jumping platform.  (You'll have to guess whether we jumped or not.)

Before getting to the meat of today's post, a comment.  Beside this human-made canal, which truly is a marvel, are two large marble plaques paying tribute to the men who oversaw the work over 100 years ago.  Funny though, this canal is a 75' wide by 10 kilometer cut through dirt and rock.  Compared to the Gulf of Corinth and Saronic Gulf at either end, it is a drop in the ocean, literally.  However, those bodies of water and their accompanying and more beautiful shores are not accompanied by large plaques paying tribute to the God who oversaw their making.   Which is so like God and our relationship with him.  The mountains and the trees and the seas ARE the plaque giving glorious tribute to God, says Psalm 19.  When we see the overwhelming beauty of these things, as we are this week, our impulse of appreciation goes to him.  I found this to be true in the 500 km drive from Thessaloniki to Corinth, as we dipped down to sea-side ports and soared up to mountainous roadways, that so many of my thoughts were prayers, thankful to the God who created ALL of it -- and me!

Now, to Ancient Corinth, or ArcheCorinthos as it is known here.  Ancient Corinth is a tiny little town at the base of the AcroCorinth.

The currently inhabited town of a few thousand people surrounds the ruins of Biblical and Classical Corinth.  These ruins are illuminating in many ways.  Walking through them, with the busloads of tourists from around the globe, one gets a sense of life in the town Paul spent some time in and came to love so dearly, writing at least four letters to, two of which are in the Bible.  We walked the ancient agora, saw the public baths, got a sense of the roadways, and viewed many of the impressive statuaries in tribute to whom many of the Corinthians viewed as gods.  

I thought of the challenge in Paul's Corinth of the disparity of wealth among Christians and how that played out over the communion meal.  This disparity became visible in the luxury of marble and large homes on the one hand and small hovels on the other.
I though of the 'problem' of what to do with the meat sacrificed to idols as we viewed the many statues in the museum.  I will never read, nor preach, the Corinthian letters the same.

After our tour of the ruins, we stopped at a 'taverna' for lunch.  They had wireless internet access and fantastic hospitality, not to mention good food.  As we sat outdoors at the taverna, we could look up the small street and see endless shops, hawking their wares so that the busloads of tourists could leave their money behind.

Instead of statuary, we are taking home memories and pictures, including this last one of the 'Erastus stone'.  Erastus was the Corinthian city treasurer and second highest official in town.  He was also a convert and friend of Paul's, mentioned in Romans 16:23.  This stone, which Erastus laid at his own expense, is only one of two stones ever found which include the names of persons from the Bible.  It is direct archeological supporting evidence of the historicity of Paul's letters, for whomever needs such things to bolster the authenticity of the Bible.  For me, it serves as a reminder that Paul wasn't simply creating a legacy but actually connecting with real people in real cities with the very real message of salvation through Christ.

Thessaloniki

Hamilton. 

The population of the second largest town in Greece is similar to that of Hamilton, Ontario. So I should not have been surprised that the city was similar in size and feel.  With no intended offense to Hamiltonians whose city is going through something of a spiritual renaissance, Thessalonica has all of the trappings of the Hamilton of my youth -- congestion, smog, traffic chaos, a harbour, a downtown centering on a square (Jackson's in Hamilton, Aristotelous in Thessaloniki).  

We stayed in an inexpensive hotel north of the city, on the mountain, in a forest, Hamiltonian equivalent might be Mt.Hope, especially since we were relatively close to the airport.  The hotel was quiet, it being off-season and the economy of Greece being in world-attention-getting dire straits.  

Thessaloniki was mostly a place to stay, knowing that our real reason for being up in Macedonia was to visit Philippi on the day between our two night stays in Thessaloniki.  Our excellent guide book, A Guide to Biblical Sites in Greece and Turkey by Clyde E. Fant and Mitchell G. Reddish, reminded us that there were no particular artifacts related to Paul's journey to Thessaloniki, but there were things to learn anyway.  

We had a free shuttle from the hotel to the center of town, dropping us off at the Platieu Hagios Sophias (St. Sophia Square).  We had three hours to take pictures and have dinner.  We found an outdoor cafe off the Aristotelous Square where we had Gyros and then went touring.  

The most visible monument was the Arch of Galerius from the 300s (A.D.) and the rotuda just up what was supposed to be named Odos Apostolou Paulus (Apostle Paul Street), except that the street was no longer named this.  

The Rotuda, which had been renamed by locals to 'St. George' after the tiny church beside it was a picture of contrasts.  First, the Rotuda, a massive round ancient building surrounded by wrought iron fencing barring everyone (except the scads of neighborhood cats) from entering in.  Surrounding the fenced area was a broad sidewalk, populated by hordes of vendors, selling shoes, jewelry and watches.  Around them, nearly every possible surface (except the actual facade of St. George Church, was smeared with graffiti.  In fact, the entire area was a disheartening mix of red brick and black spray paint.  Even in the midst of building which urge a posture of awe toward the God of history and of beauty and of impulses which create the religious institutions like St. George Church, the heart of many is to destroy, deface, and make ignoble that which is otherwise noble.  

