random | Anita Mathias: Dreaming Beneath the Spires

Praise the Lord anyway, amid the Grit or Glory

On a sunny day, I wrote a happy little blog called Praise the Lord, Anyway.

And the Lord read it, and smiled, and said, “Good girl, Anita! Yes, yes, you are right, of course. And so that the nice words you’ve written truly move from head to heart, I will give you opportunities to practice, so that you truly believe it.”

But I did not hear him, and so I continued being happy, without trepidation. Right through an intense holiday in the Istanbul, a loud bustling megapolis—with intense, exotic unique beauty, as well as time wasted going to museums “closed for renovation;” getting to mosques just as they close for “ritual prayers;” climbing up Istanbul’s highest hill to the Topkapi Palace, just as there was the biggest, most massive dust-storm I’ve ever been in, and then, just as we got there, it was closed because of the risk of the massive unpruned trees falling.

Unpredictability is a factor in the third and second world. And living in the midst of it, gives you good practice in being happy, whatever! Realising that we do have control over our mental states, that we can decide to be positive and happy—or not!!

And then, after a relatively uneventful holiday, over which I had had unusual fears, things went a bit pear-shaped. Our airport shuttle didn’t arrive. Many calls later, it came, drove us a bit to a main road, and then waited interminably, and finally hailed another shuttle. Scary!!

And then we found the flight had been overbooked. And so, we accepted £750 in cash compensation for the 3 of us (not bad for a flight which only cost a total of £500) and vouchers for a five star hotel and dinner and taxis. (And the delicious free restaurant dinner was, ironically, the best we had in Istanbul). But with all the faffing, we got just 3.5 hours sleep, waking up early for a shuttle, which was, again, an hour late!!

Oh well, £750 for the inconvenience and the adventure. In retrospect, it doesn’t seem too bad!!

* * *

Though we kept well within budget this holiday I felt uneasy at the money we were forking out.

I was mentored in prayer over a five year period by someone who prayed big, sweeping, quixotic, no-harm-in-asking prayers. Just because you love me prayers. Paul Miller who wrote the inspiring A Praying Life. He often quoted Jesus’ words, “Ask anything in my name, and it will be done for you.” John 14;14 “Ask whatever you wish, and it will be given you,” John 15:7.

It’s like Jesus is saying, “Come on, really. Ask me for your heart’s desire. Ask me for whimsical things. Ask me for ANY birthday present you like, ANYTHING child. I can afford it. Really. Trust your father.”

And so (I share this with you, a little shyly) whenever I thought, “Gosh, we are hemorrhaging money,” (and what else is travel but hemorrahging money?) I’d say, “Lord, let something happen because of, or as a result of, this trip that will help us recoup the money we’ve spent.”

Is a bit ignoble to involve God in the nitty-gritty of your financial affairs–to ask for a little water-into-wine, 5 into 5000, the fruitless night-turning-into-bursting-nets kind of fairy dust and magic?

Goodness, no! Who else could we involve in our affairs whose intervention would be half so intelligent and effective?

Isaac Newton wrote “I was like a boy playing on the sea-shore, and diverting myself now and then finding a smoother pebble or a prettier shell than ordinary, whilst the great ocean of truth lay all undiscovered before me.” Even the intelligent among us are but children playing on a seashore, so limited is our intelligence. We are children, really, as God so often calls us in Scripture, and need the help of a superior intelligence to get through life intelligently!!

* * *

Let me share another trivial request he granted kindly. When our business went into profit in 2008, after 14 nail-biting months, and we had a surplus, the first thing I did was not to pay off some of my mortgage, as an intelligent woman would have done (but I have just confessed the limitations of my intelligence) but build a lovely conservatory.

I used to suffer from mild SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder) and found my mood, my reading speed, my creative thinking, my energy and gusto slowed down dramatically in a dark house. We have a 1711 cottage which Roy loves (but I want to punch out the walls and put in windows. Have succeeded in two rooms, but he calls the darkness “cosy.”)

So I built this conservatory, and immediately find my mood lifted, my concentration sharpened, and new energy and optimism seep into me as I enter its warm, sunny spaces.

