Tag Archives: Turkey

DUSK IN THE QUEEN OF CITIES

The sun is racing to hide behind the aged Theodosian walls and reign in full purple over the vast Thracian plain. The guided tour program has ended and pilgrims have scattered in groups at the market for shopping and dinner.

Our company – seven souls – is walking through old Constantinople, searching for some relics of the Byzantine Queen of Cities in the modern city of 15 millions. Tonight, the last night of the pilgrimage, we would try to discover some Byzantine churches, more than a thousand years old, that still stand forgotten by Time, but unfortunately, also by Greek visitors to the City.

We cross a main street and turn left onto a smaller one. In front of us stands a large mosque, which externally bears the characteristics of a monastery chapel except for the Cross, which has been absent from its dome for some centuries.

We proceed and ask the hodja for permission to enter. Eager and friendly, he welcomes us and allows us entry. At the same time, he explains to us that this is where the famous monastery of Akataliptos (1) was located in Byzantine times. However, the time of prayer is approaching for the faithful Muslims; the hodja leaves us and, dressed in his official uniform, enters the interior and begins namaz (2). About a dozen men gather around him, repeating some prayers and kneeling when he gives the order.

Barefoot and silent, we explore the interior of the mosque, persistently searching its walls and arches for some fragments of frescoes or mosaics. However, we cannot see anything, since the plaster has been scraped off along with the iconographies that were depicted on it (aniconic Islam strictly forbids the depiction of the physical form of God and His prophets). Only in the arch of the central entrance from the apse to the main temple do we see traces of fresco. The figures are unrecognisable.

We leave the mosque, without having satisfied our desire to discover something unique from the years of Byzantine glory. As we stand in the courtyard of the mosque, we observe symmetrically towards the central building, constructions that could be the chapels of the catholicon (3).

As it has already become dark for good, we move to the left and enter a garden with trees, where there are many ruins haphazardly thrown away, who knows since when. Carved marbles, capitals, broken columns, stones and a wall on the north side of the garden, elsewhere collapsed, elsewhere standing still. It was as if we had entered another era. A few steps behind us was the City of the 21st century, and yet in that space we felt that time had stopped counting.

With considerable hesitation and some fear lest someone might stop us, we enter the ruins and proceed to the depths where an iron door is visible. Could it be a chapel? After crossing the garden of ruins, we reach the locked door. Its window has no glass and in the dim light we can make out the interior. It does indeed appear to be one of the chapels of the catholicon. However, there are no murals or mosaics in it, as we had imagined, but only cleaning supplies, trash cans, brooms, dust pans, street cleaners’ uniforms…

We return somewhat disappointed, but something does not let us abandon that place yet. We search through the ruins. We stop at a large marble slab, leaning against a terrace. Is it perhaps the breastplate of the old iconostasis? Does it have relief crosses and other Christian symbols somewhere? In a little while we will grasp that this marble is a Holy Altar. The casket of the inauguration is clearly visible, from which the cap and of course its contents are missing. There we bow as we feel that we are in front of a plundered holy Altar, one of the many that were desecrated and destroyed after the Fall. In shock, we embrace its edge.

We leave the garden and return to the mosque. We want to beg the kind-hearted hodja to open the right chapel for us, the entrance to which we have already located among the grass and the bushes on the other side of the mosque. He takes the keys and we follow him with awe and hope. We cross another garden with fewer ruins and reach the iron door. At this point, the light of a spotlight falls on the outside, but the interior of the chapel remains dark. It has many small spaces, niches, arches; an ideal place for a vigil!

The guide shows us a tomb, but his limited English does not allow him to explain more to us. However, he allows us to take photographs, as he draws our attention to the places where there are fragments of a mural-fresco, as he calls it. In the flash of the camera we can indeed see a few icons preserved in much better condition than those of the Catholicon. In a niche is the representation of the Theotokos – in the type of Platytera, (ie. More Spacious than the Heavens) – and on either side of it is the inscription Panagia the Kyriotissa (4).

We worship the mural of the Theotokos, humming Axion estí (ie. It is Meet and Right). In a moment we leave the solemn chapel and the priest locks the rusty lock again. He tells us that tomorrow all of us pilgrims could come to see this monument. We thank him and leave but we still do not feel like returning to the hotel. Today is our last night in the City and we would like to experience more of its secrets.

We now head north, continuing our journey through the old neighbourhoods. Somewhere we pass under an arch from the Byzantine period, a ruin that still stands. Next to it is a huge plane tree. Now the lights are fading and the area looks like a remote neighbourhood. In an opening in the semi-darkness, some children are playing ball. At the end of the small road that we cross, we turn into an alley and find ourselves in front of a small but beautiful and perfectly preserved, at least externally, Byzantine church. An elegant work of art with its central dome, three smaller domes in the narthex and two chapels integrated into the entire building. However, inside this little church is a Muslim mosque.To our surprise, we see Christian symbols welcoming us, carved into the marble slabs on either side of the central entrance.

