Mar Saba

Sometimes you have to travel around the world to meet one of your neighbors. And sometimes it’s the only way to see your friends.

with Jes Steinberg at Mar Saba

When I was on Sabbatical here in Palestine, several people told me about a teacher from the East Bay who had moved to Jerusalem to teach English. After a few scheduling fits and starts, Jes and I finally met and bonded over a bacon-laden meal. We get together whenever I’m back in Israel. My crazy schedule prevented me from seeing her when she was briefly back in the Bay last summer.

My first order of business when I arrived a few weeks ago was to dial up old friends and plan an adventure or two. Jes claimed that first weekend and so in the early quiet of Saturday Sabbath, we headed off to the wilderness. 

Our first stop was the Mar Saba Monastery east of Bethlehem. We wove our way through the mountainous terrain until we were perched on the edge of a vast canyon, the monastery clinging to the cliff below us. Away from the hum of civilization, the stillness is quite a contrast. It is difficult to put into words the beauty, the spaciousness, the desolation of this place. Chatting ceases, inner voices go silent, and the soul begins to expand.  

Mar Saba in the Judean Wilderness

Soon you notice details. You are drawn to the sound of water and suddenly spy the wadi steam below. The birds soar overhead landing on the crosses gracing the tops of the monastery chapels. Across the canyon, there is an ancient and worn path cut into the rock. You follow its trail and realize that you are looking at the entrance to caves where you presume monks live.

path to monk's cave

I wish I could say the Monastery echoed these sensibilities but I will never know what the inside looks like. Jes and I were forbidden entrance. Only for men, oblates with ovaries have never been welcome. So we created our own holy space opening ourselves to the sacred from other sources. The glory of God’s creation was our chapel and the temple for our prayers.

I’ve been in the Judean wilderness on many occasions and have always had the same reaction. 

Awe. 

Every time, though, I have been with colleagues, family, pilgrims or friends. I’ve never been alone, truly alone in this vast, rugged landscape. I think it would scare me to feel so unprotected and vulnerable. Would God seem as present if I were unprepared, anxious and alone? 

I don’t know the answer and I’m not quite ready to volunteer for a solo trek into the Judean Wilderness. I do know that on this particular day, sharing this experience with a good friend was God’s gift. Conceivably that’s why the ancient pilgrims traveled in groups as they camped and climbed their way through these desolate mountains up to the holy city. It was safer to travel in packs and the songs they sang as they ascended bolstered the spirit. We can weather challenging terrain when we have companions on the journey.

Sometimes I have to travel around the world to remember this.

Those who trust in God

are like Zion Mountain;

Nothing can move it, 

a rock-solid mountain

you can always depend on.

Mountains encircle Jerusalem, 

and God encircles his people-

always has and always will.

Psalm 125:1-2