Stephan Efendi of Zinjidere
The Unknown Story of Stephanos I. Sirinides
He Left His Mark on a Remote Corner of Cappadocia
By Thomas Cosmades
Chapter 8
The Sons of the Family Sent Away
Years sped by. The turn of the century brought in important changes. The children were growing fast. Stephanos was led to return to his old ministry in Ürgüp. The dispersion of the sons began. Themistocles had put in one year as teacher after graduating from school. His burning desire was to migrate to far-off U.S.A., which dream was eventually fulfilled. In 1905, Ioachim graduated from Talas Academy. He expressed his desire to further his studies at Anatolia College in Marsovan. Stephanos, being a minister, was able to make arrangements with the American Board to send him there with half scholarship. Neocles and Sophocles were planning to continue their education at Talas Academy. But suddenly, Stephanos changed his mind and decided to send all three sons to Marsovan, the younger two to the Academy section of Anatolia College.
The long, hard journey was done by horse carriage. Arrangements were made for all three boys to travel in the same carriage. It was a heart-rending day when the couple sent off their beloved boys to Marsovan. Besides, Themistocles was soon going to take off for the United States. Stephanos could not bear the thought of being deprived of his sons. He rode on his horse and slowly followed the boys’ carriage for about two hours. Finally, it stopped and they could all once again say their affectionate good-byes with warm embraces and kisses. After the carriage started up again Stephanos remained motionless on his horse while watching it move off into the distance. They had gone about five hundred meters, and he was still riveted on the moving carriage. Suddenly there was an unexpected development before the boys’ eyes. Their father was riding at breakneck speed toward them. So they asked the driver to pull aside, which he did. Stephanos just had to say a final good-bye and pray for God’s blessing upon each one of them. He was crying profusely; he could hardly talk.
Ioachim was going to travel to Marsovan for his senior year, accompanied by his two younger brothers. They were saying farewell to their parents when the father remembered something; without further talk he took them to another room where he solemnly instructed all three of them. “My sons,” he said, “You must be aware that modern theology has already spread all over. Unfortunately, Anatolia and the institutions here are no exception. Of course, we have no choice but to send you to Marsovan College. I am trusting that our heavenly Father will spare each one of you from the influence of modernistic speculation. It may be that for awhile you will wander away. I am confident that this will be only temporary. I know that God will bring you back and you will reclaim your faith.” With this admonition and blessing, he sent them away to school.
The boys were always mindful of the great sacrifice the family was making by sending them to a boarding school, even though the cost was half of the ordinary for ministers’ children. Indeed, it was true that the family sacrificed a great deal to have them educated. By this time, the older sisters were working as teachers, realizing some income. The boys later found out that some money was regularly laid aside out of the sisters’ salaries, along with the father’s contribution, for their education. They never forgot their sisters’ generosity and were ever grateful to them for it. Stephanos, like all other ministers, had his own means of transportation to take him any and everywhere – his faithful horse. It would encounter any kind of weather, carrying his master where he needed to go. Stephanos was very fond of his horse. Often he would lead it by its reins, instead of riding on it, in order to spare it from the weight of his body. In frigid weather, he walked next to the horse, protecting himself from freezing and possibly dying, which might have been the case had he been riding on it. Sometimes, Stephanos would return home, his beard, mustache and hand-knit cap hanging with frosty icicles formed by his breath.
Those days Anatolia was infested with bandits and robbers from one end to the other. These men did not hesitate to murder the people they sought to rob. The country was not at all safe for one traveling alone on horseback. Drivers of horse carriages always had to offer a sizeable bakhsheesh (bribe) to the bandits in order to spare themselves and their passengers. Stephanos, like so many other ministers who were riding alone on the far-off and deserted roads of the land, constantly prayed for safety and protection. Banditry was the profession of numerous outlaws in those days. They were organized like a mafia when the word was yet unknown.
It was Easter, 1908. A group of bandits waylaid some travelers who had made a pilgrimage to the Orthodox monastery in Zinjidere. Naturally, Stephanos was not in this group, but he happened to be going in the same direction at the same time. Just as he made a turn in a narrow part of the road, he encountered a company of helpless pilgrims all lined up along the roadside being stripped of all their valuables. At the appearance of Stephanos, the thieves were happy that they were going to lay their hands on another sojourner. They ordered him to get off the horse and to hand over his weapon. Stephanos complied and took his New Testament out of his pocket, which he handed to them. The head bandit angrily burst out, “I didn’t ask for a book. I asked for your weapon.” Stephanos replied that this was the only weapon he carried with him in all his journeys. Soon the bandits discovered who he was and started treating him kindly. They did not ask for his money. However, they could not resist the temptation of getting away with his cloak and watch. The cloak was an unusual garment. Sophia had lined it with a red woolen blanket. The ringleader of the bandits felt pity for Stephanos in abandoning him to the frigid elements without protection. So against the cloak he took away, he compensated Stephanos by giving him his own. Stephanos did not say a word. He just stood there, waiting for the next command. After a while, the head bandit returned and gave him back his own cloak and his watch, telling him to proceed with his journey.