But I felt guilty at the cost, and prayed that as a result of the work we did there, or the things that happened there, we’d recoup the cost.

And we did, sooner than I expected. Having a large, lovely, sunny space to invite people to (without having to tidy up the rest of the house!!) meant we became very hospitable, and had people over to a meal or coffee several times a month. Our business was expanding to the point so much that it left me no time to write; it was becoming overwhelming and was stressful. In conversation, we found intelligent friends we trusted who needed more income, or a job, or another job, at the same time as we were desperate for help.

So we hired 12 people, six of whom really clicked with the eccentric business and are still working with us. And, of course, the growth and expansion they brought covered the cost of the conservatory, as I had prayed something would—without any idea of what or how!!

* * *

I love travel. I love its perfect moment: meals in scenic locations, perfect gardens, perfect paintings, perfect churches, beautiful scenes, exploration, adventure, experience, relaxation. Beauty, newness, understanding history better, understanding cultures better. The sort of travel I enjoy is really an education. And it is often sheer happiness for our family.

But travel is rather expensive. There are aspects which are rough—cramped seats in planes; lines in airports; cancelled or delayed flights, “wasted” time when things don’t go according to plan, one’s body clock messed up on the days of travel. One thing I like to do on holidays is wander aimlessly down Old Cities, and cobbled streets, getting the feel of ancient cities, sampling their food, their sights and their pleasures. But this can be exhausting!!

We have been travelling a lot, since Roy transitioned from working as a math professor to being self-employed at our company. English school have 6 six week half-terms, interspersed with holidays, so we’ve travelled like addicts during most holidays—Norway, Aug 2009, New Zealand, Dec. 2009, France, Easter 2010; Ireland and Brittany, Summer 2010; Prague, Autumn 2010; Granada, Dec 2010; Rome, Feb 2011; Ravenna/Bologna, April 2011; Sweden, Aug. 2011, and Istanbul, 2012.

Which has led to unhealthy work patterns. We work intensely for six weeks after which we are often quite mentally, intellectually and creatively fatigued, then completely relax, and come back recharged, as good as new for another six intense weeks.

I read a blog post from Joe Thorn, a pastor who burned out and after that constructed a daily schedule with everything built in. Everything! Exercise, gardening, couple time, family time, rest, work etc. He says, I’m healthier, happier, and bearing more fruit as a result. I’m actually accomplishing more now than when I was trying to do more before.

So I have decided to pace myself to work less, but more sustainably (and so more in the long run.) I am slowly working on a schedule, building in gardening, exercise, housekeeping, family and couple time, prayer and scripture into my day as well as reading and writing. Building in family outings and movies and documentaries on a weekly basis. And this hopefully will keep me fresh and green for longer, so that I will not need to travel every half-term, even if we choose to.

And ah, travelling a little less—that might help me recoup the expenses of that intense, rich holiday in Istanbul, as I had prayed something would.

But, of course, since we are dealing with God here, he may choose to answer the prayer in a way I had not asked or imagined!!

Sailing Back from Byzantium

By Anita Mathias

Byzantine Art in the Church of Our Saviour at Chora

Sailing Back from Byzantium

Back home from a week in Istanbul (Byzantium/Constantinople).

The vanished Kingdom of Byzantium is best celebrated in Yeats’ beautiful poem, “Sailing to Byzantium.”

THAT is no country for old men. The young

In one another’s arms, birds in the trees

– Those dying generations – at their song,

The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,

Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long

Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.

Caught in that sensual music all neglect

Monuments of unageing intellect.

An aged man is but a paltry thing,

A tattered coat upon a stick, unless

Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing

For every tatter in its mortal dress,

Nor is there singing school but studying

Monuments of its own magnificence;

And therefore I have sailed the seas and come

To the holy city of Byzantium.

O sages standing in God’s holy fire

As in the gold mosaic of a wall,

Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,

And be the singing-masters of my soul.

Consume my heart away; sick with desire

And fastened to a dying animal

It knows not what it is; and gather me

Into the artifice of eternity.