The hour is past and the door is closed. However, someone seems to be inside and we gather the courage and knock to let us in. It is the hodja of the mosque, not as cheerful as the previous one, and he hurries to show us the fresco in the right dome of the narthex. In the dim light we see Christ Pantocrator at the centre of the dome and around Him a choir of Saints. The middle dome and the left are plastered on the inside. In the main church there is nothing to remind of the Byzantine past of this building, except for a few Corinthian capitals. The chapel on the right serves as a storeroom; it is closed. On the left, the other chapel is open and illuminated. It has been converted into… a restroom, three toilets in a row, in the space that once was the Sanctuary… Somewhere there is a small door, and a narrow, almost hidden staircase, leading up to a small room.

“The priest used to live there”, the hodja explains to us and adds in his broken English: “Byzantine holy water”, showing us a stone jar in the narthex filled with water. What could this be? A bottle of holy water from the Byzantine years, which has changed its use and is now used for washing Allah’s faithful before their prayer?

We thank the hodja, apologise for the evening disturbance and make our way to leave. At the exit of the mosque, a basket has been placed and we are asked to put whatever tip we want into the basket…We leave and take the road back. It is already late but we are in no hurry to return. In our inner world, emotions are mixed, especially of those who were coming to old Constantinople for the first time. Everyone reflects on what they saw tonight…

More than five hundred years have passed since the Queen of Cities fell, but some thousand-year-and more-old buildings remain standing, provoking with their presence Time, the Catalyst. They remain standing and wait. What are they waiting for? Are they waiting for sensitive international organisations to protect them and stop the work of desecration? Are they waiting for tourists to photograph them? Are they waiting for the Greek visitors, who have completely forgotten about them? Are they waiting for incense to be fragrant, for candles and multi-branched chandeliers to light their kube5 (Turk. ie dome)? Are they waiting for the sound of ‘Christ is Risen’ to be heard under their thousand-year-old arches?

And yet, they are waiting…

Hieromonk Synesios, Monastery of St.A, V, Ch.

Notes

  1. The Monastery of Christ Akataleptos (the Incomprehensible Christ) is first mentioned in a document from the year 1094 and existed until the end of the Byzantine empire. For a long time, it was believed that the Kalenderhane mosque was the church of this monastery. However, this church is now securely identified as that of the monastery of the Mother of God Kyriotissa. The former Byzantine church known as Eski Imaret Camii, which was usually taken for that of Christ Pantepoptes (the All-Overlooking Christ), has only recently been identified with the church of the monastery of Christ Akataleptos. Cf. https://www.byzantium1200.com/akataleptos.html
  2. Namaz: Turkish word for prayer with genuflection.
  3. Catholicon: In the Orthodox Church, a catholicon is the main church of a monastery, often located at the center of a monastic complex and serves as the primary location for main liturgical services.
  4. The Church of Theotokos Kyriotissa (probably now Kalenderhane Mosque) is located near the east end of the Aqueduct of Valens in Constantinople. While it is a large Middle Byzantine church with a cross-in-square plan covered by a dome, it has a complex structural history, with several stages of building on the site, including a bath complex. Cf.https://www.thebyzantinelegacy.com/kyriotissa

Pillars To Heaven: Stylites in the Levant

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CIS:E.445-1965

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St. Symeon Stylites

By Lord Alfred Tennyson

 

Altho’ I be the basest of mankind,

From scalp to sole one slough and crust of sin,

Unfit for earth, unfit for heaven, scarce meet

For troops of devils, mad with blasphemy,

I will not cease to grasp the hope I hold

Of saintdom, and to clamour, morn and sob,

Battering the gates of heaven with storms of prayer,

Have mercy, Lord, and take away my sin.

Let this avail, just, dreadful, mighty God,

This not be all in vain that thrice ten years,

Thrice multiplied by superhuman pangs,

In hungers and in thirsts, fevers and cold,

In coughs, aches, stitches, ulcerous throes and cramps,

A sign betwixt the meadow and the cloud,

Patient on this tall pillar I have borne

Rain, wind, frost, heat, hail, damp, and sleet, and snow…(1)

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Interview About Stylites (2)

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Qala’at Si’man. Ruins of the Basilica of St. Simeon the Elder, Deir Sim’an, Syria (3)

 

RTE: Lukas, will you describe your archeological work, and how you became interested in the stylites?

LUKAS: … My interest in monasticism in general has led me to a very particular interest in stylitism (stylos, in Greek, meaning “column”), the ascetics who stood on pillars. Although we often think of stylitism as a very unique and lonely calling, in its developed form it cannot be separated from monasticism. The stylite withdrew from the world, but in doing so in such a spectacular way, he attracted the world. And as soon as people began coming for advice or counsel, he needed dedicated friends or disciples to organize his life – to make sure he was protected, that he would be given the hours of silence he needed, and that the people coming to see him were taken care of.