Chapter 9
Modernism Makes its Appearance
Around the middle of the twentieth century the great theological schools in Eastern U.S.A. were graduating students trained in accordance with higher criticism. Graduates of these schools started taking over pulpits and colleges. Sooner or later, they were bound to make their appearance in missionary centers of education administered by the American Board. As Stephanos had felt, and warned his sons concerning his premonition, it didn’t take long for some of the missionaries trained in these institutions to be commissioned to service in Turkey. Naturally, they started teaching their subjects along the same lines they had been taught themselves. The academic qualifications of the new missionaries were considered of greater importance than their spiritual stance. The trend was to train competent minds rather than establishing the students in spiritual aptitude.
The many schools and hospitals of the American Board started going along with the introduction of this new teaching. The younger missionaries were quite determined to introduce the tenets that they themselves had received. The Mission Board could not take a firm stand on the issue of the traditional teaching in their schools. The majority went along with the new trend. Every year, the American Board missionaries in Anatolia held a summer conference in a different location. These were very happy occasions when each missionary related his/her experiences in a given area of service. When the issue of liberalism entered, an element of tension surfaced in these conferences. Those holding to the traditional position begged the rest not to compromise on the historic Christian view for the sake of the national pastors, teachers and the flocks under their care. However, their plea went unheeded. Until then, the local people had no exposure to the issues of higher criticism. Stephanos and men like him who had received the whole structure of their belief from the Scriptures could not accept the new trend. Nevertheless, some of the educated preachers eventually went along with the teaching of the modernistic school.
This regrettable development brought a rift between the Christian leaders holding to one or the other theological position. The conflict became more acute. A split was inevitable. The dissention sharply divided the missionary establishment in Talas where they had an academy and a hospital. The view of the new teachers in the school ran contrary to that of the old medical doctors in the hospital. Of these, Dr. Dodd and Dr. Post determinedly resisted the modernistic teachings. They started holding services on the premises of the hospital for the staff and patients, proclaiming the message to which they held allegiance. Naturally, the teachers at the academy resented their dynamism. When the doctors saw that their rapport with the Board became tenuous they had no other option but to resign from the hospital. They decided to move to Konya (Iconium) and start a new hospital there. One of the medical staff they took with them was Athena Mavridou. Her son eventually married one of the Sirinides granddaughters.
The controversy actually had its start in Talas, eventually spreading to the whole country. The message in a number of churches was progressively becoming uninspiring and unclear. Preaching aiming at the individual’s conversion and personal faith in Christ was no longer proclaimed. This happened at a time when churches in Asia Minor needed clear direction, encouragement and uplift. The dark clouds were gathering everywhere. On the eve of the great massacre people were not being offered the firm support they so desperately needed.
Stephanos was in Ürgüp at the time seeking to offer spiritual vitality to the church he had started long before. Here he came face-to-face with the crucial necessity of casting his lot. Years before he had experienced a conflict with the Greek Orthodox Church to which he belonged at the time. Consequently, he was obliged to leave the church. It was a costly departure. He lost his business, his friends, even some relatives and acceptance in his community. But he found peace with God by making that vital decision. It can easily be surmised where his lot would be cast in this discord. Fear or losing favor with the Board was not a consideration. He was particularly close to one missionary, the Rev. Mr. Fowel. He and Mr. Fowel had journeyed together to many places, preaching the Gospel and had always enjoyed a close relationship. But now Mr. Fowel cast his lot with the Board. With great regret on both sides, they parted ways. It was at this juncture that Stephanos broke away from the Mission Board. He wasn’t going to sacrifice evangelistic fervency so prominent in his preaching in favor of a formalistic sermon.
Chapter 10
At the Threshing Floor
Behind the parsonage in Zinjidere there was a shanty, about eighteen meters square. It consisted of four walls and a roof. The entrance was big enough for wagons, horses and cattle to go through. It seems that the place had no owner. It probably was built by a civic-minded resident of the village with the intention that it be used as a shelter for travelers. Many camel caravans, pack-mules, and also ox-carts belonging to gypsies took refuge in this place. Following a respite of some days, they would go on their way refreshed. Local people sometimes wondered among themselves if the Bethlehem inn was something like this place. They reasoned that perhaps there had been no innkeeper in Bethlehem just as there was none here.
