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about Islam, while they believe in much of what our Bible says, they would suggest that Jesus was merely a prophet, superceded by Mohammed.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!
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!
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