Pray for Turkey

April 18 marks the three-year anniversary of the martyrdom of two Turkish Christians, Necati Aydin and Ugur Yuksel, and Tilmann Geske, a German.

The Turkish Alliance of Protestant Churches (TEK) has asked that Christians and churches worldwide would set apart April 18 as a day of prayer for Turkey.

http://www.prayforturkey.com/

A Face To Reframe

When I lived in Turkey, I remember being stunned the first time I saw someone there with Down syndrome. It struck me: it took almost two years in a city of 12+ million people to see someone with this condition. Either meiotic nondisjunction is a rare occurrence in Turkish women, or people kept them hidden away. After asking around, I sadly found that it was generally the latter case. Down syndrome and other congenital defects are often looked down on as a source of shame for the family.

Beth Bruno, an American expat whom I got to know while living over there, has put her photography skills to work by creating A Face To Reframe. It's a project in which Turkish children with disabilities were given cameras and allowed to define beauty. And as it turns out, no matter what you think someone looks like on the outside, they share the same sense of beauty, virtue, and creative artistry that even the best of us have. Check it out.

Malatya

I recently found out that a documentary DVD has been made about the slayings of the first Turkish Christian martyrs. Ugur Yuksel and Necati Aydin, along with a German believer named Tilmann Geske, were killed by an organized group of five teenagers in the city of Malatya in east-central Turkey on April 18, 2007. (See my related posts from 4/18/07, 4/28/07, 8/8/07, 4/18/08.) You can check out the film's website at www.malatyafilm.org. The website includes a 30-day prayer guide for the nation of Turkey put on by The Austin Stone Community Church in Austin, Texas.

Being myself a Christian living in Turkey at that time and committed to spreading the news that Jesus Christ was the Redeemer of the world, I remember how strongly I felt the news of their deaths. Several of my housemates had actually met these men a few months earlier. Just two days after the killings I traveled to the city of Adana on the southern coast of Turkey and worshiped at the church where Geske was a member for six years. It was powerful. I remember the strength of the Turkish church and their determination: determination to persevere unswervingly in the face of opposition, given the faithfulness of God and the hope of the resurrection; determination to continue their love for their nation; and determination to forgive the killers and embody the power of the cross and the message of a God who loves those hostile to him. The martyrs' family publicly forgave the killers--news which made the front page of the newspapers and shocked many.

But what I think I remember most was this: As an expatriate, I had often thought of "us" expats and "them," the Turkish church. I loved the Turks and prayed for them daily--as I still do often--but I always prayed for "them." But on April 18 I remember reading Psalms 58 and 59 and unthinkingly found myself praying "we" and "us"--a prayer which, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, opened to my eyes that I was one with them. I hurt with them. As a Christian in Turkey, I was now caught up in this, too. Would my turn come soon? I had already endured a notable degree of mocking, derision, mistrust, and verbal abuse there for telling others about God's salvation. I am one with the Turkish church was the word burning in my heart. It was a moment I will not forget.

Lord Jesus, the Father has begun to pour out your Spirit and vitalize your servants. Would your redeemed saints in Turkey spread news of you through their bold faith, their self-sacrificing service to their family and friends, and through persistent hope in the Resurrection--both yours and theirs.

"Dirilis ve yasam benim. Bana iman eden kisi olsede yasayacaktin." ("I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me will live, even if he dies." John 11:25 -- from Tilmann Geske's gravestone)

"Necati Aydin: 1972 - infinity" -- from Aydin's gravestone

Twelve Days of Christmas--a la Turka

I may have posted this in the past during my days living overseas. I don't remember. But nonetheless I think this travel article is hilarious, entertaining, and based entirely on gross generalizations about life in southern Turkey. Who knew that jolly ol' Saint Nick was from Asia Minor, eh?

Yes, Mustafa, there IS a Santa Claus!

Malatya update

Thanks to Beth for posting this update on last year's killings in Malatya, Turkey.