Around and behind this shanty was a large open space of ten acres or more. It was called ‘Harmanlik’, meaning ‘Threshing Floor’. During harvest time farmers brought their wheat and barley to be threshed by ox-drawn sledges. These flat, wooden sledges were profusely imbedded with small sharp stones on the bottom side to cut the heads of grain from the stalks. When the harvest was brought in, everybody gathered to observe the goings-on. These sledges curved upward at the front, were nearly a meter wide and almost two meters long. The yoke of oxen or horses repeatedly pulled the sledge around in large circles until the entire harvest was threshed. The driver of the sledge begged the children to ride on it to add weight and make the work go faster. Harvest time was a festival in Zinjidere. The Sirinides boys were told the story of Ruth and Boaz, their father making a parallelism of gathering in the harvest in Old Testament times and thousands of years later in the twentieth century. They reasoned that Ruth could very likely have slept overnight at the threshing floor while Boaz took his place on another side of the field. At noon, harvest hands in Zinjidere sat in the shade of the shack and ate their simple lunch. The story in the Old Testament mentions that Ruth was invited to join the harvesters and dip her bread in the common bowl. The old custom was replicated here, as everybody ate from a communal dish.
Chapter 11
The Valley of Despair
Like every other minister of the Gospel, Stephanos was human; in fact, in some cases very human. In order to have a background for the following incident, we recommend that you go to the story, ‘Anatolia, Anatolia’ at this same website and read Chapter 5, ‘The Orphanage at Zinjidere’. This will help you to understand the ensuing crisis that came upon Stephanos and how he went through a very low ebb in his life and ministry. As mentioned in that chapter, in 1909, a Swiss lady by the name of Maria Gerber moved from Konya (Iconium) to Zinjidere in order to establish a new orphanage. Her services started very effectively. She built a complex of four buildings. Local people, some of them Christians, took over the installation of the plumbing and other features. The main building was a very short distance from the Harmanlik and not more than two-hundred and fifty meters from the church. This Evangelical community which had its beginnings through Stephanos’ foresight and leadership was entering a new phase. When Miss Gerber brought the large orphanage into existence, Stephanos gave her much moral support. He was very happy that there was going to be new vitality and bustling activity in town. Following the inception of the orphanage the orphans who had been taken in from every part of the country regularly attended the services in the church. Stephanos was exhilarated to have the church full to overflowing every Sunday.
But Miss Gerber decided to start church services at the orphanage itself. She thought the people at the orphanage could be better accommodated on their own premises. Miss Gerber employed the able evangelist, Haralambos Bostanjoglu, who is the subject of the book already mentioned. Stephanos was sixty-five years old at the time. There was certainly a generation gap between him and the staff, as well as the orphans themselves. Here was a young preacher-evangelist in the fervor of his youth, also with great musical ability and on the other hand, Sirinides, who had long years of service behind him. Stephanos had not had the benefit of formal training. His English was very skimpy. He couldn’t utilize any material in English. Compared to this, Rev. Bostanjoglu was a graduate of Tarsus College; a young man in the freshness of youth, a zealous and persuasive evangelist. When Miss Gerber decided to start services at the orphanage, all of a sudden the Evangelical church was emptied. This was a deep disappointment to Stephanos. Overnight, the congregation was reduced to a few old ladies.
At the time, Stephanos expressed his profound disappointment in a letter he sent to his brother Prodromos who was living in Athens. This was one of the very few letters saved by the family. All the records of Stephanos were left behind when the Greek population was uprooted from Anatolia (1922-24). He wrote: “For a year or two before I left Ürgüp, I was looking forward with high hope and expectation to be back in my beloved Zinjidere. My relationship with the American Board had come to an end and I was independent. It is now eighteen months since I’ve been back. Presently there is no congregation here worth mentioning. While things were going very well at the outset, events and personal differences developed which caused deep distress to my soul. Consequently, the privilege of proclaiming the Gospel and extending the invitation for salvation to precious young lives is denied me. Trepidation and sorrow have gripped my soul. I have been left with neither courage nor ambition. Each Sunday I hold two services, one in Talas and the other in Zinjidere. In the service at Zinjidere there are only a few women. Even some of them attend the services at the orphanage. Not once have I been able to conduct a communion service.” He continues, “Your encouraging letters have been a great help to me. But they do not manage to cheer me. My heart is heavy, very heavy. I am at a loss as to know what to do.”
Looking at the background of the situation, we ought to realize again that there was a generation gap, not only between Stephanos and the young orphans, but also between Maria Gerber with her colleagues and this venerable elderly pastor. While Miss Gerber had been spending considerable time in the U.S.A., being part of the D. L. Moody evangelistic team as a soloist, with other varied experiences along the same lines, Stephanos was plodding faithfully away in a corner of Cappadocia. Now he was approaching old age and the reverses in his ministry hit him hard. From the very outset, there was not a meeting of the minds between aging Stephanos and the much younger, strong-willed, individualistic Maria Gerber. She had another agenda. Before too long their differences surfaced. This happens when incidents of dissimilarity appear between workers serving God at close range. In such cases differences come to light when the persons involved don’t see matters eye-to-eye. Most times, these disagreements cannot be healed and each one takes his own way, discovering God’s different plan for his/her life.
