by Nevzat Yalçin

Wherever I may be on a trip, it is my habit to visit any place of prayer that I may come across whether it be a church, a synagogue or an Islamic place of prayer, a mosque. To me all such buildings are sanctuaries for those who seek peace and serenity. If I happen to be in Turkey, I visit mosques to listen to myself in that atmosphere which seems to pervade houses of prayer. In foreign countries, churches and synagogues, for me, take the place of mosques in the same way. As a Moslem, I know that Islam says that all places of prayer are houses of God... Those who know of the difficulties faced  by Turkish workers in Germany, may well remember that some years ago when there were no mosques in this country, the Turks asked for permission to use a church in Munich for their traditional prayer service on the occasion of Bayram which marks the end of fasting month of Ramadan. 

For those who distinguish religion from mere tradition (or even superstition), it is only natural to regard a place of prayer as a "house of God". But that is a different subject from ours now.

While my wife, who is a Christian, and I were on a trip in Finland some years ago, we went into a Lutheran church to enjoy some meditative moments. The first thing that drew my attention while I was looking at Jesus Christ above the altar, was that Jesus Christ looked very much like the blond Finns that I had seen outside. That very moment I remembered a short story which I had discussed with my pupils some years before; a short story by John Henrik Clarke, a black American writer. In that story, which takes place at a primary school for black pupils, one of the pupils who happened to know that it was their teacherís birthday, presented her with a picture in which Jesus Christ was black like the teacher and the pupils themselves. The teacher, unexpectedly presented with a picture like that, was puzzled, but just to please the boy, she paid him compliments, asking the child to tell his class how and why he had painted it. The boy said: "My uncle who lives in New York, is a teacher of history of black peoples. When he came to see us last year, he told us about great black people in history. He also told us that once the blacks were the most advanced race on earth, also telling us no one had ever proved that Jesus Christ was not black like us. So, I painted the picture as it came from within me, I mean, as I felt it...

In that short story by John Henrik Clarke, the teacher's birthday is shortly before the very last day of the school-year on which paintings by pupils are displayed in the assembly room. On this day it is also customary that a white school inspector visits the school. When the white inspector arrives and sees during his inspection, the picture of the black Jesus Christ, he becomes very angry and asks: "Who has painted this sacrilegious nonsense?" He asks the headmaster for an explanation of what he calls a "scandal". The headmaster responds with great courage and civility: "It was I who encouraged the boy to paint this picture. I do not se anything wrong in painting Christ black... Artists of other races envisage God as from their own race. You will appreciate that black painters must enjoy the same right. After all, perhaps Jesus Christ was a black person; because we know that the place where he lived, was then inhabited by coloured people..."

But this explanation by the headmaster only makes things worse, and the very same day he is dismissed from his post.

I was once given a present of an icon by a catholic English friend Mr. Alan Spencer Hindle, which he had brought from Ethiopia. He is now dead - may he rest in peace...

I have always treasured and respected this charming gift of friendship. When I looked at the icon for the first time, I too was puzzled (like the teacher in the story), not having seen a black Jesus Christ before. But this puzzlement did not last long. Indeed, the strangeness of the picture renewed my love for mankind. It seems to me that universality is a sign, and hallmark of truth. What the black headmaster says in the story speaks to humanity, and to me it rings true. An old philosopher has said: "An Ethiopian imagines Jesus black like himself, while a Thracian Illustrates him with blue eyes. If oxen and horses were able to imagine, they would have thought of him in their own forms..."

I have never been to the Far East. I presume, Japanese and Chinese Christians kneel before a Jesus Christ with slanting eyes. I do not think the white inspector in the story is a concocted or unreal or unrealistic character. Many of his kind have been seen in the "Great Democracy" of the world. I do wonder if some day Western world where human rights and equality of human beings are ardently defended, might come to accept for a few days a black Jesus Christ behind the altar...