Once out of nature I shall never take

My bodily form from any natural thing,

But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make

Of hammered gold and gold enamelling

To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;

Or set upon a golden bough to sing

To lords and ladies of Byzantium

Of what is past, or passing, or to come.

Byzantium of course no longer exists. It was destroyed by the Crusaders in 1204. One of them leaves an account of The Great Palace of the Byzantine Emperors,

“Within the Palace, there were fully 500 halls, all connected with one another, and all made with gold mosaic. And in it were fully 30 chapels, great and small, and one called the Holy Chapel, which was so rich and noble that there was not a hinge or band that was not all of silver, and there was no column that was not of jasper or porphyry or some other precious stone.”

By the time, the crusaders left the Palace it was virtually destroyed, and the old Byzantium is now best seen in Ravenna which we visited last year, the lovely mosaics constructed by craftsmen sent from Byzantium.

And now, I am so enjoying my regular life of reading and writing and reading Scripture and praying (and other things besides). It is a bit intense, and I felt the need of a break, and the best part of travel is that it makes the life you left behind seem doubly sweet on your return.

An Istanbul Must See — The Topkapi Palace, the Former Center of Ottoman of Power

By Anita Mathias

A guest post by Roy Mathas

Topkapi Palace is an highlight in Istanbul. Luckily we went off season, so it was not too crowded. The former Ottoman palace is exquisitely decorated in tiles of varying hues of blue and green. I hope this post is not TMI (too many images). Any suggestions of easy ways, using GIMP or Picassa or Photoshop, to straighten pictures without losing resolution or remove glare from the flash would be appreciated.

Irene tiptoeing to be taller than her mother.

The star attraction of Topkapi is the harem. Here is the first decorated room in the harem. Our response was “Wow, definitely worth the extra admission charge.” The self guided tour is organised so that each section is more impressive than the previous, so you are always saying “Why did we spend so log on the beginning” and never “Oh, just another room.”

An exterior passageway

The palace was destroyed by two great fires, so perhaps it is OK to spoil a photo with a fire extinguisher.

A single tile

A single tile from the wall above.

A couple of border tiles

A lovely geometric pattern on the wall

Closer sinspection reveals the details (for some reason it looks green from a ditance)

and here is a single hexagonal tile

The Queen Mother’s apartment is the grandest living area in the women’s area. The room, tiles from floor to ceiling has a fireplace, and cupboards.

Here is the ceiling of another room in her apartement

and Irene photographing it

Inlaid mother-of-pear cabinet

detail

A border

Harem comes from the Arabic (ḥaram) ‘something prohibited; sanctuary, women’. Most of the Harem is enclosed, wit few windows. We are outside again, in a courtyard.

The walls under the arches are tiled

A wall by the Sultan’s chamber

and a close up

The Sultan’s chamber. Naturally the largest and grandest room, but actually, the crown prince’s rooms, being smaller have a greater intensity of decoration.

An alcove with three shelves (still in the sultan’s chamber)

Half the ceiling and the top of a wall (sky lights in the very center)

A couple of details of the painted arches

Corner of sultan’s chamber

In the next room, a water tap for ritual washing

detail

More decorated alcoves

Next we move to a remarkably beautiful room, that seemd to be just the meeting place for two corridors. Ceiling and top of the walls

Five shots of a truly beautiful wall — I will have to find more pics of it

One of the two crown prince’s rooms.

Top of the wall

Detail

Further refined

This incredibly detailed work is about 10 feet up — well above eye level!

The crown prince’s room was well endowed with windows, but visitors can only access part of the room, hence the angled shots.

Gilded alchoves

What looks like the tree of life.

This looks like a carpet made of tiles. (This needs to be straightened, but Picassa’s straighten tool loses resolution.)

Rhe top of the wall and a little of the ceiling

The ceiling

A brillliant panel in a narrow passage bewteen two rooms

Outside, again. The outside of the crown prince’s rooms

Still no expense spared. Notice the tiling between the windows, and the gilded decoration on the eaves.

