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CHRISTIANITY IN TURKEY
By Father Jonathan Morris
Fox News
May 16 2007
Last week, when I wrote about the precarious political and religious
situation of this country and what the outcome may mean for world
peace, I didn't know that just a few days later I would be experiencing
Turkey up-close and in person ... but here we are.
Welcome aboard; I will try to be your eyes and ears.
Day 1
I am plane-bound for Asia and Europe, or more precisely, the only
major city that straddles the two. Istanbul is the city of grand
duplicity and, as such, a spectacular case-study for the challenges
and opportunities of globalization -- in particular, the integration
or eventual confrontation of Muslim and Christian civilizations.
In Istanbul, suspension bridges connect the geography of east and west,
but also highlight the deep cultural and religious divides of the very
people they seek to unite. These days, Turkey -- all of it -- also
hangs in suspense, as if on one of the bridges in its flagship city.
When I took this same Al-Italia flight last November, my mission was
well-defined: fill out with color commentary the news that others
would make. The simplicity of it all was comforting. Pope Benedict
XVI would depart a day after me, from the same Roman airport, at the
same time, and on the same airline.
Sure, he was arriving to this 99 percent Muslim country fresh from his
news-making Regensburg address, in which he infamously related Islam
and violence, but I knew the Turkish officialdom was awaiting this
"German shepherd" with open and safe arms. No, they had not forgotten
or forgiven, but they were determined to overlook the diplomatic flap
(and unfortunately the content and deep meaning of the speech too)
with the goal of garnering moral support for their entrance into the
European Union.
In such important company and circumstances, I felt secure. Five
months later, I'm on my own.
Day 2
We hit the ground, and now we're running. On any story, you try to
get things in order before heading out. My producer was on the phone
for days, organizing the crew, itinerary, and all the production
details. But it isn't until you touch the local reality that you
really get the important things done.
You meet people and let them talk. You ask questions and connect the
dots between what you have studied before coming and what you are now
hearing. Sometimes what you thought was a great idea for an interview
while sitting in the office, turns out to be less important when you
are steeped in local realism. On the ground, preconceived notions
fade away and the simplistic slogans you've heard and read so many
times before reveal themselves for what they are -- partial truths
and unstable foundations for meaningful reporting.
Often, something happens unexpectedly and takes over the story. You
meet someone or learn something that invites you -- I would even say
commands you -- to take another direction.
That's happening now. One of the readers of this blog lives in
Prague -- without knowing I was making plans to come to Turkey,
he wrote to me with inside and fascinating information about the
small Christian communities in Turkey and how they are reacting to
increased violence and persecution by some radical elements within this
country. You may remember that a Catholic priest was killed last year,
then later an Armenian journalist, and finally, just three weeks ago,
three Evangelicals were tortured and brutally murdered because they
professed belief in Jesus.
I responded to this reader's informative note, now we are now working
as virtual co-workers on this story. I hope someday to meet him in
person. It's the positive power of the Internet -- I'm based in Rome,
FOX News in New York, this reader in Prague, and together we are
working on a story in Turkey.
It was through this reader that I was immediately connected with
the major leaders of the tiny Evangelical and Protestant communities
throughout the country. I assumed these Christians would be hesitant
to talk on camera, and thinking first of their safety, I certainly
wasn't going to push. But I was interested in hearing first-hand
from them what the status of religious liberty is in their homeland,
whether there is concern about future violence against them, and what
the government is doing about it.
My assumption that they would prefer silence was wrong. They talked
freely and fearlessly about their faith and the situation in which
they live. "This is real martyrdom," said one Christian from the city
of Izmir, with whom I spoke only by phone. "When you, a loyal citizen,
are killed for your faith, and for no other reason. It's not the fake
martyrdom of killing other people in the name of God. But we are not
afraid. The early Church flourished in times of persecution.
We will flourish too."
Today, we made our way through winding streets in a commercial district
in search of an Evangelical church, where we planned to interview
the pastor. My crew is mostly of Muslim origin. They look Arabic or
Persian and around these parts, that's a plus. I, on the other hand,
stick out like a sore thumb. People on the streets look at me. Some
of them point. I don't mind; I guess I am staring too, if I notice
all the stares.
Looking for a Christian church in Turkey is like finding an apartment
in Manhattan -- not because there are so many of them, but because
they literally look like ordinary apartments. Here, there are no
high spires, beautiful facades, or church bells to draw you into
Christendom. The churches just blend into their surroundings, so you
have to have the exact address to find one.
We almost missed it. The entrance to the church looked more like that
of a prison -- a closed iron gate, behind which stood a stern guard
with a clipboard to welcome you ... and to take your name.
Pastor Behnan met us on the street. There were no formalities, and
barely an introduction. "This can't be the man I've been talking to
on the phone over the last few days" I thought to myself. "He would
have greeted me in a different way." But it was. He was just nervous.
"Come with me," he said.
