I recently traveled with a friend to Turkey. Istanbul to be exact. I went because the opportunity presented itself, and for me it was a chance to get a glimpse of what God was doing in that part of the world, to peer inside behind the layers of information I so often hear. I was definitely excited as any opportunity to travel is in itself a joy and an adventure, but more than that, I have not been back to Istanbul since 2010, my first time in that country. Turkey is such a historically rich and culturally diverse city, even more than I realized in my first visit. We had the opportunity to stay with a wonderful family from Kazakhstan. This was not a typical site-seeing trip. We stayed with this family for the entire time we were in Istanbul, walking the coast of the Sea of Marmara in the mornings with them, eating meals with them, and visiting people they would typical visit in their normal routine. This sort of intimate time is far more valuable to me than any hotel, site-seeing trip would ever be.
So, During my time there my friend and I visited with a rehab center, which works with addicts through recovery and stability in family and jobs, a group of people working in various levels of leadership in churches and other ministries in Instanbul, a group of Syrian refugees who are trying to make a life in Turkey with the hopes of settling in the United States or Canada, and several other individuals along the way. It was such a conglomeration of individuals from various countries ranging from Afghanistan, Iran, Tajikistan, Russia, Croatia, Ukraine, to name a few, and many from various walks of life. Not all of them were Christian either. Many of the people we met and talked with were Muslim. It was quite a unique experience with so many wonderful people.
Obviously, what was so striking to me at first was the great diversity of the nationalities. There were so many different groups of people who have made their way to Turkey for the hopes of refuge, work, peace and stability, to go to University, or to do some sort of missional work. In the midst of this I began to wonder, putting myself in their shoes. There is the student from Tajikistan, who is 21 and attending University. He had converted to Christianity and is now living almost 3,000 miles from home, whose family has most likely rejected him, and he is trying to make his way in the world. There are the families from Syria, whose home town was Aleppo, which is almost completely reduced to rubble, trying to school their kids and find some sort of work while they file for visas to settle somewhere else, where they can hope to make a life. There was the gentlemen from Ukraine, with sadness etched over his face in the midst of his smile, whose hometown in Ukraine is currently much like Aleppo, who is trying to find a new path within his own journey in life.
With little time to sit and process through these experiences and the people I met, I boarded the planes heading home, already tired from my meager 2 hours of sleep the night before, still prepped for the long flights home (simply because I love flying). In the midst of the conversations with my friend about our new discoveries and processing through different conversations we had had through our trip I kept thinking about the various people with whom I had made some sort of connection. It wasn't until arriving home and having suffered through jet-lag that I finally began sorting my thoughts and figuring out what God was showing me and saying to me. It wasn't even until after arriving home that I realized the significance of the diversity of people who have settled in Istanbul.
It's easy to live each day, the mundane of work, home, family, friends. Not that there isn't any joy in any of these aspects of my life, but I live so immune to the commonness of what so many other people face so regularly. In Matthew 8, Jesus responds to a potential new disciple who has asked to follow Him by saying, in essence, that even the animals have a place to call home, but I don't even have a place to lay my head. I am so used to the comfort and beauty of my own life in rural America. I love the fact that I grew up on a farm. I love everything about the peace and beauty found in the country. Yet, despite all of this there is a quality of disciples of Jesus that challenges me and beckons me, to live "not of this world". Jesus did not belong to this world. Even more, by the time of His death He had caused His first disciples to have been so removed from this world that they did not "fit" anymore. Hebrews 11 puts it this way, "...They agreed they were foreigners and nomads here on earth." (NLT) I was challenged by their struggle and suffering, challenged in the way that I live my life, challenged to see Jesus in a different light through the angle of their lives, and challenged in my own comfort or contentment. Would I be willing to lay it aside to follow my Lord? Where is this place we call home supposed to be anyways?
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