Gilded decoration on the eaves

Tiling at the base of the wall

An unusual wall panel, that seems to tell a story

A long tiled wall

and it’s time for a very late and well deserved lunch at the restaurant overlooking the Bosphorus

There is lot more to Topkapi. Here is the Sultan’s library — a large bright airy pavilion in the gardens

The divan and Hall of state

Entrance to hall of state

A corner of the Hall of state

Detail of an archway in the Hall of State

A couple of tulips

It was a beautiful day

A final glimpse of the Blue Mosque on the way out.

Nothing is Impossible With God

By Anita Mathias

John hears Jesus’s last words. He sees Jesus absolutely dead, blood and water issuing from his heart. He goes to bed, I imagine, shattered beyond grief—rent with the horror and guilt and unimaginable agony I would feel if I saw that happen to my husband or father or child. Talk of post-traumatic stress!

And then, and then–two days later, he enters the grave, and sees the burial cloth that had been around Jesus’ head folded up by itself. Neatly, orderly.

And he says simply in the third person, “He saw and believed.”

That Jesus was resurrected.

And, surely, his world exploded. Anything was possible, as Jesus had said so often. Miracles, magic. “Did I not tell you that if you believed you would see the glory of God?” Jesus had said, just a week ago!! “Everything is possible for one who believes.” (Mark 9:23).

* * *

“All things are possible if you believe.” The believing comes before the impossible becomes possible.

After years of being in and leading women’s small groups, I often wonder if we all have a compartmentalised faith—areas in which we find it easy to trust and believe God, and areas in which we find it hard.

It’s relatively easy for me to trust God with my finances; I believe he is the river of abundance, and it’s not hard for me (in general) to believe he’ll replenish my stores.

In February, I had a cancer scare, and had a biopsy. On the day I was told of the abnormal ultrasound results, fear gripped my heart: fear of chemotherapy mostly, and also of death before my children are safely grown up, or before I have fulfilled my dream of writing. “Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain,” as John Keats said. I realised that I had a choice to trust or be afraid. I decided on faith to trust and peace possessed my heart. I basically almost forgot about the biopsy and went on writing. Just as well, as it took 4 weeks to receive the biopsy result—which was normal!!

But there are things for which I pray, and it’s just words. I have little faith in my heart that what I pray for will come to pass, though I know Jesus said, Truly I tell you, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you.” Matt. 17:20.

· * *

The dead Jesus walks. He has neatly folded the cloth covering his head.

All things are now possible for them for believe.

But yet not all our prayers are answered affirmatively. Sometimes the answer to prayer is No.

Jacob wrestles with God, refusing to let God go, unless he is blessed. And so God blesses him.

And the blessing is a limp.

A limp to slow down the self-sufficient, manipulative, scheming Jacob. A child will be able to out-run him. He will tire easily. He will not be able to oversee everything himself. He will have to depend on others. And on God.

Paul is given a thorn in the flesh, so that he will have to get through his day and his life relying on God’s grace which is sufficient. On God’s power made perfect in weakness.

My limp and thorn is my rapidly declining physical fitness. My battles with weight.

And I don’t know what to do!! Should I accept it as God’s will? A thorn, a limp to keep me humble? To remind me of my sin, weakness and limitations?

Yes, my life-long habit of comfort-eating, and my life-long dislike of doing anything more active than reading or writing are thorns in the flesh. I will always need God’s help to overcome them.

But being over-weight, and, consequently, being physically weak and unfit and easily fatigued–I cannot believe that those are God’s will for me (though less energy does means more time in an armchair with my books and laptop.)

* * *

We had a charismatic pastor who used to say, “You must SEE it to RECEIVE it.” I suppose in secular terms it would be called creative visualisation.

I wonder if that is part of my struggle. That I have trouble seeing myself as fit, strong and energetic. Never really believed that I could lose weight—which I have been slowly gaining since my late teens at the rate of 3+ pounds a year… Which, well, adds up!!

So I asked God to give me an image to strengthen my faith.

And this was the image I got—myself running down a country road, tirelessly. (I love running, get high on those endorphins quickly, but am very, very slow, and easily fatigued.)