The church was in an upper room. Once inside, it could have been
a Methodist, Lutheran, or Baptist church in a small town in Middle
America: white walls, a simple cross, big lectern, and dark wooden
pews.
"Where do you buy church pews in Turkey?" I wondered to myself.
The crew set up the portable lights and camera as the two of us
chit-chatted. "When everyone comes, we are about 150 people," says
Pastor Behnan, who is now much more at ease.
When I got the word that things were ready, I asked the pastor if we
could start filming. He put on a tie. "No problem."
"Okay, so how is your congregation doing in light of the recent
killings? Are you afraid?"
He didn't hesitate even a second. "Not at all! Jesus is our strength.
I've been jailed many times, and beaten."
"Beaten?" I replied, with emphasis of surprise. "But I thought it
was legal to be Christian in Turkey?"
"It is," he said, "but the police don't know that, or don't want
to know it. They take us in, question us, sometimes rough us up,
and then after a week or two, they let us go."
"And why do they let you go?"
"Because they know if the case goes to court, there will be no law
to incriminate us."
Pastor Behnan repeated several times that he has nothing against the
government. He is a loyal Turk, pays his taxes, and is grateful for
the freedom of worship Turkish law permits. "Turkish law is good,"
he said. "We can worship, and we can even translate and offer Bibles
for sale. We never push them on anyone; but they can buy them if
they want."
But in practice, things aren't so good. On account of widespread
rumors, large percentages of the Turkish population are convinced
Christians are a threat to national unity. Conspiracy theories abound
that promote an environment of mistrust and fear of all non-Muslims.
One rumor I heard from several Muslim Turks, for example, was that
the CIA has trained and sent 40,000 Christian missionaries into the
country to prepare an overthrow of the government.
I asked Pastor Behnan if the killing of the three Christians (whom he
knew personally) was a random terrorist attack that could have happened
in any country, or if, on the other hand, it was representative of
a national problem. His explanation was clear, but not simple.
According to him, while physical acts against Christians have been
rare, it would be inaccurate to say this was a random and isolated
case. Ten young men worked together for many weeks to plan and carry
out the torture and murder. They even pretended to be interested in
Christianity to gain the trust of the men they would later kill.
Pastor Behnan says this premeditated barbarism is fruit of the
misinformation being spread to the masses by some Muslim religious
leaders and even some high-level government officials. He says these
men are purposefully creating an environment that promotes hatred
of Christians, and as long as this sentiment spreads, people on the
fringe will continue to carry out acts of violence in the name of
religion and national unity.
By Father Jonathan Morris
Fox News
May 16 2007
Last week, when I wrote about the precarious political and religious
situation of this country and what the outcome may mean for world
peace, I didn't know that just a few days later I would be experiencing
Turkey up-close and in person ... but here we are.
Welcome aboard; I will try to be your eyes and ears.
Day 1
I am plane-bound for Asia and Europe, or more precisely, the only
major city that straddles the two. Istanbul is the city of grand
duplicity and, as such, a spectacular case-study for the challenges
and opportunities of globalization -- in particular, the integration
or eventual confrontation of Muslim and Christian civilizations.
In Istanbul, suspension bridges connect the geography of east and west,
but also highlight the deep cultural and religious divides of the very
people they seek to unite. These days, Turkey -- all of it -- also
hangs in suspense, as if on one of the bridges in its flagship city.
When I took this same Al-Italia flight last November, my mission was
well-defined: fill out with color commentary the news that others
would make. The simplicity of it all was comforting. Pope Benedict
XVI would depart a day after me, from the same Roman airport, at the
same time, and on the same airline.
Sure, he was arriving to this 99 percent Muslim country fresh from his
news-making Regensburg address, in which he infamously related Islam
and violence, but I knew the Turkish officialdom was awaiting this
"German shepherd" with open and safe arms. No, they had not forgotten
or forgiven, but they were determined to overlook the diplomatic flap
(and unfortunately the content and deep meaning of the speech too)
with the goal of garnering moral support for their entrance into the
European Union.
In such important company and circumstances, I felt secure. Five
months later, I'm on my own.
Day 2
We hit the ground, and now we're running. On any story, you try to
get things in order before heading out. My producer was on the phone
for days, organizing the crew, itinerary, and all the production
details. But it isn't until you touch the local reality that you
really get the important things done.
You meet people and let them talk. You ask questions and connect the
dots between what you have studied before coming and what you are now
hearing. Sometimes what you thought was a great idea for an interview
while sitting in the office, turns out to be less important when you
are steeped in local realism. On the ground, preconceived notions
fade away and the simplistic slogans you've heard and read so many
times before reveal themselves for what they are -- partial truths
and unstable foundations for meaningful reporting.
Often, something happens unexpectedly and takes over the story. You
meet someone or learn something that invites you -- I would even say
commands you -- to take another direction.
