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!