Ah, and here’s where that image is from:

²⁹ He gives strength to the weary
and increases the power of the weak.
³⁰ Even youths grow tired and weary,
and young men stumble and fall;
³¹ but those who hope in the LORD
will renew their strength.
They will soar on wings like eagles;
they will run and not grow weary,
they will walk and not be faint. (Isaiah 40)

What’s the key here? It’s hoping in the Lord, trusting in the Lord, waiting on the Lord.

Just hanging out with God as a branch in the vine, resting in him, being rejuvenated by his sweet sap flowing into me, his life flowing into me.

That’s where the strength comes from to change life-long habits of comfort-eating when bored or stressed or unhappy or empty. That’s where the strength comes from to eat healthily. And the strength to run and not grow bored or weary.

The secret of the vine: living in Christ, hanging out in and with Christ, relying on that other deeper, sweeter life to flow through me, to fill me, to still my restlessness, comfort my sadness, and give me the will-power and discipline to run and to walk (and, eventually, not grow weary or faint.)

In which areas do you find faith easy–or hard? What are your limps and thorns?

My Teenage Rebellion: Trying to become a Nun at Mother Teresa’s Convent!

By Anita Mathias

I have written about the experience here, A Teenage Atheist, and here, The Holy Ground of Kalighat.

Matt of The Church of No People recently asked me some questions about my experience, and I thought I would share them here. The questions in bold are Matt’s.

I’d like to hear what the everyday experience is like being a Christian in India, which makes someone a small minority in that society.

I left India in 1984. While I was there, Catholics were respected: because they ran good schools, colleges, hospitals, orphanages, homes for the handicapped, open to people of all creeds. However, intolerance were becoming evident with “Anti-Conversion Bills” making proselytising illegal. There is more hostility towards Christians now, and making converts (leave alone disciples!) is illegal in several states.

If you can, briefly tell us about why you joined the convent.

I was rebellious as a teenager in Catholic boarding school. During a period of “curfew” after religious riots, I found myself reading the few books in our house which I had not read—Catherine Marshall’s Beyond Ourselves and The Cross and the Switchblade.

I was attracted by the idea of a living relationship with Christ, and committed my life to Him. I simplistically thought the only way to follow him was along the lines of Matthew 25, “Whatever you do to the least of these, you do to me.”

Who did that kind of work? Mother Teresa.

I wrote to her, was accepted, and was in the convent 4 months after my conversion!!

I have written about my conversion experience for Commonweal magazine, reprinted in Phil Zaleski’s Best Spiritual Writing.

Forgive my non-Catholic vocabulary, but what your “title” there – were you a nun?

I was a postulant. Nuns go through a 6 month aspirancy, a 6 month postulancy, and a 2 year novitiate, before they take their vows for 6 years. After 9 years, they take their final vows.

Anyway, I’d love to hear just a bit about life in a convent, particularly the convent of our time’s most famous nun.

It followed the ancient Benedictine model, a mixture of work and prayer.

Since I was still in training, we spent mornings in classes on theology, Scripture and their constitution, and in prayer. We worked in Mother Teresa’s homes in the evenings– in the home for dying destitute, orphans, and the mentally. (I’ve written about my work at Kalighat, the home for dying destitute in Zaleski’s Best Spiritual Writing series.

The recitation of the Liturgy of the Hours–laud, none, vespers and compline, a melange of psalms and traditional prayers–ring-fenced the day in prayer, In addition, there was Mass; an early morning half-hour of silent meditation on scripture; an hour of “adoration,” or contemplative prayer; and a half hour of spiritual reading. A total of 3.5 hours in various spiritual activities. I did gain much familiarity with Scripture, which has been a blessing to me.

When I was there, 1979-1980, it was a young religious order, and eccentric, shaped by a visionary, who was revered, and apparently unquestioningly obeyed.

One of her dearly-held ideas was that one needed to voluntarily share the hardships of the poorest of the poor to have empathy for them.

The deliberate quest for extreme poverty meant that we were put 25 to a room, and there was a constant time-consuming shifting and re-arranging as the room became a refectory, a classroom, and a dormitory.

