A pilgrimage to Nicaea

Just days ago, I stood barefoot on the shores of a lake by a place that used to be called Nicaea, and I knew that I was standing on holy ground. Here hundreds of Christians once gathered, having travelled from far and near across the classical world; from what we now think of as north Africa, from Mediterranean cities, from Persia, perhaps even from Britain. They came because some had imagined and hoped for such a meeting as this for years so that the divisions between them could be healed, for they remembered the prayer of Jesus "that they may be one.” When they met, Christian faith was no longer persecuted in the empire, and the Emperor Constantine gave them money to travel, a place to meet and a welcoming speech on the virtues of unity. He had his own imperial interests, but that does not mean the bishops were his pawns. 

As I stood by the lake, I remembered a film I had glimpsed on the flight to Türkiye, “Here,”starring Tom Hanks. Released in 2024, the film uses a “static shot” technique, covering the story of a single plot of land and those who lived on it, through time. Sometimes the film subdivides the screen, even presenting scenes from different times simultaneously. It’s a film that gained mixed reviews, but I remembered it as I stood “here” at Nicaea and imagined the different scenes over the centuries, and particularly the scene 1700 years ago when hundreds gathered in this now quiet space. If places carry with them the traces of people and events, what could I sense, what should I learn? 

We don’t know precisely where in Nicaea (now Iznik) the council took place. Very recently the remains of a fourth century basilica have been found at the edges of the water, and it may be that this reveals part of the site of the meeting. But we can be fairly certain it was by the lake, near the spot where I took off my shoes and dabbled my toes in the cool water. The peace of today may not reflect the turbulence of the meeting, the sometimes violence of behaviour and disagreement, or the passion that drove the search for truth.  Would those who were there in 325 be surprised to find a group of pilgrims 1700 years later repeating words that derive from theirs, and being moved with devotion even while bursting with questions about originals, developments, and translations? Would they be surprised to know that their long journeys, some of them with wounded, persecuted bodies, bore such fruit for so long, and that they gave so many of us later pilgrims guiding posts for our faith journeys? Do any of us know what vibrations we leave, and what holy traces yet may bring the sacred into the light? 

I was resolved not to be sentimental about “being there.” But I was touched to stand in a place where the buildings may have gone and centuries may have passed, but where declarations and words, passionate faith and controversial decisions, remain. It was really “here.” And it is really “here” today. The faith I believe and live has a connection with this place. Nicaea seemed content to receive my questions and wonderings, my critiques and my uncertainty. The peace of the lake surrounded me, the sun warmed my body and the water licked my feet. And, with my companions on this particular trip, I was glad to say, "We believe…”

With thanks to the United Society Partners in the Gospel for organising a small gathering of theologians to reflect on, and to visit, Nicaea, from 24-28 August 2025.