Off the coast of Istanbul, the Monastery of Saint George (Aya Yorgi) is today one of the most important shared sanctuaries in the Mediterranean world. For the feast of the saint, every April 23, tens of thousands of Muslims flock to this Greek Orthodox site. This article is part of the series dedicated to the upcoming exhibition Shared Holy Places which will open at the Villa Medici next October.
On the morning of April 23, several tens of thousands of pilgrims embark from Istanbul to reach the island of Büyükada, in the Princes' Archipelago (Prinkipo in Greek), at the top of which stands a Greek Orthodox monastery. Built in the 10th century, this sanctuary houses a miraculous icon of Saint George, one of the most venerated saints in the Middle East. But the astonishing aspect of this pilgrimage on that day is that the vast majority of visitors are Muslims. How can this phenomenon be explained? What attracts them to a Christian place?
The small tourist port is bustling. Ships dock continuously, and passengers crowd the docks and alleys. Most are women and children. April 23 is also a public holiday (Children's Day and National Sovereignty Day), which facilitates this type of island excursion. Motor vehicles are prohibited, so one walks the path to the monastery that runs alongside sumptuous villas, one of which may have served as a monitored residence for Leon Trotsky starting in 1929. Since Byzantine times, deposed princes were exiled there, and today it is a favored spot for the upper bourgeoisie of Istanbul.
Multicolored Threads and Silent Wishes
One hour away, a temporary market unfolds in Union Square, filled with stalls of all kinds, street vendors, and horse-drawn carriages. At one stand, one finds a mix of Christian rosaries (komboloï) or Muslim ones (tespih), blue beads against the evil eye (nazar boncuğu), banners depicting Saint George, Mary, Ali (the son-in-law of the Prophet Muhammad), or Fatima (his daughter)… To the left, a man sells candles of different colors for health, marriage, work, or motherhood. To the right, a variety of golden amulets serve specific functions: a house to become a homeowner, a key for prosperity, a heart for love… Pilgrims thus acquire their votive gear for the rest of the visit (ziyaret). Many women have bought spools of thread for a unique ritual: they tie this thread to a shrub at the beginning of the dirt path and unwind it silently while repeating their wish in their hearts. Gradually, the path becomes carpeted with thousands of intertwined multicolored threads, each representing an intimate and anonymous desire, regardless of religion. One Muslim woman confides: “Coming up here is a bit like listening to oneself, and not speaking allows one to listen to what is within. I think people need this kind of thing to face themselves.”
At the door of the monastery, one must wait over an hour before entering the church, which seems cramped compared to the crowd that moves freely inside, without following the Byzantine service celebrated by the Greek monks. Muslim women prefer to pray in their own way, often with their palms raised to the sky. Others leave wishes (dilek) everywhere. Christian women kiss the icon of Aya Yorgi. Behaviors help to discern who belongs to which religion, but it is not so obvious, as by mimicking, one imitates the gestures of the neighbor, hoping it works. The fuel of this effervescent rituality is the ritual efficacy: people come to the monastery after hearing about it and hoping to be answered. Because miracles are said to be numerous, and word of mouth does the rest.
A Sacred Space Beyond Religions
The monks, who live separated from the world most of the time, are overwhelmed that day, but they accept it with philosophy. Brother Ezekiel comments: “For the feast of Saint George, there is an average of 70,000 people in one day. It’s a really special day; it exceeds the imagination!” He adds: “Most of the people who come here are not Christians. They light candles, and when they find themselves in the church, they hadn’t planned to come to pray, but they make prayers or wishes. (…) They certainly know where they are going, that it’s a Christian church and that it’s a house of God. Many also know that it’s a church of Saint George.” But the importance of the saint is not paramount. Muslims do not particularly venerate him, as it is the sacredness of the place that prevails, according to them. Or should we rather say “the Muslim women,” as they represent the vast majority. Nothing specific here. This is also the case for other shared sanctuaries in the Mediterranean: whether dedicated to the Virgin or Saint Anthony, women are the primary protagonists. They do not hesitate to go pray in the place of the Other, which can partly be explained by the fact that they do not have to endure the same social and male control in these other places, these “cosmopolitan canopies” as described by the anthropologist Elijah Anderson, who refers to them as refuges in the heart of large cities. This is confirmed by a Muslim woman who comes every year: “This is the house of God. Mosque, church, it doesn’t change anything. Thanks to the synergy present here, without using any intermediary, we send our deepest wishes and desires directly to the universe. All my wishes have come true!”
At the exit of the church, people silently and smilingly distribute pieces of sugar. Having been answered in previous editions, they come to thank by sharing these offerings. A few steps down, the courtyard of the monastery is scattered with thousands of these white cubes that are intentionally placed – and not thrown – by anonymous hands. Indeed, with the help of mimicry, almost all pilgrims “draw” the objects of their desires (shapes of houses, cars, babies…) with these sweets, pebbles, and other twigs. The space quickly becomes saturated with signs and votive expressions characterized by both strong heterogeneity and overflowing creativity. All around the monastery is transformed. Many trees sag under the weight of multicolored threads, amulets, and votive messages. In April 2022, in the post-Covid 19 context, one tree was even covered with respiratory protection masks, as people hang what they have on them (handkerchiefs, papers, cotton threads…).
This pilgrimage is thus marked by a double heterogeneity: votive, on one hand, the result of numerous makeshift creations and poaching that fascinate anthropologists. Confessional on the other hand, since the magnetism of the place attracts both Greek Orthodox, Catholics, Armenians, Muslims… One could also mention evangelical Protestants and even the memory of Jews who discreetly frequented the monastery. This phenomenon is a distant legacy of the interreligious mosaic of the Ottoman Empire, despite the trend towards political-religious uniformity that is at work in Turkey. This gathering has never been canceled (except in 2020 due to the pandemic), despite the risks of attacks in the 2010s. It will still take place this year, while Istanbul is the scene of immense political protests.
Manoël Pénicaud is an anthropologist at CNRS and a member of the Jacques Berque Center in Rabat. His work falls within the field of anthropology of pilgrimages, shared sanctuaries, and interreligious relations in the Mediterranean world[1]
[1] Additionally, see the short film Muslims at the St. George Monastery, subtitled in English and freely accessible. There are versions subtitled in French, Greek, and Turkish.
Cover Photo: Colorful trunk of votive threads © Manoël Pénicaud