There was no running water which meant we spent half an hour every day in a crocodile, drawing buckets of water from the wells and transporting it to the bathrooms and kitchen. We had just 2 sets of white sarees, which meant daily hand-washing…

The food was simple, and nutritious enough, but, another peculiarity, there were large fixed quantities one had to eat, which were quite extreme: 5 chapatis for breakfast, and five ladles of rich for lunch and dinner. After a couple of her sisters caught TB on her original diet of salt and rice, rice and salt, she imposed this as a safeguard against disease.

Everything, even the pettiest details–subjects to meditate on as one dressed, mending sarees from thread unravelled from scraps– was controlled by rules. It was high-control, almost like a cult, legalistic and judgmental. After a while, it becomes easier not to think for yourself, and instead do whatever would get you praised, or avoid what would get you judged.

What went into your decision to leave the convent and your faith? How does someone walk away from such a dedicated faith life?

I saw an image of myself in a train going ever further in the wrong direction, but afraid to get off for fear of looking foolish

We slept at 10, and woke at 4.40 a.m. for church, with a half hour mid-day nap. Since I was 17 when I joined, I was perpetually tired and felt constantly sleep-deprived. Sleep deprivation (used by cults, and authoritarian systems: labour camps, prisons) makes it easy to go along with authority and not question. My first thought on waking and predominant longing was for naps and bedtime. It wasn’t sustainable.

The first three years were a kind of boot-camp, deliberately harsh. The novice-mistresses had complete power over us (one of the vows was obedience) and I struggled with perceived injustice, and the authoritarianism with no recourse of complaint.

The nervous intensity of prayer, and scripture study and meditation can ironically heighten irritability, and the rub of community life 24/7 with 25 people sharing a medium sized room.

Two people had breakdowns when I was there. One just sat and giggled helplessly. Another was sent home and attempted to jump out from the bars of the train. Leaving the convent once you join was viewed as disgraceful in Indian Catholic society.

And, in fact, my health was shattered, though no one realised this while I was in the convent. I returned home, deeply exhausted, and within the month was diagnosed with both early stage TB and hepatitis!

I was thoroughly exhausted, and in retrospect, it clearly wasn’t my vocation!

What brought you to the faith you have today? Did you have the support of Christian friends or family members?

I was a passionate, absorbed student, so faith—in particular, the liturgy, the rituals, the dogma of Catholicism–gradually went limp and lifeless for me.

I earned an undergraduate degree in English at Oxford University, and then did a master’s in Creative Writing at Ohio State University, and some of a Ph.D in Creative Writing at SUNY-Binghamton. A couple of young students on a campus mission came up to me, and asked if I knew Jesus.

My dream then was to be a successful poet. Success had evaded me. It was all very uphill–and it struck me that I wasn’t doing too well, managing life on my own. It could only be better if Christ managed it.

But faith had by then sloughed away, and a friend suggested I just do what Jesus said and see if worked. Well I did, it did; I was surrounded by little miracles, and I recommitted myself to following Jesus.

My goal now is to live as a contemplative in the world

The Christian imperatives which Jesus with his Gordian-knot-slashing directness reduced to two–to wholly love God and to love your neighbor as yourself–remain the same. There is just more distraction. Without the traditional monastic disciplines- prayer, meditation, adoration, the liturgy of the hours, and “spiritual reading– it takes ingenuity to carve for myself a circle of silence to feed on Christ and Scripture and to live contemplatively, remembering Jesus not only amid the beauty and tranquillity of my garden, my writing, and my books, but in the crucible of marriage, motherhood, domesticity, and the busyness of everyday. The demands of unselfishness remain constant, without the convent’s periodic sanctioned escape into the sacred ivory spaces of psalmody and song. In fact, I now consider domesticity, marriage, and motherhood a smithy in which the soul can be forged as painfully, as beautifully, as amid the splendid virginal solitudes of the convent.

The Bosphorus Cruise–in the narrow strait between Europe and Asia!!

By Anita Mathias

We went on one of the world’s most unique cruises today–the Bosphorus Cruise: Europe on one side of the narrow strait, Asia on the other. Seagulls haunting the strait, dolphins leaping, the Black Sea at one end, the Sea of Marmara on the other–and fantastic mosques, palaces, summer houses and churches on either side of the Bosphorus.