…

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The stylite himself is generally seen as a Syrian-Mesopotamian phenomenon, a very severe attempt to follow Christ not only through self-mortification and fasting, but through standing on a tiny platform at the top of an exposed column or pillar – never coming down, and only rarely sitting or lying down. By exposing themselves to the harshest conditions any human can, they strove to be spiritually cleansed and to elevate their souls.

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What we know about the stylites comes from Greek and Syriac texts, some written when the stylites were still alive, and many of which relate the history of the most famous pillar saint, St. Simeon the Stylite (the Elder), who died in 459. Within twenty years after his death, the famous pilgrim- age sanctuary and later medieval fortress of Qal’at Si’man was built. As Christians, we would call it “The Martyrium of St. Simeon the Stylite.”

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St. Simeon the Elder is the prototype, he was the one who was imitated. Of his life we have very specific evidence in both Greek and Syriac sources, although it is the Syriac which give the best descriptions. They tell us that he was a very ascetic man, and that at a certain point in his life he joined a monastic community. At a very early stage, however, it became clear that he was much more rigorous than the other brothers and finally had to leave to pursue his calling.

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St. Simeon moved north of the mountain of Gebel Sheikh Barakat, to a village called Telanissos (now Deir Sim’an), at the foot of the mountain where his sanctuary was later built. (Gebel is “mountain” in Arabic, and it is now known as Gebel Sim’an.) The Syriac sources say that he lived a very basic life. We read of him taking a camel laden with goods up and down the road, and that wherever he went people were impressed by this humble, modest man. At a certain point he decided to go up the mountain to expose himself to the harshness of the wilderness.

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Don’t forget, we are in northern Syria where winters may be very, very cold and summers extremely hot with strong winds. Simeon was very aware that this place was exposed to harsh weather conditions year round. However, it is also a very beautiful place, with a 270o view in several direc- tions, and not far from the village and the Roman road. If you take the old north-south Roman road from Cyrrhus, forty or fifty kilometers north, down towards Telanissos (now Deir Sim’an) to the junction that links you to Antioch in the west, you’ve passed between Telanissos and Gebel Sim’an.

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So, we know that he was here not far from the main road, that he stood on the column without a break, summer and winter, for almost fifty years; that he was famous for his asceticism, for his suffering endurance, but also for the very social role he played in giving advice and counsel to the local population, to those who passed on the roads, to distant nomadic Arab tribes that came for his judgement and help, and even to the Byzantine emperor. We know he was constantly asked for personal, moral, and even legal advice (and this is important because legal matters in those days were very linked to religion, as in modern Islam.) So, St. Simeon was a man for everyone and everything.

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But he soon found himself in the dilemma of having withdrawn from the world, but now being too close to the world. Pilgrims, as we know from the sources, came from far and wide. They came from all over the Mediterranean: by boat to Antioch, then crossing the rough country to Simeon’s column. They came from Seleukia, from Asia Minor, from the Arabian peninsula, from Europe. As time went on, he decided to add anoth- er ten cubits to his column, and then another, until finally according to the Syriac text, he was standing at a height of forty cubits. (40 cubits = 60 feet or 18 meters)

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RTE: I remember from his Life that he didn’t begin with a pillar – perhaps he had gone up the mountain simply because it was isolated and he knew that other people couldn’t conveniently live there. But the moment they understood that he was a holy man they came anyway, as people do, until the crowds were trying to touch him, to grab pieces of his clothing. I’ve wondered if perhaps he had even taken a vow to remain there and the pillar was simply a necessary measure to get out of their reach.

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LUKAS: Yes. I think it was the universal dilemma of an isolated holy man. Once you are holy you often become known and can’t avoid people seeking bless- ings. The holy man is like a magnet. But permanent exposure to the world puts your monastic ideals at risk because you don’t have the time of reclusion, of absolute silence, of being alone with God. So, adding to the column’s height was perhaps an attempt to maintain his original ideal of a life of prayer.

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RTE: Also, the noise of a constant crowd – in St. Simeon’s case it was not a handful, but hundreds of people a day from different countries with horses, pack animals, campfires. Some stayed for weeks. It must have been overwhelming.

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(1) For the full poem go to http://www.online-literature.com/tennyson/728/

(2) For the full two-day traveling interview through the Syrian desert, where Lukas’ command of archeological detail and his fascinating insights (both Christian and academic) into the daily lives of these great ascetics make the era come alive, its saints immediate, and their presence inescapable, go to http://www.roadtoemmaus.net/back_issue_articles/RTE_22/PILLARS_OF_HEAVEN.pdf

(3) The church of Saint Simeon Stylites dates back to the 5th century. The United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) designated it a World Heritage Site in 2011.

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* Austrian archeologist Lukas Schrachner’s extensive fieldwork centers on early Christian monasteries and stylite sites in Turkey, Syria, Lebanon, Jordan, and Egypt. The Levant in the present context is the region occupied by Palestine, Trans-Jordan, Lebanon, Syria and south-eastern Turkey.