Still around, and blessings abound

Okay, I'll admit that I haven't posted anything in a few weeks. I've got a few things ruminating in my mind that may be posted soon, but I'm pretty sure that I still have no Internet access from home. (Although Cavalier Telephone Systems--boo! hiss!--claims otherwise, and has sent me a $213 bill to boot.) Nonetheless, I've got to say that "the LORD's lovingkindnesses indeed never cease" (Lamentations 3:23) despite the frequent suspension and wavering of mine.

First seminary course? At the urging of Matt Purdy, a pastor at WEPC, I think I'm going to take Introduction to Pastoral and Theological Studies this spring. Dr. Howard Griffith from Reformed Theological Seminary (Washington, D.C.) will be teaching at RTS once a month on weekends. The trick is that I need to get eight people to take the class for RTS credit in order for me to take it for free. I would really like to take this class for a number of reasons. I love studying and academia, and my seminarian friends all continue to urge me to pursue some sort of formal theological education. On top of that, I think it would be wise to take a course in pastoral theology to help further refine my "next step" past being a schoolteacher--whenever that will come.

Richmond Magazine. In the new edition of Richmond magazine, the feature article is about jobs and salaries. Guess what high school teacher is featured on page 88? That's right, this recent "transplant from Michigan." It's pretty cool that lots of other faculty at Hermitage read it and found me, their magazines in tow.

Friends and festivals. Christmas break was a blast, if full of travel, stress, tension, and not quite enough reading, study, or sleep. This was my first Christmas at home with my family since 2004, and it was nice to be there and feel loved and normal. I also got to see some good old friends--and a much prettier new one as well.

Christianity Today. Guess what the feature article is in the latest Christianity Today magazine? It's titled "Jesus in Turkey," and it features a Turkish evangelical pastor and church that was near my apartment in Istanbul. I know the pastor and some of the worshipers pictured in the article. It was such a treat to see that and know that this article is likely causing many of the faithful across America to learn about Turkish Christians and intercede for their faith and labor in the Lord. But oh, how it made me miss Istanbul!

I have a bed. And for free! A friend and coworker gave me her twin-sized mattress and box spring this past weekend. How nice it is to sleep on something other than an air mattress or my couch!

Both near and far

Two blog posts in one day: that's what happens when I have a Sunday free and lots on my mind.

Yesterday was the first unofficial day of fall here in the Commonwealth. When I left to go running in the morning, the air had a new kind of coolness that I hadn't felt in a long time. (In fact, all I felt was stifling heat and humidity for weeks on end.) Underneath gray skies, as water droplets left from the overnight rain dripped onto me, I was actually a bit chilly for a few minutes. There's hope for this state yet.

You see, I love the fall season. It's hands-down the best. Sure, summer has baseball, long days, and green fields rich in corn and sugar beets--at least in Michigan. But fall has the cool, crisp air that invigorates my spirit. Pumpkins. Wheat fields gold for the harvest. The brilliant radiance of leaves losing their chlorophyll. The World Series. College football. Fall's got it all--and it's right on time.

But though I may be near to the best time of the year, I feel farther than ever from Istanbul, and I miss it a lot. In the words of my friend Leanne, "I miss Turkey so much my soul hurts!" Over the past week or two I have been constantly flipping through my photos from that now-distant land, listening to Turkish music, translating recipes and the Gospel of Mark into English, and adding Turkish touches to my meals (chickpeas, yogurt, olives).

Galata Tower and the Golden Horn at dusk

My crushing longing to be back there might simply be because, in two years' time there, life became familiar, doable. Sure, every day brought new excitements and challenges. But trying to stay afloat in this new world of high school teaching is wearisome. I feel right now like all I want to do is get back over there and find a job, any kind of job, and share the truth of Jesus with the multitudes who don't know him. I looked at my world-map shower curtain last night and thought to myself--or actually I probably said aloud to myself--"Just find a way to get me back, and I'll go! Now!"

But there's a lot of water that needs to pass under my proverbial bridge before that happens. I've only taught two weeks. Even a full school year is hardly enough time to evaluate my enjoyment of and confidence in performing such a job. I need a few years. Plus, my job will allow me to save up a little for any future calling in life, whether that be seminary and some sort of pastoral/teaching ministry or a graduate degree in environmental biology.

