--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Alder, Lydia D. collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 10 number: 11 published: 1907-09 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: 'Lydia D. Alder, "The Isle of Patmos," *Improvement Era* 10, no. 11 (September 1907): 907–911.' source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera10011unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera10011unse start_page: 907 end_page: 911 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1907-09) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera10011unse publication_year: 1907 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1907, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # The Isle of Patmos THE ISLE OF PATMOS, BY LYDIA D. ALDER. And I saw another angel fly in the midst of heaven, having the everlasting gospel to preach unto them that dwell on the earth, and to every nation, and kindred, and tongue, and people, saying with a loud voice, Fear God, and give glory to him; for the hour of his judgment is come: and worship him that made heaven, and earth, and the sea, and the fountains of water. — Rev. 14: 6, 7. It had been my good fortune to gaze on the jvondrous and beautiful scenes of many lands; to lookout from Gizeh over the vast, gleaming lands of Sahara, and trace the seventy odd miles of desert wherein the children of Israel wandered for forty years. There were pyramids arising in the distance and near by, both large and small. From Mount Nebo, to viaw almost the length of Palestine, unto Mount Hermon, towering far in the north, crowned with eternal snow, End to imagine the feelings of the great lawgiver on viewing the land to which he was denied an entrance; and now from the monastery of St. John, situated on the very edge of an extinct crater, to gaze on the ever-to-be remem- bered Island of Patmos. had dreamed among the prophecies of the Apocalypse, had I quoted it, taught it, and loved it, but never, even in my wildest dreams, had it entered into my heart until now, that I should be- hold it. So many sacred places are questioned, holy spots doubted, but here we have a certainty. Whoever thought that any other of the many islands was Patmos? Its identity is confirmed by the history of these islands, from 520 B. C, down to the present time; even the story of the Amazons is given. The temple of Artemis stood here until 1088, when its idol was thrown down by an over- zealous Christian, but in the midst of the citadel its pedestal can still be seen. — 908 IMPROVEMEN1 ERA. Neither in sacred nor profane history is there anything to prove that St. John was banished here; the ugh that he lived here for some years is undisputed. Neither does it appear that there were ever mines on the island, or that it ever held a penal settle- ment. On the decree of death to all Christians (the only penalty) issued by Domitian, the Roman Emperor, in about the year 94, A. D., St. John may have taken refuge here, or he may have come to preach the gospel, for certain it is that in John's day, the island was more densely populated than now. His coming may have been the divine will, because of the work he was to per- form; for a mo^e superb and inspiring view, and a more solemn solitude, could not be found than are afforded from the large opening of the rock-hewn cave, situated half way between the old crater and the mountain whereon towered the temple of Diana. There are monks and nuns on Patmos now, and hermits, Christian hermits, too, perhaps following the example of its her- mit of world-wide fame. There is also a college on Patmos, with about forty students, all of the Greek Orthodox church, and whose influence among the people is for good. Here strangers are treated with courtesy, and the clamor for "backsheesh" is unheard! A recent visitor to the jsland speaks of its library, as being one of note, and that in Athos, not far distant, many treasures are still to be seen. From Pergamos, on the other shore, came the manu- facture of parchment of that name, which was occasioned by the great demand for its manuscripts. In the town of Nice, great counsels were held, which gatherings inspired Christodolus to found a library where his monks could study and copy. In later times pirates sacked this collection; stole its wealth away to the enrichment of other lands. Many precious manuscripts have been carried away, among them a copy of the gospel of the sixth cen- tury, which was dyed in purple and had the names of God and Christ written in gold, their whereabouts being now unknown though one may be seen at Niama. All told, there are only a few thousand persons on Patmos, but they are very religious, devoutly attending worship in their two hundred churches, which are all painted white. The village of Patmos, sometimes called St. John, contains about two hundred houses and four thousand inhabitants, all Greeks, and mostly a seafaring people. Standing on the fore- THE ISLE OF PATMOS. 