IN THE FOOTSTEPS OF THOSE WHO HAVE GONE BEFORE
by Michael Bleby
Business Day (South Africa)
November 11, 2006
Weekend Section Edition
FROM THE HOLY MOUNTAIN: A Journey in the Shadow of Byzantium
William Dalrymple
Flamingo
TEN years ago, William Dalrymple wrote a travel story that was 1400
years old. His own part in it is quite short – lasting only a couple
of years or so – but he updated the tale and brought it to the present.
In AD578, a travelling monk named John Moschos set out from Jerusalem
through the eastern Byzantine empire, through what are now Egypt,
Jordan, Israel, Syria and Turkey. Moschos travelled through the
Greek-based Christian empire (as distinct from the Roman-based Latin
church), documenting the decline of Christianity in the land of its
birth that was simultaneous with the rise of Islam.
Moschos was a contemporary of the Prophet Mohammed and Islam was just
beginning an ascendancy in the Middle East that finally brought an end
to the Byzantine empire with the conquest of Constantinople in 1453.
"In popular imagination, the Levant passes from a classical past to
an Islamic present with hardly a break," Dalrymple says. "It is easy
to forget that for over 300 years – from the age of Constantine in
the early fourth century to the rise of Islam in the early seventh
century – the Eastern Mediterranean was almost entirely Christian."
While this was happening, he points out, in what is now Britain the
Angles and Saxons were still sacrificing to Thor and Woden on the
banks of the Thames.
The encroachment on eastern Christianity that Moschos describes was
"the first act" in a process that is reaching its final stage now,
with an increasing exodus of Christians from the Middle East,
Dalrymple writes.
Dalrymple sets out to follow Moschos’s route, visiting the same
Christian communities Moschos had before it is too late and they
are driven to extinction – before the monasteries all become empty
buildings and the communities emigrate to places such as the US,
Australia and the UK. In Johannesburg, the Maronite congregations at
Woodmead and Liefde-en-Vrede and Coptic congregation in Parkview are
part of that exodus.
Starting at the Holy Mountain of Orthodox Christianity, Mt Athos in
Greece, Dalrymple visits Armenian Christian communities in eastern
Turkey, churches in Syria that stick to Aramaic (the language of
Jesus Christ), and Copts in Egypt. He meets Palestinian Christians
and discusses Christian politics in the Lebanese civil war.
His stories reveal layers within the Middle East that are routinely
overlooked by news and current affairs coverage. The theme is over
1000 years old, but it remains profoundly relevant.
With a vague plan to spend some time in the Middle East, I started
reading Dalrymple’s book one day some years ago in London. I was
sitting on a bench outside my office in Finsbury Square. I became
more and more excited as I read about the different communities
colouring a region widely regarded as a monochromatic Muslim green,
and the surprising level of interaction between different faiths. I
excitedly returned to the office – to find that the World Trade Centre
was burning.
The best travel writing inspires and informs your own travels, and
allows the reader to continue the journey the author began. A year
later, I found myself at one of the sites Dalrymple had written about,
the Our Lady of Saidnaya convent in Syria. This convent, once the
second most important site of pilgrimage for crusaders after Jerusalem,
contains an image of the Virgin Mary supposedly painted by the gospel
writer Luke, and is much visited by women praying for fertility. As
Dalrymple explains, however, as many Muslim women visit the site as
Christians. They pray, bring gifts and spend the night in front of
the icon.
"(T)his was something quite different: a degree of tolerance …
unimaginable today almost anywhere else in the Near East. Yet it was,
of course, the old way: the Eastern Christians have lived side by side
for nearly one-and-a-half millennia, and have only been able to do so
due to a degree of mutual tolerance and shared customs unimaginable
in the solidly Christian West."
Saidnaya was also – as I discovered upon visiting it in 2002, to
see Muslims praying alongside Christians – home to a large number
of Iraqi Assyrian Christians who had fled Saddam Hussein. Members of
the Assyrian Democratic Movement were not welcome in Ba’athist Iraq
and those who fled were hoping to find a way into their chosen land
of the US or Australia. I visited the town one Friday afternoon with
my girlfriend Marina. As it was late, we asked to stay the night.
"You want to stay?" Sister Stephanie asked my girlfriend. "Is he
your husband?"
"No, we’re friends," Marina replied.
"Friends who want to stay in the same room?"
Separate rooms are okay, she hastily replied, but was cut off.
"Follow him."
We were led by a silent youth to a room resembling a Victorian
hospital ward with high white walls. It had three beds and a simple
table. The one window that opened to the outside was barred. It was
clearly the room for unmarried couples – above the largest bed was
a vivid painting of God, draped in a bright pink robe, banishing a
weeping Adam and Eve from the garden of Eden.
Dalrymple describes what he calls the gradual disappearance of
Christianity from the Middle East. At a time of conflict between
eastern and western cultures, it is tempting to believe it will
disappear completely.
It may be so, or it may not. Encouraging people to know the subtleties
of a region all too often written off in generalisations is one way
to prevent what Moschos predicted in the sixth century.