Rumeli Hisar and the Bosphorus

It's time to be patient and trust God for what's comes my way today, knowing that he will provide for me and direct my steps (Proverbs 3:5-6).

Lessons from Turkey, part VI

“You yourselves know how it feels to be aliens”

One of the first things I noticed that had changed in me after even my first year in Turkey was my view of foreigners living in the U.S. I felt for the first time that there was some sort of connection between us. Spending two years as a total yabancı (“foreigner”), it became easy to share the plight of those seeking a better life in the United States. I had all sorts of difficulties speaking the language, which at first made me feel very isolated from everyone else. Riding the ferry boats across the Bosphorus, sitting on the bus (or, usually, standing), or walking through the crowded streets of a fifteen-million-person megalopolis can be isolating and startling enough as it is. But it was so much worse to hear everyone else talking, laughing, or reading the ubiquitous newspapers—and not know more than a few words here and there of what they are saying. It was like a whole world around me was literally passing me by, without my inclusion or participation in it.

When it came time to buy groceries, that usually went alright. (Though finding some finer things like nutmeg or cream of Tartar proved exceedingly difficult with my broken Turkish. “Yani, o tarçinin tatı benzen bir bahar istiyorum ama tam tarçin değil. Fıstık gibi bir şeyten dovranılır. Buralarda bulabilir miyim acaba?”) But calling the boiler repairman; asking directions to one of the millions of impenetrably steep, cobbled çıkmaz streets; or figuring out why every pedestrian and driver stopped dead in his or her tracks at precisely the same moment on November 10^th—these could be sources of exceeding frustration.

Flag sellers near Taksim Square during a holiday

All over the books of Exodus and Deuteronomy, the Israelites are given admonitions to treat kindly the foreigners sojourning in their lands. “Do not oppress an alien; you yourselves know how it feels to be aliens, because you were aliens in Egypt” (Exodus 23:9). Likewise in his sojourn in Palestine Jesus became acquainted with all the pressures, griefs, and temptations of human life. As such, he does not pester and plague mankind, but patiently bears with our shortcomings and aids all those who seek his help. “For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are—yet was without sin” (Hebrews 4:15). Compassionate living in the image of God means that we are quick to help, not to chide; that we are eager to extend the help that we ourselves receive daily.

The "honey gourd" seller who daily peddled his produce near my apartment

Here in Richmond there are a lot of immigrants. On top of the usual myriad Hispanic people, there are large Bosnian and Sudanese populations. I think it’s such a great thing that local churches are coming alongside them to share the love of Christ by meeting their practical needs—housing, furniture and supplies, tutoring, job placement, child care, etc. A large number of my students struggle to speak and read English. When I was younger I probably would have complained, “Come on, you’re in America. Quit being so lazy and learn English!” But that has changed. Now I know what it feels like to be an alien; I understand what they may be experiencing. I know how hard it is to learn a new language if your best friends and housemates or family aren’t speaking the new language.

And if your paths cross with an immigrant in need, don’t ask for his green card. Just help him in the way Christ now hears and helps you, bearing your every need before the Father.

Lessons from Turkey, part V

Persecution is more than just having an awkward conversation.

In 2 Timothy 3:12 St. Paul gives the warning that “all who desire to live a godly life in Christ Jesus will be persecuted.” I often wondered what to do with this verse and many similar statements throughout the New Testament. I mean, who really gets persecuted per se in 21^st century America? What more would I have to endure than simply having an awkward conversation with a friend or family member? And the message often given by American Christians when non-existent “Christian rights” are violated—How dare Richard Dawkins and Christopher Hutchins write their anti-theistic books! How dare they legalize abortion! How dare Neo-Darwinism get taught in our schools!—is much like that of Islam: the religious fight back in a shouting match of who can exert the most power and reassert his rights to not be offended.

