A bit of Antiochia in Glane

In the presentation we delivered at the meeting B ringing the Episcopal Church to Cracow , we referred, among other things, to the topic of myths that shape (or perhaps misshape) our view of reality. There are plenty. One relates Christianity to, or even identifies it with, the European civilization. Of course, it suffices to think about it for a
moment to agree with the author of The Lost History of Christianity , Philip Jenkins, who wrote: “Christianity originated in the Near East…”. It is obvious. But does this apply also to what Jenkins wrote next?

…and during the first few centuries it had its greatest centers, its most prestigious churches and monasteries, in Syria, Palestine and Mesopotamia. Early Eastern Christians wrote and thought in Syriac, a language closely related to the Aramaic of Jesus and his apostles.

Although these words don’t seem particularly surprising, we do tend to forget about it often, don’t we? And by “we” we mean not only those of us for whom the centres of Christianity are in Rome, Wittenberg, Geneva or Canterbury, but even those who by “centre” mean Constantinople or Moscow. All these places are in Europe (Constantinople, today Istanbul, is situated, strictly speaking, at the frontier between Europe and Asia). That is why for all those who, like we, think of themselves as Europeans, and for whom this term is not devoid of meaning but defines an important, or perhaps even crucial, characteristic of their identity, it will be good to ponder for a moment yet another fragment from Jenkins’ book:

When they think about Christian history, most modern Westerners follow the book of Acts in concentrating on the church’s expansion west, through Greece and the Mediterranean world, and on to Rome. But while some early Christians were indeed moving west, many other believers—probably in greater numbers—journeyed east along the land routes, through what we today call Iraq and Iran, where they built great and enduring churches. Because of its location—dose to the Roman frontier, but just far enough beyond it to avoid heavy-handed interference—Mesopotamia or Iraq retained a powerful Christian culture at least through the thirteenth century. In terms of the number and splendor of its churches and monasteries, its vast scholarship and dazzling spirituality, Iraq was through the late Middle Ages at least as much a cultural and spiritual heartland of Christianity as was France or Germany, or indeed Ireland.

Iraq and Syria were the bases for two great transnational churches deemed heretical by the Catholic and Orthodox—namely, the Nestorians and Jacobites. Well into the Middle Ages, the Christian strongholds of the Middle East included such currently newsworthy Iraqi cities as Basra, Mosul, and Kirkuk, while Tikrit—hometown of Saddam Hussein—was a thriving Christian center several centuries after the coming of Islam. Nisibis and Jundishapur were legendary centers of learning that kept alive the culture and science of the ancient world, both of the Greco-Romans and of the Persians. In their scholarship, their access to classical learning and science, the Eastern churches in 800 were at a level that Latin Europe would not reach at least until the thirteenth century.

Our interest in Eastern Christianity was not born today; after all, we met each other on an internet discussion board devoted to this topic. Loukas remains a member of the Orthodox Church and, unlike many other Orthodox Christians, has no difficulty in combining this identity with our fascination with Anglicanism and engagement in the Episcopal Church. And it was not without a reason that Pradusz, upon joining the Ecumenical Mariavite Congregation , took the name of Maria Isaac, in honour of St. Isaac the Syrian. In the end, adherence to the idea of the “undivided Church of the first centuries” (even if that Church is in fact a myth too) obliges one to something… Yet we had not managed to date to visit one of the most important centres of the Syriac Orthodox Church in Europe, which is St. Ephrem the Syrian Monastery in Glane, a town located at the Dutch-German border. Only thanks to a coincidence of, not always nice, circumstances, we spontaneously decided yesterday to contact the monastery, and went there today. The monastery in Glane was built for the Sisters of St. Joseph of Chambery. Because they came from Norway, its patron saint was St. Olaf. Then the male congregation of Societas Mariae became the owner of the monastery. In 1981 it was bought by the Syriac Orthodox community, and given its present shape to a large degree thanks to the efforts of Archbishop Julius Yeshu Cicek (1942-2005). His memory is kept alive with great devotion by the monks of Glane.

We arrived at the monastery about half past nine. One of the nuns living there welcomed us and gave us Easter eggs. Literally a few minutes later came Fr. Sait who was our guide for the following hour. We started the tour visiting the chapel, where we listened to Fr. Sait talk about the history of the church and the monastery, as well as about some liturgical ceremonies. Our attention was drawn by the curtain separating the altar from the part of the church where the faithful gather. But we also had an opportunity to look behind it and see the altar. Another interesting thing was the cross, which, as Fr. Sait explained, has a meaning similar to the Paschal Candle in the Western churches – for it symbolizes the presence of the Risen One on earth in the period between Easter and the Ascension. From the chapel we went to the reception room where preparations for a funeral were going on, a funeral, by the way, we were invited to attend, but – even though it was tempting for liturgical reasons – didn’t go to in the end since we consider a funeral to be a very intimate occasion. We gladly used the opportunity we had when we were offered a cup of coffee, however, to talk with our guide for a moment and ask him a few questions. We learned that the Syrian community in Holland has about 17 thousand members. We asked also about Eucharistic hospitality and heard that Loukas, as an Orthodox Christian, could, having confessed his sins, receive Communion. Fr. Sait was not able to say whether the same applies to an Anglican. From there we went on to discuss for a longer while the topic of the Apostolic succession and its importance. The Syriac Orthodox Church attaches such great significance to it that, for instance, it doesn’t, alas, recognise the validity of baptism administered in churches which do not have Apostolic succession. That is why, for example, the converts to the Syriac Church from the Dutch Reformed Church (there are about 30 now) have to be baptized again by a Syriac priest.