I loved it–it’s where I live, metaphorically, between Europe and Asia. Am totally at home in Europe after almost 3 decades in the West, and at home in Asia too (though, oddly, less so). What a fantastic, and beautiful conjunction of my two worlds!

And sitting watching the amazing, almost surreal panorama of palaces, mansions, summer houses, mosques and churches go by while seagulls wheeled and screeched–I was purely happy.

I always thought I would get bored on a cruise–that I had too active a temperament, would like to interact with streets, churches and palaces on foot.

Turned out I was wrong–I think I will enjoy a cruise–am dreaming of a Baltic cruise to Latvia, Lithuania and Estonia someday–when I am am old(er)…

And thank you to Roy for writing the rest of this post, and giving me a fighting chance of keeping up with my blog on holiday:-)

The Bosphorus Cruise begins at the Galata Bridge.

Galata Bridge — showing shops below, and the New Mosque above.

The Galata bridge features in many paintings of Istanbul. Here is one from our hotel

There are numerous palaces along either side of the Bosphorus, as well as some elegant riverside homes. Unfortunately, they tend to all blur into one another by the end of the day. Here are a few shots of palaces

and river front homes

There were numerous mosques, both by the water and higher up

After a while one leaves Istanbul, and comes to smaller villages. Here are a couple of the stops

and a wooded area between them

Despite the filthy water traversed by Russian oil tankers and other large rusty vessels

we saw a lot of dolphins, but were not quick enough to get a good shot

Of course there were seagulls too

At the Black Sea end the ship breaks for lunch. We had a nice fish meal at a riverside restaurant

and Irene posed with the tulips

The Blue Mosque in Istanbul

By Anita Mathias

The Blue Mosque in Istanbul

I visited the Blue Mosque today. Simply gorgeous. Called blue because of the Iznik tiles, but also because of the wealth of stained glass windows. Simply, mind-blowingly, mind-bogglingly gorgeous!!

And I am thankful to my husband, Roy for the photos and the commentary in the rest of this post!

View of the Blue Mosque from just inside the courtyard.
The banners give extracts from the courtyard that are likely to appeal to all. e.g,
Pay the worker his wage before his sweat dries

The Blue Mosque (Sultan Ahmet Cami in Turkish) is generally regarded as the most beautiful Mosque in Istanbul, and is many tourists’ favourite sight. Here is an aerial view

showing the six minarets (four is more usual) the large courtyard, and the hilltop setting. Notice also the single large dome, smaller domes and numerous semi-domes (in this picture and the one above). The inside of each of them is decorated.

Entrance to the outer courtyard

detail

Some views from inside the courtyard, which was a cool, peaceful and restful place.

Ceiling design

Arcade along one side of the outer courtyard

The entrance for those who wish to prayer. The honeycombing above the calligraphy is very similar to that at the Alhambra.

The dome above this entrance. (The first of many obstructed photos, alas.)

Here are views of the interior of the Blue Mosque. The blue dome, is the central dome. The diagonal lines (that may look like scratches on your screen, are very numerous wires that suspend the numerous chandeliers.) The central dome, is surrounded by for semi-domes, each of which is surrounded by thr ee smallersemi-domes. It is almost fractal!

Here are a couple of slightly more detailed shots

The interior is carpeted. Here is a view of the region reserved for those wishing to pray – there were mostly men in prayer, but also a couple of 4-year-old boys running a round, a man in traditional garb taking photos and a couple of women. (There was also a an area reserved for women to pray at the back, behind a lattice.)

Area reserved for prayer. Note chandeliers, and the pillar, which is all of 5 meters, yes 16 feet in diameter. (The pillars, lights,and suspension wires prevent enter most photos!) Note also the stained glass windows.

The tulip did of course originate in Turkey.

There are about 160 windows. Here are a couple of close ups.

The blue tiles between the windows, and around the upper gallery, which seemed to be inaccessible, give the mosque its name. I’m sure they’d be amazing from closer.

Blue tiles on the upper gallery wall — note the carved railing.