Stephanos was winding down age-wise, and he found himself without any support from any young person(s). In regard to this, Paul’s reminder to Timothy is a good example of explaining crises encountered by an older servant of God (cf. II Timothy 1:15). On the other hand, Miss Gerber was very happy with the developments. She had the satisfaction of organizing regular church services at the orphanage with a young pastor and other young people assisting him. She apparently felt that Stephanos’ ministry had come to its end. She went as far as requesting that the church bell be rung to call people to the services at the orphanage! This appeal was certainly not going to be met. Stephanos’ letter to his brother continues: “I feel that I am in good health. In fact, I see younger and stronger men than I depart from this life. When that happens to me, will I be able to say that my ministry was effectively concluded? What results have I realized? I have been in this service for many years. If tomorrow I am called to go home to my Lord, what will I bring to him? Could it be that I will be empty-handed? Such sorrow and inner weakness have overcome me. I don’t know what to do. I have arrived at the conclusion that I was not fit for this service. On the other hand, I am wondering how God could show such kindness to me. Was it that God’s will was not to call me into his service? Did the urge come merely from human quarters? Why is it that all of these years of experience did not produce more results? This is a mystery to me.” He was experiencing the lowest ebb in the tenure of his ministry, just as Elijah of old did (cf. I Kings 19).
Actually Stephanos was quite rash in his thinking ― typical of people in that part of the world. But the Lord was not unmindful of him. He opened for him another small church in nearby Stephana. Sirinides was also preaching in Talas. Had he not succumbed to this despair he could have made the best of the situation and said with Paul, “What then? Only that in every way, whether in pretense or in truth, Christ is proclaimed; and in that I rejoice” (Philippians 1:18). It may be simple to come up with convenient answers to a grievous happening of a hundred years ago, but at the time it was a complicated and upsetting struggle for Pastor Sirinides. It is nothing unusual in our time for thousands of ministers to leave their pastorates annually because of some crisis for which they can find no solution or healing.
The letter to Prodromos is dated March 11, 1911. It conveys the typical struggle in the life of the Anatolian individual called upon to cope with unforeseen stress. His mind went back to Job of old, who said, “Though he slay me, I will hope in him…” (13:15). The man who had been a source of strength and encouragement to many people was now passing through deep waters. He was in need of comfort himself. He did not hold back his feelings; his expressing them became an agent of catharsis within his troubled soul. He was deeply concerned that he would appear before the Lord without bringing any sheaves with him.
That winter was unusually severe, making conditions of his spiritual, as well as physical life even harder. The snowfall was prolonged and heavy. All roads were impassable and even the mail could not be delivered. Stephanos wrote: “It snows every day and when it lets up for a while I have to work hard shoveling.” He likened the physical snow to the snow weighing upon his heart, constantly piling up new layers. He mentioned these as snows of ingratitude, misunderstanding, disillusionment, cold blasts of slight and discourtesy by friends and near associates. He cried out, “Lord! Did you really call me to this task?” He had a real struggle in accepting the success of the youthful preacher in charge of the ministry at the orphanage. Interestingly, the young evangelist later married a beautiful young lady teacher from the orphanage in whom Ioachim, Stephanos’ son earlier had had an interest. In time, Stephanos officiated at the wedding of the couple. Unaccountably, old Stephanos and the young evangelist both went to meet the Lord in 1916, one by natural death and the other by being hung in Marash for his Lord whom he had faithfully served.
To top it off, alongside all his quandaries a dispute within the family occurred. His brother Ioannes being a worldly-minded person was attempting to enter into a questionable deal. Had it materialized the small congregation would have lost the church property. Stephanos added the following lines to his letter: “The most burdensome problem which I’m encountering is still unsettled. My relationship with my brother is cool. When we talk, we quickly run out of words. Several times Sophia and I went to visit him, but neither he nor his family returned our visit. It was obvious that they had no desire to sit down and talk with us. Pretty soon I started getting cool toward him, too. However, the thought keeps buffeting me that God may ask me, ‘Where is your brother?’, should I leave my life under the unsettled state of affairs.”
Later Stephanos rejoiced with the complete reconciliation to his brother. A very amicable relationship developed between them. From the way things turned out, it can be surmised that God had worked in a special way in Ioannes’ life. One of Stephanos’ sons, Themistocles, who had gone to the States in 1905 as a young man, returned in 1915. His intention was to marry a girl from his hometown. In early 1916 he and Anna Serafimidou were married, with Stephanos officiating at the wedding. Subsequently, Themistocles filled his father’s pulpit at times.