Once more I find myself writing about experiences a day or two past, experiences that are now interpreted through leisurely reflection. After a couple of nights in Izmir (ancient Smyrna), we currently are en route to Aphrodisias, Laodicea, and Hieropolis. We’ll stay the night in Pamukkale before returning tomorrow to the coast and sight of the Aegean Sea.
Two days ago when we left the tranquility of Assos, we set out for the first-century ruins of Pergamum, condemned by Christ in St. John’s Apocalypse as the place “where Satan dwells.” In spite of evident persecution, the struggling church there is praised by Christ: “you hold fast my name, and you did not deny my faith even in the days of Antipas my faithful witness, who was killed among you.” Here, too, Christ encouraged his disciples through St. John by saying, “To the one who conquers I will give some of the hidden manna, and I will give him a white stone, with a new name written on the stone that no one knows except the one who receives it” (Rev. 2:17).
Pergamum’s acropolis stands incredibly high above the valley. In its day, with the public treasury, shining marble temples, full cisterns, and impregnable walls intact, it must have overwhelmed newcomers with a grandeur seldom seen in the ancient world. If it had a peer in Asia Minor, Ephesus would have been it. However, even a remarkably prosperous port city like Ephesus, situated on flat land around a small harbor, would stand at a disadvantage compared to Pergamum with its literally exalted magnificence. It’s no surprise, then, that the latter served as the Roman imperial capital of the province.
Today, visitors to the acropolis have it easy. A newly opened tram whisks tourists up the mountainside, saving the time and trouble of the arduous ascent. A few things struck me about the site.
First, it is large. From the steep theater fit for 10,000 at the lower end of the acropolis to the topmost area is probably a couple hundred meters. Adjacent to and between the two are famous ruined constructions such as the Zeus altar (removed but for the bare base by the Germans to “their” Pergamon Museum in Berlin) and the Athena temple. High above all else except the official buildings at the pinnacle, the Trajaneum, representing the emperor’s presumptuous self-deification (per impossibile), makes an impression, to be sure.
Second, it constitutes an impractical place to situate a city. A defensive fortress might fit there well, but an entire city? The aspiration for unparalleled civic greatness along with a powerful cultic imagination, with their spiritually significant implications regarding homage to the gods, accounts for the strenuous and costly efforts involved in situating such a large city in such an inaccessible locale in such a magnificent fashion.
For both of these reasons, those Christians at the latter end of the first century about whom St. John the Divine wrote lived truly valiantly in understanding their abode to be with Christ in the many mansions of his Father’s house. Absent the different faith, hope, and love given by God in the steadfast mercy of Jesus, how readily cowed into submission to Pergamum’s greatness they might have been. It’s also obvious how scandalous would have been their refusal to play along with the powers that once reigned here.
Moreover, because they held fast to the name of Jesus and did not deny their faith even in death’s face, the word of the Lord from St. John promises, with continued vigilance, both sustenance (“hidden manna”) and honor worth having (“a new name written on the stone that no one knows except the one who receives it”). Herein is a promise of something better for Christ’s followers than the vainglorious, self-bestowed honors inscribed upon the shining white marble edifices of the acropolis.
In addition to the acropolis we also saw the fascinating healing grounds of the cult of Asclepius, where Galen’s groundbreaking medical studies and writings had their origins, as well as the Red Basilica, originating as a Roman-approved temple for Egyptian worship (later converted for Christian and then Muslim worship). Time precludes comment about either.
Our day ended with a two-hour drive to Izmir, the modern name of the ancient city of Smyrna. Izmir is the third largest city of Turkey with over three million people. After a late dinner we went on to bed.
The next morning the three of us along with Scott Moore set out for the small Catholic church named for St. Polycarp, the city’s saint. We were sorry to learn when we got there that the church stays closed to visitors unless they arrive as part of a scheduled group visit. Since we were there neither by prior arrangement nor as part of a group, we had no luck getting in. So far as I can tell, the church gathers in a small building surrounded by the pale yellow walls we stood beyond, and it evidently has been in this location, north of the old agora, since the mid-seventeenth century when Suleiman the Magnificent consented to its construction.
The balance of our day was spent fairly quietly, wandering the streets of modern Ismir near the seaside; casually shopping for books, souvenirs, and even shoes; pausing for good food and drink; and exploring monuments, watching ships come and go, and enjoying glimpses of the olive-green mountains around the city.
We had great delight looking for and finding Turkish translations of Virgil’s Aeneid and Lewis’s Lion, Witch, and the Wardrobe for our tour guide, Cenk. Both books have come up in conversation with him, and he has not read either of them. Since June 13 is his birthday, we thought the books would be a fitting gift from our group.
The contrast between our ease of life during the course of our free day in Smyrna and the “tribulation” of the first-century church of Smyrna provides food for thought. “Do not fear what you are about to suffer,” St. John writes to the saints of Smyrna (Rev. 2:10). “Be faithful unto death, and I will give you the crown of life,” and “the one who conquers will not be hurt by the second death” Christ says (Rev. 2:10-11). God bless his faithful and keep us among them, even, if need requires it, unto death. Amen.
