Breaking Bread and A Call to Prayer

As with every journey this one began with those seemingly endless and frenetic preparations.  Lists upon lists collide with time and energy and all of it filtered through an equation of what “must” be done now compared and contrasted to what “can wait” until my return.  We don’t always get it right, sometimes “leaving undone those things which we ought to have done” as the old Episcopal liturgy would say.  But eventually, at an appointed hour advisable to actually getting to where you have said you’re going – the journey begins, and you must go.  So it is with the beginning of every journey: we prepare as best we are able, then we set out…

Often the “getting there” (wherever “there” might be) and the “getting home” are seen as ancillary; aren’t they just the background noise before and after the real journey?  Or, are these legs of any journey a key part of the experience?  In my life the “getting there” and “getting home” have always been significant, in part, because these portions of the journey can often provide time for some internal work – focus, consideration, thought, and perhaps study.  In the case of this trip the “getting there” – from leaving my home in Central Florida to setting down my bags in the hotel room in Istanbul – was 20 hours (the remarkable efficiency of travel in our modern world is an amazing thing, indeed, but that conversation will have to happen at another time).  It included some walking, some eating, some reading, some talking, some media related diversions, and a lot of travel – a car, two planes, and a bus – it also provided for a little shut-eye here and there along the way.  It seems that we all know this: getting there and getting home are always a vital part of the journey in all of life… in that, I tried to pay special attention to that part of this journey.  It made the “getting here” a truly enjoyable enterprise.

Mahmut, Bob, and Beth

Our hotel is in the heart of the old city: charming, bustling, active with much construction underway everywhere, Turkey’s booming economy visible in every nook and cranny.  We met at 7 PM in the hotel lobby, seven of us (Bob, Beth, Peter, Gee, Dave, Chuck, Bryan), plus our two guides (Mrs. Saliha and Mr. Mahmut (wife and husband who also live in Central Florida but are both natives of Turkey), our bus driver (whose name I will learn tomorrow) and made our way through the crowded roads of our “new neighborhood” (at least for a few days) to a delightful restaurant not too far away.  It was far enough off the beaten path that no tourist casually looking for a place to eat would be there, it looked and felt rich in local tradition and connection.  So there we were, nine of us, mostly strangers to each other; but with a gentle spirited round the table conversation, which flowed effortlessly, we began this part of our journey together, it happened most simply and without fanfare in the breaking of the bread (Turkish Lavash Bread to be precise), and it reminded me as I watched and listened and experienced these moments when we began to come together as a small community of fellow travelers that breaking bread is always a sacred experience.  In this simple act, our journey together began.

Peter and Gee

After supper we returned to our hotel, and as I began to settle in to write, a soft and compelling sound began to waft through my open window; the last call to prayer for the day was carried through the lyrical song of the Azan.  It builds slowly and finally mounts to a crescendo as it echoes from the minarets of Mosques all over the city, inspiring, beautiful, and a bit haunting.  I paused for my own time of prayer.  I remembered family and friends, and needs and situations – of persons and of the world – and my new friends here and my hope and prayer, that I will learn here lessons and insights which will help me to be a better sojourner for peace, compassion, and justice in my own life.  And so, the journey has truly begun.