Living the Christian faith among the stones and silence of Türkiye
Istanbul (Photo by Roberto and Gabriella Ugolini)
From our correspondents Gabriella and Roberto Ugolini, fidei donum returning from Anatolia: praying in a Muslim country
It may seem like a banal statement, but it wasn't for us: the sound of a bell had the ability to move us and make us feel at home. In a land like Turkey, the luxury of the bells is the prerogative of the inhabitants of large cities like Istanbul, Smyrna, and some smaller ones like Iskenderun (ancient Alexandretta), the seat of our Apostolic Vicariate, as well as Mersin, Antioch, Samsun, Trabzon, and Konya.
That's about it the Catholic churches.
Then there are some southeastern cities such as Mardin and Midyat in Tur Abdin (the mountain of the servants of God), where the oldest local Christian communities are present, the Syriac Orthodox, who still celebrate the liturgy using Aramaic, the language of Jesus. There too the bells ring.
We, on the other hand, lived in the far east, on the border with Iran. We were 900 km from the first Catholic church. In these areas, bells have been missing for many years. There are no longer any functioning churches, and those that remain—all Armenian—have become museums at best, or have been requisitioned by the locals and converted into stables, sheepfolds, and vegetable gardens.
This land of Türkiye, cradle of our faithAfter Jerusalem, it witnessed the greatest flowering of Christianity, so much so that it earned the name of the Holy Land of Turkey. Figures such as Paul of Tarsus, Luke, Basil, Ephrem the Syrian, John Chrysostom, Ignatius of Antioch were born here, and we could continue.
Today, however, in light of the current situation, Christians run a great risk: that of becoming obsessed with numbers, counting how many are left. There is also another looming risk: that of finding ourselves living in nostalgia for the stone monuments, the glories and testimonies of a fruitful time.
But the life and history of the flesh-and-blood church must go before everything else.
It's no longer the time to cry over what was and is no longer, to stand by and watch the stones fall from half-ruined churches, shaking our heads. It's certainly painful, but enough! We must acknowledge, with courage and realism, that Today the situation of Christians is that of small numbers and that, as Qoheleth wrote: “There is a time for and a time for.”
Image
- Photo by Roberto and Gabriella Ugolini
From our correspondents Gabriella and Roberto Ugolini, fidei donum returning from Anatolia: praying in a Muslim country
It may seem like a banal statement, but it wasn't for us: the sound of a bell had the ability to move us and make us feel at home. In a land like Turkey, the luxury of the bells is the prerogative of the inhabitants of large cities like Istanbul, Smyrna, and some smaller ones like Iskenderun (ancient Alexandretta), the seat of our Apostolic Vicariate, as well as Mersin, Antioch, Samsun, Trabzon, and Konya.
That's about it the Catholic churches.
Then there are some southeastern cities such as Mardin and Midyat in Tur Abdin (the mountain of the servants of God), where the oldest local Christian communities are present, the Syriac Orthodox, who still celebrate the liturgy using Aramaic, the language of Jesus. There too the bells ring.
We, on the other hand, lived in the far east, on the border with Iran. We were 900 km from the first Catholic church. In these areas, bells have been missing for many years. There are no longer any functioning churches, and those that remain—all Armenian—have become museums at best, or have been requisitioned by the locals and converted into stables, sheepfolds, and vegetable gardens.
This land of Türkiye, cradle of our faithAfter Jerusalem, it witnessed the greatest flowering of Christianity, so much so that it earned the name of the Holy Land of Turkey. Figures such as Paul of Tarsus, Luke, Basil, Ephrem the Syrian, John Chrysostom, Ignatius of Antioch were born here, and we could continue.
Today, however, in light of the current situation, Christians run a great risk: that of becoming obsessed with numbers, counting how many are left. There is also another looming risk: that of finding ourselves living in nostalgia for the stone monuments, the glories and testimonies of a fruitful time.
But the life and history of the flesh-and-blood church must go before everything else.
It's no longer the time to cry over what was and is no longer, to stand by and watch the stones fall from half-ruined churches, shaking our heads. It's certainly painful, but enough! We must acknowledge, with courage and realism, that Today the situation of Christians is that of small numbers and that, as Qoheleth wrote: “There is a time for and a time for.”
Image
- Photo by Roberto and Gabriella Ugolini
Istanbul (Photo by Roberto and Gabriella Ugolini)