A brilliant young Turkish theologian and human rights activist named Ziya Meral, who himself became a follower of İsa Mesih when he was seventeen, gives this insight to the daily travail and grind of converts who lose the esteem of their communities:

So when a Muslim becomes a follower of Jesus, the first reason he or she is persecuted is not the belief in Jesus or any other god. In most cases he or she is persecuted because they [sic] are perceived to be betraying their national identity by associating themselves with the West. This means that to be a Christian in the Middle East is seen as a shift — a detachment — from everything that makes a person "a person." Within the strong worldview of Islam that separates the world into two camps ("us" versus "them"), the convert is now often defined as one of "them." To the Islamic fundamentalist's mind, apostates deserve death. Even if they are allowed to dwell within the community, their characters are deemed untrustworthy, their testimonies and arguments invalid. For a single woman, finding an honorable husband becomes impossible, and no family will give their daughters to a disgraceful convert. . . .

Physical persecution is temporary and heals, but this social persecution remains and takes deeper roots in the soul of the convert. A deep sense of loneliness develops with a deep-seated sense of shame. Families and old friends are now gone; the name of the convert is now an unspoken memory. A lot of converts suffer from depression, which regularly comes back, even if they emigrate to the West. Many of those who stay in the East live continually as social outcasts with a limited range of work and social interaction.[1]

I have met wonderful men and women who, early in their lives of faith, had to suffer loss of jobs, ridicule from friends, and estrangement from their families. To put it in context, imagine for a moment that you desired to live an openly homosexual life in Texas in 1950. Sure, Turkey is in many senses a modern, secular republic with religious freedom (especially as demonstrated by the massive protests this spring against the religious conservative Justice and Development Party). But even in the largest of cities, life is often governed under codes of tightly woven neighborhood and family structures of honor and approval. And a long-prevailing cultural mantra is that “To be a Turk is to be a Muslim.” (Whether or not one actually believes and practices the tenets of Islam seems to be of lesser importance.) Conversion to Christianity is therefore often, but not always, seen as a subversive act against the devlet (state) and even Turkishness itself, [2] and missionaries and church workers are slandered as Westerners working for the CIA or MI5 trying to corrupt and weaken Turkey from within to be later absorbed by Western (read: American) imperialism.

Such an erroneous mindset that led to the martyrdom of three of our brothers in Christ—two Turks, Necati Aydın and Uğur Yüksel, and a German, Tilmann Geske—in the eastern city of Malatya in April. And this crap just keeps on going. How would you like to be arrested and prosecuted for collecting the weekly offering in your church without having the official papers? We are blessed enough in the U.S. to not have to face the daily problems of believers in other countries, and the affliction of God's people by itself is never a good thing. (Just consider how many psalms speak of how God will liberate his humble, downtrodden people from their oppressors.) But we need to wake up to the reality of real persecution in the church around the world. We need to cry to God day and night for our fellow saints (Luke 18:1-8). And as we are able, we need to let them know we care for them and are seeking the aid of the Victorious Lord for them. Maybe if we quit being a complaining church and more of a church marked by radical hope in our (future) vindication, our message will have a bigger impact.

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[1] Ziya Meral, A Message to the West From the Persecuted Church, Institute for Global Engagement.

[2] In the Turkish legal system, there are actually a lengthy number of punishable “crimes against Turkishness,” including insulting the republic’s founder and war general Mustafa Kemal Atatürk and referring to the sudden deaths and emigration of some 800,000 Armenians in 1915 as “genocide.”

Lessons from Turkey, part IV

Only Jesus and people really matter.

Being removed from American culture for nineteen months, I no longer knew as well what was going on in the news, what the newest movies and music were, or what fashion trends were in vogue. Worst of all, I didn't get to watch Tigers baseball games! (Let's only hope that if I'm ever on Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?, questions pertaining to 2005-07 are omitted.) While many people—and I am all too often included—fuss and worry about such things, I lived just fine without them. I had other Christians to live with, I had all the yogurt, rice, chicken, and lentil soup I could eat, I had my Bible and some good books, and I had (and have still) a Savior who hears my prayers. And that's really about all we need. Why is contentment such a difficult thing to learn?

Lessons from Turkey, part III

I have no clue what I’m doing—but God does.

In his second letter to Timothy, St. Paul exhorts the young pastor at Ephesus to “[r]emember Jesus Christ, risen from the dead, the offspring of David, as preached in my gospel, for which I am suffering, bound with chains as a criminal. But the word of God is not bound! Therefore I endure everything for the sake of the elect, that they also may obtain the salvation that is in Christ Jesus with eternal glory.”

