Visiting sites of the early Church enlivens a couple’s faith

By Laura Iunghuhn for The Catholic Moment

While abroad, Tim and I have experienced many expressions of the Catholic faith: Mass in seven
languages, cities and countries shaped by saints and the faithful, and community in the
universality of the liturgical celebrations. We visited Fatima, the Infant of Prague, and Krakow,
where St. Pope John Paul II discerned his calling. However, it was during our time in Turkey on
the sites of the early church, that we most connected with the roots of our faith, finding deeper
truth in our profession of faith: “I believe…in the holy catholic Church, the communion of
saints…and life everlasting.”

Out of visa days in Europe, Tim and I settled in Izmir, Turkey, for two and a half months. We
were overwhelmed by its 3 million people, the language, and the dominant Muslim culture.
However, we took comfort in knowing there was a Catholic church in city centre. Smaller
Turkish cities, even well-known ones, supported only mosques. Initially, we wondered why this
city, insignificant on tourist maps, supported a diocese, but it didn’t take long to find out.

Izmir is built on the site of ancient Smyrna. In Roman times, the city was a prosperous port and
had strong connections with Rome, competing to build temples for the emperor. Since emperor
worship was strong here, the Christians in Smyrna faced strong persecution, so John encouraged
them, writing, “Remain faithful until death, and I will give you the crown of life” (Rev. 2:10).

The Cathedral Basilica of St. John the Apostle in Izmir had an English Mass every Sunday – it’d
been five months since we heard the prayer in English. Being able to participate from beginning
to end gave us a new appreciation for the Mass. We even began to contribute to the collection,
something we hadn’t done in our other temporary homes.

An hour south of Izmir is the ancient city of Ephesus. The 10th-century ruins are awe-inspiring.
Unlike many archeological sites, which seem to be foundations buried in overgrown grass or a
few remaining pillars, Ephesus is comparatively intact. It’s easy to imagine it at its height of
prosperity. Walking the ancient streets, the Riot of the Silversmiths (Acts 19:23) came alive.

The Ephesians worshiped a cult idol of the Greek goddess Artemis at the nearby temple. She was
the city’s protector and a symbol of motherhood. So, when Paul spoke against this idol, many
Ephesians were outraged, especially the silversmiths whose livelihoods depended on creating
and selling images of the goddess. With the prompting of a local silversmith, “the people rushed
with one accord into the theater” (Acts 19:29).

Tim and I entered that same theatre, climbed its steps to praise its construction, acoustics, and the
view of the hillside beyond. In the archeological museum, we admired the Ephesian image of
Artemis, the pillar-like form of her body, her chest ornamented with carved jewelry, and her
head crowned. Seeing these remnants of an ancient time in the place they belonged made the
stories of the Bible seem more recent and real than they ever have before.
On Good Friday, we returned to Ephesus but bypassed the city gates. Instead, we hiked uphill,
following the winding road that encircled the mountainside. At the top, nestled in a pine grove,
was Meryemana – the House of the Virgin Mary.

At his death, Jesus entrusted his mother to St. John (John 19:25-27). So, when John came to
Ephesus, it is believed that Mary came with him. As Christianity replaced paganism, churches
were built on top of the temples dedicated to Artemis. Named Theotokos here during the Third
Ecumenical Council, Mary replaced the goddess as the city’s mother and protector. As we
climbed, Tim and I considered how this idea of the Virgin’s patronage has remained and that we
numbered just two of the centuries’ uncountable pilgrims, some of whom even sought Mary
when she was alive.

In the weeks that followed Easter, the privilege of attending the Cathedral in Izmir became more
apparent. Of the seven churches of the Book of Revelation, this is the only one still in existence,
doggedly keeping its foothold in this Muslim nation.

The community at St. John’s is small: the persecution of Christians followed the faithful into the
modern era, and most of the Greek Orthodox were driven out of the city, violently, in the early
twentieth century by the Ottomans. The priests are missionaries, hailing from Italy, Poland, and
Pakistan. And many of the parishioners are foreign, like us, who settled in Izmir for their own
reasons.

During the coffee social after Mass, which Tim and I eagerly looked forward to each week, we
met women from Ohio and Iowa, brothers from Germany, and a young teacher from South
Africa. We were welcomed here, recognized. Others were happy to see us. The woman who
organizes the ministries even asked us to lector. We happily agreed.

While in Turkey, Tim and I also visited the tombs of St. John in Selçuk and St. Philip in
Pamukkale and wandered the valleys of Cappadocia where Sts. Basil, Gregory the Theologian,
and Gregory of Nyssa began to develop the doctrine of the Trinity. With every venture into
Turkey’s history and landscape, we encountered the beginnings of our faith, recognizing anew
their names in the Sunday readings. But it also made us ever more grateful for the faith as it lives
today, built up by devout, passionate, and inspired people all around the globe.