Blue tiles on the top of pillar.

Over all an amazing building — photo’s don’t do it justice. (I did find some better photos on wikipedia. I like this one showing two arcades of the outer courtyard)

Perhaps heaven will look a little like the Hagia Sophia in Istanbul

By Anita Mathias

Perhaps heaven will look a little like the Hagia Sophia.

This beautiful church was built by the Emperor Justinian in 537 AD and fell to the Turks in 1453.

Oh, desecration, I thought, reading its history. I am so Christian. My ancestors, from the small coastal town of Mangalore on the West Coast of India converted(or were converted) to Catholicism by the Portuguese in the 16th century. I grew up immersed in small town Catholicism—our friendships and social life revolved around church and parish–and then went to a boarding school, where we Catholics were brought up almost like nuns. I became a Mere Christian rather than a Catholic in my twenties. So I’m instinctively Christian.

So to think of beautiful Hagia Sophia, the most sacred space of Eastern Christians, becoming a mosque, the beautiful mosaics of Christ and angels, plastered over, feels a little tragic to me.

Picture of Fragment of Entreaty mosaic with Christ Pantocrator in Hagia Sophia, Istanbul, Turkey

But when I visited it, it did not feel desecrated. It had strangeness added to its beauty. It’s still beautiful—just the strangest ex-church in Christendom.

* * *

How vividly the clash of civilizations and religions is embodied in this cathedral.

Roy and I took a two term fascinating course in The History of Christianity at Oxford University Continuing Education.

The lecturer felt that Islam was the great enemy of Christianity in the marketplace of ideas, that the clash of these titans would only intensify.

Yes, it must. In their own ways, both religions are absolutist. There is no God, but Allah, and Muhammed is his prophet, Islam says.

“Muhammed?”Christianity asks. “Jesus says, I am the way the truth, the life, no one comes to the Father except through me.”

Both believe their way is the right way; both are vigorous proselytising religions—unlike, for instance. Hinduism, Buddhism, or Judaism, which are a whole lot more relaxed.

· * *

Well, if there is going to be an inexorable clash of religion and culture between Islam and Christianity, which will wax, and which will wane?

Well, I hope we won’t see too many replays of 1453 when Constantinople fell to the Turks, unaided by her Christian brothers–but who knows?

I do believe though that “victory” will be counter-intuitive. Whichever religion shows more gentleness, more mercy, more love, more goodness, will inexorably “win” in the long run.

Christianity has one of the most counter-intuitive symbols of victory ever. A lamb looking as if it has been slain, seated on the throne.

* * *

Turks are lovely. Friendly, very helpful, kind, smiley and good-humoured. Oh sure, we’ve been over-charged, but charmingly—as well as helped, kindly, freely. I like them. If one has to be cheated when a naïve tourist, out of your depth, let it be as charmingly as here. A free cup of coffee, “in the house,” courteous chat, and then three times the usual price!!

One way God suggests we gauge his heart is to look at our nobler emotions and multiply them by the distance between the heavens and the earth. God tells Jonah, “You have been concerned about this plant, though you did not tend it or make it grow. ¹¹ And should I not have concern for the great city of Nineveh, in which there are more than a hundred and twenty thousand people who cannot tell their right hand from their left—and also many animals?”

If I am so charmed by the good humour and friendliness, the energy and bustle of the citizens of Istanbul, how much more then their creator?

When I travel in non-Christian countries, I feel impatient with the theology which would consign entire nations to hell on the basis of their religion. Fortunately, I do not hear Jesus assigning hell or heaven on the basis of faith alone (have a look at the luminous Matthew 25, the parable of the sheep and goats, among many, many other things Jesus said.)

* * *

And so I wonder if Heaven will be a bit like Hagia Sophia, a lovely, mystical holy place, inexpressibly beautiful and tranquil,

It will have beautiful Jesus and beautiful angels

But also will be beautiful in the way Muslims have appreciated and expressed beauty. It may well be syncretic as the Hagia Sophia, and everyone will feel at home there.

The inner most circle in the central dome of Haghia Sophia

anita.mathias