In this letter Paul sounds a strong call to “share in suffering for the gospel by the power of God” (1:8), embodying the treasure of the gospel and portraying Christ as crucified. Part of his sufferings led to an earlier and less severe house arrest in Rome, during which he was able to preach the good news “unhindered” (Acts 28:31). Was St. Luke kidding when he wrote that? Unhindered? Really? If the gospel’s impact relied upon the Apostle’s eloquent communication and personal freedom, then the message would’ve stayed chained there with him. But God is the one in control, not Rome—or prime ministers or secular university professors or religious imams or family patriarchs—and by the power of his Spirit his word will accomplish its intended purpose in people's hearts!

This reality kept Paul going despite all his apparent failures and setbacks. He didn’t labor out of a desperate hope that perhaps he could woo a few of the “lost” over to Christ’s side; nay, he suffered “for the sake of the elect,” those who are chosen and “found” by God. The Father has foreordained them for salvation, the Son has purchased them by his blood on the Cross, and the Holy Spirit creates and sustains their faith. In other words, God actually saves sinners.

For me, too, God’s sovereign freedom in saving people really must be the only hope for the world. Even if I were a Turk and able to speak the language, I think I would have little hope of actually convincing someone that he is a rebellious God-hater in need of forgiveness and an estranged child in need of reconciliation, yet saved apart from anything he has or can do, simply on the basis of a Jewish rabbi who was ignominiously exterminated upon a Roman cross. And on top of that, he would need to deny his familial and cultural values (“To be a Turk is to be a Muslim”), putting himself to open reproach, and daily die to himself as well. Yeah, right!

Every day, I felt like I had absolutely no clue what I was doing. I was some goofy yabancı (foreigner) whose Turkish is pretty feeble, with little real understanding of the cultural mindset, experiences, and values. And yet people did come to faith through us and through the witness of others, both native and foreign, around Turkey and the Muslim world. C. F. W. Walther, the first president of the Lutheran Church—Missouri Synod (LCMS), concurs and offers this encouragement:

Ah, if this great, important, holy matter rested on the fervor of our love, on the abundance of our means, on the training of our missionaries; in short, if it rested on our will and on our faith and strength, then we would have a sad situation. For we are poor miserable sinners, whose love soon disappears; whose strength is only weakness; and whose knowledge is only patchwork. But we should not look at ourselves, but only at the fact that God has commanded this work of missions. He has promised to bless our humble work, and to bless it abundantly.

Accordingly my favorite verse over these past two years has been Romans 15:21 (quoting Isaiah 52:15): “As it is written, ‘Those who have never been told of him will see, and those who have never heard will understand.’” Amen.

Lessons from Turkey, part II

Our hope and God's goodness depend on his free grace.

Islam is essentially a works-based religion, i.e., being in a right relationship with God both now and forever is essentially a business transaction where we must do certain works, the “five pillars,” and life is lived as a tenuous “test.” I've met a number of students who waver under such an oppressive burden of perfection placed upon them. Many others don't care. None can have true hope in the goodness of God. Why? Because if God gives all good things but makes us earn him, then he withholds the greatest gift of all time—that is, if he is truly more beautiful and wonderful than all else. But I believe the God of the Bible is more awesome than all else. And so he is also the greatest Giver of all, bringing us to himself by unmerited favor apart from our deeds, and holding us near him in his hands for all our days (Isaiah 46:3-4; 55:1-2; Ephesians 2:1-9; Titus 3:3-7; 1 Peter 3:18). Furthermore, if God makes coming to him based upon our meritorious deeds, he is constrained by human will as to who will be saved, making him less than free. And if even God's plans are contingent upon human will, what sure hope can we have that we will overcome this world of chaos, evil, and death?

Lessons from Turkey, part I

Prior to ever heading overseas, a large part of my motivation was not only to help spread the Good News of Jesus Christ, but also to see God in new ways and come out of my time a more mature man. When I ask myself, What am I learning from being here? How am I growing? it’s often a depressing exercise in futility. I usually have no ready answers, and I’ve only become aware of even more sin in my life. I don’t pray much, I crave everyone’s approval, I was lazy and easily frustrated about studying and using Turkish, I came up with excuses not to spend time with students, I sought independence more than supportive fellowship with my teammates . . . the list could go on.

