
Although most of you who know me know that I don't really participate in Christian tradition like I once did, I still identify myself as Christian due to it being my cultural tradition and the source of much of my identity formation. On a trip such as this, I especially identify as Christian--being that I'm coming in from the U.S., am researching the archaeological dig sites with Christianity in mind, and am with a group from a theological school. Therefore, I thought this would be a good time to reflect a little bit, and share with you, on what it has been like to be a Christian in a Muslim country.
Although Christianity is essentially a world power unto itself, it is a minority religion in Turkey. This situation offers a particularly rare opportunity to see myself (and Christianity, and the U.S.) from the outside in--to be displaced from my religious/cultural context (as the two are surely inseparable for most Americans) and astutely aware that my traditions, my beliefs, my understandings are not the traditions, beliefs, and understandings of everyone. Indeed, they are the traditions, beliefs, and understandings of terribly few here. Almost none. To hear the call to prayer multiple times throughout the day (and night!), to see beautiful mosques on every corner, to reserve my speech about anything Christian: this all reminds me of what it must feel like to be a religious minority in the States. It must feel lonely and solitary, too often.
Being here has also afforded me the opportunity to see myself as simultaneously in a position of power as an American, despite being displaced as a religious minority. Power dynamics are an interesting phenomenon, albeit an unfortunate reality. As we walked the streets of Selcuk each day, to search out lunch, dinner, or souvenirs, we were obviously not locals. I can't tell you how many times I consciously thought to myself, "I feel so American right now." I often talked about the feeling with international students in our group. Everyone should have experiences that make them realize their cultural formation and identity so consciously. Although we did our best to learn and use the language, there has been an inherent and mutual understanding that the locals will know at least enough English to communicate with us. It is so incredibly presumptuous, and unfortunate. When foreigners come to the U.S., we always expect them to speak English. This trip--as every trip abroad--makes me ashamed of that fact. Why aren't I learning the other languages before leaving on my trips? I should be doing it much, much more...
I have really enjoyed being in this context. The people we have met, the locals we have interacted with, the shopkeepers, and restaurant staff--they have all been more than gracious to us. I'm sure the American dollar is a very influential part of that hospitality. But I will say that never, not even once, did I feel concerned for my safety. Quite oppositely, every one has been generous and kind, going out of their way to make us feel at home in their land, in their hotels, and restaurants. It has been an amazing experience, which reminds me that people can never be reduced to one label. Ever. We are all human beings, in human suffering and human happiness. We love, and laugh, and care for our families and work our jobs, and do our best.
I am overjoyed to finally have this experience with Muslims in their own country for myself. My wish is that you all might have such an experience for yourselves, as well.