Before catching the shuttle back to the hotel, we had time to do a bit of shopping.  Greece being the home of Greek Orthodoxy, it was not surprising to find a little shop that sold all things religious, especially books and icons.  We looked at a few things, finally making two small purchases, and the young salesman eagerly added two 'freebies' to my bag - plastic card icons of St. Demetrius.  Of course, my Reformed theological reflexes kicked in when he gave me the card.  I wanted to tell him that St. Demetrius was no more a saint than I was, that it didn't matter at all what Demetrius had done or what I had done, but rather, ONLY what Christ had done.  I wanted to say all this, but I held back, bagged my merchandise, and walked out of the store.  

And then it hit me.  Or maybe HE hit me.  With the overwhelmingly gracious truth.  Those hoodlums who had taken black spray paint to the Rotuda and to Hadrian's Arch were just as worthy recipients of God's grace as I am.  That this whole Hamilton-like city of inhabitants was still on God's "I love you whether you know it or not" list.  Yeah, there was, and still is, a lot to learn.  

Philippi

I said to Carol the other morning, "We are in Greece!"  And it was true!  Thanks to a generous and supportive congregation, we are following in some of the footsteps of the Apostle Paul (they call him Saint Paul, or Hagios Paulus over here).
After a great 9 hour flight, we landed in Athens Monday morning at 6:38 am (approximately) and drove the beautiful 500 km stretch from Athens to Thessalonica to our hotel in the Seich Sou Forest overlooking the city and harbour (and, just 45 Euro a night!).  The drive was fantastic, cruising along in our Hyundai i20 at 130 kilometres per hour (the posted speed limit), we became accustomed to seeing the sea on our right and the mountains on our left (and, occasionally on our left, BMWs, Mercedes, and VWs whizzing past us at north of 150kph!).  This incredible highway with world-class views, snakes around and sometime right under the mountains, with tunnels reaching 2 kilometres long.  The crumbling Greek economy picked up some lost ground on us as it collected 26 Euro in tolls.   Monday night we went to bed tired and eager to hit the road again Tuesday.
Tuesday: Philippi, which they pronounce here as - filippy - a tiny little dead town 150 kilometres east of Thessaloniki.  As we sped along the Egnatia Odos (remember the Via Egnatia from history class?), we thought of Paul, Silas and Timothy walking this path and seeing some of the same sights we were taking in -- fields of poppies, goat-herders, the sea, the mountains, and villages set at the base of the mountains where the fields of green produced lush olive, fig and grain crops.
When we arrived at the ruins of Ancient Philippi, we were about the third car in the parking lot.  The grounds-keeper, cutting the grass with a cigarette in his mouth (I think every Greek except the smallest of children smokes), nodded as we passed.  We first looked for the WC (Water Closet) where we spent .45 c on toilet paper from the dispenser (how IS their economy in shambles with ingenuity like this?).  The man in the guardhouse took our 4 Euro each (a combined pass for the ruins and the museum, works out to $5.20 each, ok, I can see how their economy is a mess, they could have charged us WAY more here).

 Then, Ancient Philippi.  There were many interesting sites and we took lots of pictures, but the one most interesting to us was the prison in which Paul and Silas praised God even though they were prisoners, and then were set free when an earthquake rocked the prison.

After seeing this in person, more of a cistern in a pit than the kind of thing we would see on movies like "Dead Man Walking", I got a bit of a sense for the intimacy of the place and how close the prison was to so many other things.  In fact, this prison was just a few feet away from the Egnatia Odos and the main town square (Agora) of Ancient Philippi, where Paul and Silas were likely arrested, just a few dozen yards beyond that.
After Philippi, we went just up the road to the town of Lydia, which includes a little spot just outside the town of Philippi, along a river (you readers of Acts 16 know where this is going).  We stopped at Lydia's Baptistry, which seems to have gone through a few upgrades since that historic day when the first convert on European soil received Christ.

On the way back to Thessaloniki, we stopped to buy some supplies (read: wine) at BritMac (read: Walmart, Philippian style) where we met the lovely couple who run the place -- Steve and Chris.  She is from Holland and he is from Britain.  He told me that there were a "*****-load" of religious sites to see and that, 'as everybody knows' Lydia was Paul's girlfriend.  He reminded me that even people close to the story can miss the story.  And then he said, as he told me about a nearby monastery I should visit: "God's there, you can feel it."  And I was reminded, that God really did create all of us with an impulse, even a desire for him.  Which is really what this trip is all about.