But yet I do find that I have been learning and growing. Friends have pointed out my humble teachability and desire for change, my skills in teaching the truth of God’s Word, and that I do in fact care about reaching Turks with the truth. And while I have no idea what lessons I’ll continue to learn now that I've returned to America, some lessons have stuck out to me as more consistent ones from my life in the intercontinental metropolis of Istanbul, Turkey.

The Trinity is essential to the gospel.

Five times each day in the Muslim world the ezan is sung, calling the devout to offer their ritual prayers (namaz) to Allah. Included in the ezan is the essential “pillar” of Muslim theology: that God/Allah is one, and one alone (similar to the Judeo-Christian shema in Deuteronomy 6:4). To ascribe to others the divinity relegated to Allah is an unforgiveable sin.

At first I found the concept of the Trinity (üçlü birlik) to be one of the most common questions or objections to the Christian faith. We Christians are clearly lying polytheists, claiming that Jesus was not only the “Son of God"[1]—a blasphemy in itself, for God does not have sexual relations with humans—but even the Supreme Deity himself. Because there’s no truly satisfactory way to explain the tri-unity of God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit (especially in the eyes of a questioning Muslim), I started thinking more about what the Trinity teaches about the One God himself. [2]

Far from being the more distant, borderline deistic being that Allah is, the Trinity shows that God is emphatically personal, whose essential nature is one of relationship. “Trinity is not an attempt to explain or define God by means of abstractions . . . but a witness that God reveals himself as personal and in personal relations,” writes Eugene H. Peterson. “Under the image of the Trinity we discover that we do not know God by defining him but by being loved by him and loving in return." [3]

Because God has forever been in relationship with himself, this allows God to have always been loving without being dependent on the works of his hands. The Father has always and forever had his beloved Son, cementing love and joy at the very core of his being. For Allah to have someone to love, he needed to create humankind, and is therefore in some manner restrained and dependent upon us for his character. Thus love is not part of his truest nature, unlike that of our great and unchanging Yahweh.

On top of all that, the sheer mind-boggling physics of the Trinity itself, completely inexplicable by even man’s most strenuous intellectual gymnastics, upholds to me the validity of the Holy Scriptures themselves; their message is confirmed as “breathed out by God” (2 Timothy 3:16) and truly trustworthy. God is Someone far greater than my mind can ever conceive, making him worthy of worship, obedience, wonder, and fear-of-the-Lord.

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[1] I suppose we are half to blame for perpetuating the misunderstanding, given that we continue the notion that “Son of God” refers chiefly to Jesus’ virgin birth. Yes, that’s partly true. But in Jewish understanding, “Son of God” was a common designation for the Messiah, the man who was to be Yahweh’s anointed king in the line of David through whom he would justly reign to fulfill his promises to Abraham and redeem Israel from her enemies (see, e.g., 2 Samuel 7:11-16; Psalms 2:6-7, 12; 72:1; Romans 1:3-4). Jesus as “Son of God” also shows that he is so closely united with God the Father that his actions and sayings are one and the same (Luke 10:21-22; John 5:17-22). This is particularly seen in John’s Gospel, where Jesus is portrayed as God living and acting in the flesh (John 20:31)—something far different from the mere human Messiah the Jews expected.

[2] Is it of note that I lived in the district of Kadıköy (on the Asian side of modern-day İstanbul)? It was once known as Khalkedon (or Chalcedon, Latin), where an important church council took place in A.D. 451, cementing the doctrine of the Trinity. I also had the opportunity to travel to the neaby town of İznik—historical Nikaea (Nicea)—where the Coptic “black dwarf” Athanasius fought so valiantly to oppose the Arians and uphold that Jesus Christ is “God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God, begotten, not made, of one Being with the Father” (Nicene Creed).

[3] Eugene H. Peterson, Christ Plays in Ten Thousand Places: A Conversation in Spiritual Theology (Grand Rapids: Wm. B. Eerdmans, 2005), p. 7.