From this room we proceeded to the cathedral where we admired the altar made by a Bulgarian artist, as well as the stain-glass windows made after early Medieval Syrian paintings. These paintings decorate also the Gospel Book handwritten by Archbishop Julius. After seeing the interior of the cathedral and taking a few photos, we went down to the crypt where the clergy are interred. We also learned that literally a few days ago, during the celebrations of Pascha, that place was visited by thousands(!) of the faithful. Then Fr. Sait showed us the cemetery where the lay people are buried. But when we were there our guide’s phone rang: it was the present leader of the church in Holland, Archbishop Polycarpus Augin Aydin , calling to say that he was waiting for us in the monastery.

The not yet 41 years old Bishop is a worthy heir of the ancient Syrian luminaries of scholarship. He studied in London, Oxford and St. Vladimir’s Seminary in New York, and now is working on his dissertation at Princeton. Above all, however, he turned out to be the most kind host and talking with him was a great pleasure. Our conversation didn’t take long, but we managed to learn, for example, about the project to translate liturgical and hagiographic writings from Syriac into Dutch. We also asked about the relations with the other great tradition of Syrian Christianity, which too is present in Holland, the Church of the East. Archbishop Polycarpus said that common spirituality brings the believers together, in spite of old doctrinal controversies. We also found out about the broader dimension of ecumenism – in a few days the monastery will host the annual meeting of Old Catholics, Anglicans and Orthodox Christians. At the end of our conversation we received a great gift from Mor Polycarpus – a bilingual, Dutch-Syrian edition of the Wisdom of St. Isaac and Dr Kees den Biesen’s book about the poetry of St. Ephrem the Syrian (it’s worth noting that the author is one of the few Dutch converts to the Syriac Orthodox Church).

Although we didn’t go to the funeral, we couldn’t of course deny ourselves the opportunity to take part in the Noon Prayer. We returned to the chapel where our tour had began. Because the prayer, obviously, was in Aramaic, we couldn’t follow most of it. But when you don’t understand the words, other impressions get to you all the more intensely, and you are able to feel the atmosphere of the service even better. If we were to look for any comparisons, we should probably say that the Syrian canonical hours on the one hand resemble of course the Byzantine ones, but at the same time doubtlessly have a Semitic character. Listening to the chanting, we couldn’t resist the association with Synagogue chants. Without a doubt, in course of its long and complex history, this form of Christianity remained faithful to the Semitic roots of the Christian faith. Something we have only recently rediscovered in Europe, namely that – as Pius XI put it – from the spiritual point of view we all are Semites, the Syriac Christians have been living out for two thousand years… The prayer was concluded with a blessing and kissing of the Gospel Book and the cross held by the Archbishop. We thought that it was also the time to say goodbye, but it turned out impossible to leave the monastery and its hospitable inhabitants without eating with them. The Archbishop invited us to lunch, which we had accompanied by three monks and two guests of the monastery, two young Syrians living in Germany. One was in the monastery in order to write his master thesis, and the other wanted to improve his Aramaic. After the lunch – which was very tasty, by the way – we had to leave. After all, we had 125 miles to travel to Leiden.

Wanting to prepare ourselves a bit for the visit, we made some research on the internet looking for information about our hosts. Among other things, we came across an interview given by Archbishop Polycarpus Augin Aydin entitled “Every encounter changes a man”. It’s true. No reading, also reading of the eminent spiritual teachers the Syriac tradition enriched Christianity with, will substitute the experience of a real encounter with the people who represent it. The impressions from such a meeting are of course very difficult to express in words, especially only a few hours after it happened, so we won’t attempt to offer any definitive summary. We would like to say two things, however. Firstly, we were touched by the warm welcome we received. Secondly, we had the impression that, in spite of the difficult trials the Syriac Christians were and continue to be faced with, they are really successful in keeping alive and developing the best tradition of their church. Looking at the situation in the Near East, it’s hard not to worry about these people and this heritage. A call for prayer for them and seems very appropriate here. But at the same time we had the impression of meeting people who are not, even in the slightest extent, pitiful, but rather deserve admiration and respect for how they participate in the living history of their community. And such encounters not only broaden your horizons, but also give you strength…