Why Turkish Cats Are Good for the Soul
The one Sunday we spent in Istanbul, we—K, Prairie Dog, and I—went to church. It was an Anglican church, not because that’s my denominational preference, but because it was the only operational Protestant church mentioned in any of our guide books. It’s also the largest Protestant church in Istanbul, which means there were maybe 20 people in attendance.
Of course, wherever you go to Anglican Church, you can count on the liturgy, because it’s going to be pretty much the same. However, sermons—or homilies, depending on where you are—will vary vastly in quality. The sermon at Christ Church was awful.
The text chosen was Ephesians 6 (the bit about spiritual—and may I emphasize spiritual?—armor), but the British priest didn’t really deal with it, instead deciding to launch into a diatribe about how evil Iran is. The closest he ever got to the text was explaining how Christians need to “stand up for truth” and not be accepting of tyranny or terrorism. Now I’d agree with those statements if meant in some ways, but Mr. Priest’s main problem with Islamic fundamentalism seemed to be that it’s chaotic—i.e., not orderly and British. He kept using words like “sensible” and “rational” to describe what Christians ought to stand for.
Um, hello, when has it ever been rational to believe in the Trinity?
And then there was the moment when he used the phrase “the lunacy of pacifism.” My Mennonite traveling companions and I couldn’t help exchanging lunatic grins then. The three of us couldn’t decide whether the sermon sounded more like we had taken a time machine back to 19th-century imperialist Britain or to pre-WWII Britian. Whichever it was, the sermon seemed not only colonialist, but also potentially dangerous, given the current political climate in Turkey. I kept imagining terrorists launching bombs into the church during the sermon, and I was a bit indignant thinking that the priest was exposing us all to potential martyrdom for something that had nothing to do with Jesus.
All was set right, though, when, just as the priest was giving the benediction, a cat—a lovely light calico—wandered in under the pews and let out a few meows. Then she plopped herself down in the middle of the aisle, stretched out her leg, and began doing what cats are wont to do: licking her posterior.
Then the recessional—“Stand Up, Stand Up For Jesus,” a hymn I’ve never heard in any other Anglican church—began, and as the cross and Bible and censer and numerous white-robed people came down the aisle, the cat did not stand up, but rather continued bathing. One of the altar-men was trying to step around her when she finally decided to get up and saunter off elsewhere.
Somehow she put Mr. Sensible Priest in perspective.
The church was definitely a community of expatriates, and it was cheering to see the diversity there: Africans, Indians, Europeans, Americans, even at least one Kurd. Of course, once I thought about it, I realized that that diversity is in part due to 19th-century imperialism. Sigh.
As some of you saw in the news, there actually were some bombings in Turkey the very next day—bombs set off not by Islamic fundamentalists but by the PKK, the Kurdish terrorist organization. The Kurds are an oppressed minority in Turkey. I have to wonder if Mr. Sensible Priest would encourage fellow Christians to stand up—nonviolently—for the rights of the Kurds. Probably not, because he would be upset that the Kurds don’t all queue up in an orderly fashion or read Enlightenment philosophy or drink tea with milk.
Add comment September 11th, 2006