909 deck of the French liner Orenoque, we silently watch our approach to the island. Patmos is situated twenty miles south of Saraos, on the west coast of Asia Minor, in latitude thirty-seven degrees, seventeen minutes north, and longtitude twenty-six degrees, thirty minutes east. The day is an ideal one; the air is exhilarating, the sky almost cloudless, the glistening waters of the Aegean Sea floating away and away About noon we had weighed anchor at Samos, that ancient historical island, where long ago Antony and Cleopatra abode; and where Paul and Barnabas landed to preach the gospel. Diligent in- quiry, however, failed to find any trace of their visit. Anxiously scannir g the horizon in all directions for the first glimpse of Patmos, the time passed but slowly. These were the quarters of the Mohammedans, the deck where they assembled, while the one below was covered with their mats and bedding, all of which they had to bring on board with them, no , provision in this regard being made for them by the S.S. company. As we walked among them to reach the upper deck, we saw them loung- ing or sleeping; spread all around upon the deck, of all ages, stages of dishabille, and shades of cleanliness. The gay colors of their garments and belongings were very striking. On the very bow of the vessel a Mohammedan lad was astride, smoking, while nearby some others were engaged in the same pastime. As soon as they moved away, I stood at the bow myself; then noth- ing marred my pleasure, as intently I enjoyed the marvelous view. The captain very courteously sent word to the ministers of the gospel, with whom I was traveling, with some of their ladies, that on the right or the wide opening between the islands, immediately ahead of the steamer, was the Isle of Patmos. Scarcely a word was exchanged, as the island became more clearly defined, even until the glasses brought it close to us. In thinking of Patmos one naturally imagines it a parcel of bnd, almost circular, having one mountain peak. In reality, it has three high mountain peaks, some smaller ones, and is eleven miles long; at its narrowest point it is three hundred feet wide. Of course, it is encircled with water; in this respect being different to Mount Carmel, which, though we call it Mount Carmel, it is twelve miles long. As we draw nearer, the high, irregular towers 910 IMPROVEMENT ERA. of the convent give it almost the appearance of a fortress, while the village of St. John below them, appears as if it would fall over into the sea. Reverent, awe-inspired, we behold the sacred spot. All is still, yet a thousand voices tell the story of long ago, when the history of the world, from beginning to end, passed as a panorama before the vision of John the Divine. The village is reached by a steep and rugged ascent. In a grotto, under the Greek convent, above the town, is the supposed abode of the Apostle John, and where he wrote the wonderful Book of Revela- tion. From the cave, the view is majestically grand! On the left the mainland rests misty in the distance; on the right, other islands of the Archipelago, and before us the changing colors of the Aegean sea, scintillating like gold beneath the sun's crimson rays. Where in all the world could a place be found more grand than this, where the destiny of the earth and its inhabitants could be shown? Before John, in the light of eternity, passed all nations, times and peoples, until time shall be no more, and he, beholding, has given to the world the Book of Revelation. Millions of earth's children have pored over the things written in the book, but comprehended them not, yet there they are today, as gloriously grand as when the visions of eternity made them plain. As we sailed away from Patmos, the company burst into song, with thrilling effect: All hail the power of Jesus' name, Let angels prostrate fall, Bring forth the royal diadem, And crown him Lord of all. How the melody wafted over the waves, as the purple mists dispersed! While my companions sang of the power of Jesus' name, my thoughts reverted to the prophecy found in the four- teenth chapter of the book; I knew that it was fulfilled; that the angel had flown through the heavens far away from Patmos, over to the land of America. That, as a wondrous personage, he had announced his name as Moroni, to the boy Joseph Smith, telling him that he had been sent from the presence of the Almighty, to declare the place of the hidden record, and the ushering in of the last gospel dispensation. THE ISLE OF PATMOS. 911 Then my vision was quickened, and I could see his glorious form, tall and stately, his white robe revealing his ivory chest, the sweeping folds only reaching his ankles, his transparent feet appearing below, while he stepped, seemingly not upon the earth, but rather in the air. Not one around me believed as I do, not one would so interpret the vision of the angel. But in the light from Patmos, he was revealed to me as never before. Over the mountains he seemed to fly slowly, gracefully, beyond the seas, his face turned to the Land or Promise. Nearly all the civilized world are willing to ascribe all power to Jesus' name, but to some it must be limited to what they think and understand. We were only a few believers among hundreds of the Mohammedan faith, of the ship's passengers, who did not believe him to be divine at all. As I looked into the faces of my companions, pressed close around me, I thought, if he were to come now and here, would you reeeive him? And my answer was, "no. " As he suffered before, so would they treat him again, if he came in the same way. Then I wondered why the light had come to me; was I more worthy to understand, while so many groped in darkness? How many had desired to see the things that I had looked upon, and could not. Thus was I humbled, while a feeling of gratitude filled my heart. the gospel, it seemed more precious to me than And ever before. These scenes may appear as when John the Reve- lator tarried here. The restless, rolling sea still kisses the feet of Patmos, as in obeisance; the wondering other lands stand as mute witnesses. The light is fading, but for a moment the scene is lit as by glory divine. Then, as the vessel slowly veers around, and the gap deepens and widens between us and the shore, night's cur- tain is drawn, and darkness hides it from view. Thoughts of the gentle apostle, whose great desire was to win souls to Christ till he comes, crowded the mind, and Patmos, bathed in the glory re- flected from sea and sky, seemed a foreshadowing of the glory that awaits him, at the close of his ministry, whose head was once laid on the Savior's breast, and whose eyes looked in his, in silent, lov- ing adoration. Salt Lake City, Utah.