Six weeks on in a city six centuries Muslim, I have been able to peel back the hands of time and discover the still thriving religion of the city once known as the Second Rome. Perhaps better stated, I have found the western import of the original Rome, alive and kicking and having weathered the years of a city that pugnaciously sits in the tidal basin of life, religion and history.
Saint Anthony’s Catholic Church
Sent Antuan Kilisise
Istiklal Caddesi
Istanbul, Turkey
Although I enjoyed the opportunity and experience of living in an ardently Muslim neighborhood, albeit in an intensely secular state, complete with headscarves, mosques and pray beads and my Turkish neighbors, most Turks in fact, have welcomed me with unfailing hospitality and warmth, I have longed for the familiar and my own sense of community.
Muslim or not, the five times daily call to prayer sung ethereally in Arabic from the Mosque’s minaret causes one to reflect, to think and ultimately to pray. It is truly a vocal, timely reminder to help keep one’s priorities in check. Even my visits to Mosques throughout the city, although initially historically and architecturally motivated, have provided a time of spiritual quiet, stillness and reflection.
The Blue Mosque (Sultan Ahmet Mosque) and the Aya Sophia notwithstanding. However, the need to participate in the celebration of mass, both a product of my upbringing and a conscious choice of faith from St. Cecilia to Georgetown University and Peace Corps Paraguay to Panama, still remained.
Sunday Morning Mass at Saint Anthony’s welcomes an eclectic mix of Catholics befitting such an international, historic and criss-crossed city.
It is even quite possible to define it as a true catholic gathering of Catholics. Most striking and remarkable was the fact that it happened on an ordinary Sunday in September. A centuries old cathedral, with high arching ceilings and intricately inlaid mosaics located in the heart of Istanbul was standing room only. Presided over by Father Joseph from Romania, the church was filled with parishioners from all walks of life motivated by a sense of faith and duty.
By no means trying to diminish their stature, the standard issue Italians and Spaniards were in attendance. The Korean choir was led by a trio of beautiful Vietnamese vocals and without question, the Filipinos played an active role in the celebration. They however just could not fit into my attempted alliteration. English was the lingua franca of the service. Finally and most intriguing was the unusually (again from my perspective) large proportion of, for a lack of a more intimate and accurate term, Africans present in prayer. It was an awesome sight to see and never one to allow my “demographically discerning eye” rest I am interested in learning their story.
It was truly a powerful and awe inspiring experience to see and feel a cathedral in full swing for the service of daily mass. I could not help but feel reenergized and excited as I stepped out of the shadows of the worn wooden doors and on to the sunlight stone patio, to be greeted by the international parochial community of Catholics who had splintered back into their multitude of languages and identities.
Content to know that I was welcomed back next week.