That's happening now. One of the readers of this blog lives in
Prague -- without knowing I was making plans to come to Turkey,
he wrote to me with inside and fascinating information about the
small Christian communities in Turkey and how they are reacting to
increased violence and persecution by some radical elements within this
country. You may remember that a Catholic priest was killed last year,
then later an Armenian journalist, and finally, just three weeks ago,
three Evangelicals were tortured and brutally murdered because they
professed belief in Jesus.
I responded to this reader's informative note, now we are now working
as virtual co-workers on this story. I hope someday to meet him in
person. It's the positive power of the Internet -- I'm based in Rome,
FOX News in New York, this reader in Prague, and together we are
working on a story in Turkey.
It was through this reader that I was immediately connected with
the major leaders of the tiny Evangelical and Protestant communities
throughout the country. I assumed these Christians would be hesitant
to talk on camera, and thinking first of their safety, I certainly
wasn't going to push. But I was interested in hearing first-hand
from them what the status of religious liberty is in their homeland,
whether there is concern about future violence against them, and what
the government is doing about it.
My assumption that they would prefer silence was wrong. They talked
freely and fearlessly about their faith and the situation in which
they live. "This is real martyrdom," said one Christian from the city
of Izmir, with whom I spoke only by phone. "When you, a loyal citizen,
are killed for your faith, and for no other reason. It's not the fake
martyrdom of killing other people in the name of God. But we are not
afraid. The early Church flourished in times of persecution.
We will flourish too."
Today, we made our way through winding streets in a commercial district
in search of an Evangelical church, where we planned to interview
the pastor. My crew is mostly of Muslim origin. They look Arabic or
Persian and around these parts, that's a plus. I, on the other hand,
stick out like a sore thumb. People on the streets look at me. Some
of them point. I don't mind; I guess I am staring too, if I notice
all the stares.
Looking for a Christian church in Turkey is like finding an apartment
in Manhattan -- not because there are so many of them, but because
they literally look like ordinary apartments. Here, there are no
high spires, beautiful facades, or church bells to draw you into
Christendom. The churches just blend into their surroundings, so you
have to have the exact address to find one.
We almost missed it. The entrance to the church looked more like that
of a prison -- a closed iron gate, behind which stood a stern guard
with a clipboard to welcome you ... and to take your name.
Pastor Behnan met us on the street. There were no formalities, and
barely an introduction. "This can't be the man I've been talking to
on the phone over the last few days" I thought to myself. "He would
have greeted me in a different way." But it was. He was just nervous.
"Come with me," he said.
The church was in an upper room. Once inside, it could have been
a Methodist, Lutheran, or Baptist church in a small town in Middle
America: white walls, a simple cross, big lectern, and dark wooden
pews.
"Where do you buy church pews in Turkey?" I wondered to myself.
The crew set up the portable lights and camera as the two of us
chit-chatted. "When everyone comes, we are about 150 people," says
Pastor Behnan, who is now much more at ease.
When I got the word that things were ready, I asked the pastor if we
could start filming. He put on a tie. "No problem."
"Okay, so how is your congregation doing in light of the recent
killings? Are you afraid?"
He didn't hesitate even a second. "Not at all! Jesus is our strength.
I've been jailed many times, and beaten."
"Beaten?" I replied, with emphasis of surprise. "But I thought it
was legal to be Christian in Turkey?"
"It is," he said, "but the police don't know that, or don't want
to know it. They take us in, question us, sometimes rough us up,
and then after a week or two, they let us go."
"And why do they let you go?"
"Because they know if the case goes to court, there will be no law
to incriminate us."
Pastor Behnan repeated several times that he has nothing against the
government. He is a loyal Turk, pays his taxes, and is grateful for
the freedom of worship Turkish law permits. "Turkish law is good,"
he said. "We can worship, and we can even translate and offer Bibles
for sale. We never push them on anyone; but they can buy them if
they want."
But in practice, things aren't so good. On account of widespread
rumors, large percentages of the Turkish population are convinced
Christians are a threat to national unity. Conspiracy theories abound
that promote an environment of mistrust and fear of all non-Muslims.
One rumor I heard from several Muslim Turks, for example, was that
the CIA has trained and sent 40,000 Christian missionaries into the
country to prepare an overthrow of the government.
I asked Pastor Behnan if the killing of the three Christians (whom he
knew personally) was a random terrorist attack that could have happened
in any country, or if, on the other hand, it was representative of
a national problem. His explanation was clear, but not simple.
According to him, while physical acts against Christians have been
rare, it would be inaccurate to say this was a random and isolated
case. Ten young men worked together for many weeks to plan and carry
out the torture and murder. They even pretended to be interested in
Christianity to gain the trust of the men they would later kill.
Pastor Behnan says this premeditated barbarism is fruit of the
misinformation being spread to the masses by some Muslim religious
leaders and even some high-level government officials. He says these
men are purposefully creating an environment that promotes hatred
of Christians, and as long as this sentiment spreads, people on the
fringe will continue to carry out acts of violence in the name of
religion and national unity.