The Accidental Pilgrim

Philadelphia

The “accidental pilgrimage"
is a serendipitous adventure
that offers a moment of awakening.
It reminds us that the sacred
is as much “out there" as it is “in here.”


I'm stopped in my tracks here at this waystation in Pennsylvania. Every morning since Monday, I've wakened saying: "I need to go back to New York. I've got class, an article to write, the Philharmonic Children's Concert with Ethan.'

And every morning, my reply is: " Not today. Not yet."

There are real world reasons, of course. Title, tags and EZPass need to be rescued from my mangled Jeep; my lungs need to recover from a bacterial invasion; my physiology needs to adjust to non-Middle Eastern food, water, air.

And my psyche, even my soul, needs to distill and discern what I was doing so very far away from home.

I thought I was going to the Middle East to see the pyramids, Petra in Jordan, the holy city of Jerusalem with the Via Dolorosa, Mount of Olives, Church of the Holy Sepulchre, the Sea of Galilee.

While all of those were wonderful, there were two things that moved me deeply on this trip: 1. The people who helped me along the way get to Sinai ; and, 2. my personal journey through dangerous lands to find St. Catherine's Monastery and climb Mount Sinai.

You, dear readers, could probably tell that by the emphasis placed in my writing on the crossing into the Egyptian Sinai--out of all the other things I could have written about.

I didn't realize how little detail I provided about Israel ( some of which was because it was such an arduous two weeks with very real roadblocks using all of my energy to overcome ) until I read a fellow traveler's blog this morning. I met Ryan Jones while I was in Jerusalem at Ecce Homo, and we had hoped to go to the Sinai together, or meet there, to climb the mountain together.
He and his friend, Prentice, sporting new MDiv degrees from Fuller Seminary, were on a journey to see the Middle East before going back to "settle in".

But the big, unexpected snowfall in Jerusalem, meant there was no time for goodbyes or concrete plans for connecting. Reading Ryan's wonderful "take" on Israel and the Sinai, I realize it is much different than mine--richer in detail in some cases--and it rounds out my writings. I totally agree with his take on the Israelis, and his sentiments about the conflict with the Palestinians. ( www.candidRyan@blogspot.com ) I find his writing inspiring.

Since I'm hunkered down here in the cold northeastern winter day, I found myself this morning reflecting on the trip again, its meaning, and a friend's question upon my return. "Didn't you feel at home in Jerusalem?" I didn't answer him directly, because I know that he had felt at home there, that it had been a touchstone to his heritage.

Where did I feel at home in the Middle East? The answer, from the time I set foot on the land, has been the same.

I felt at home the minute I crossed the border into the Sinai, got in Hamad's lime green taxi, # 5826, just south of Taba, opened the window, put on my scarf, and watched the landscape become more rugged on my right, redder and redder, the Red Sea a dazzling blue on my left as we headed south and west on one lone highway splitting the differing landscape in two, the sun high in the sky.

I felt at home when I reached St. Catherine's after three hours of a bumpy ride along dusty roads, negotiating checkpoints every 30 miles staffed by Egyptian soldiers with Uzis, or watching for the landmines that still exist after the Egyptian/Israeli fight over this land in the 1980s on either side of the road.

I felt at home as I was escorted to Room 42, at St. Catherine's Monastery guesthouse, the one window overlooking the monastery garden, and the footpath leading to Mt. Sinai, where there was a table, bed, and reading lamp, red tile floor, whitewashed walls.

I felt at home when I arrived at the summit of Sinai after nearly 3 hours of struggle with rolling rocks, a soft limestone base, sneakers with too low an arch, and too little warm clothing for the rapidly arriving dusk.

I felt at home when my faithful bedouin guide without a word, slid his arm under mine to steady me as we negotiated the pitchblack evening save the blanket of stars, and the tiny lights of the monastery below on our way down Mount Sinai. There was a silence so powerful that all I could hear was our synchronous footfalls moving ever downward through the night.

I felt at home when I saw a blazing fire on the adjacent mountain. The shelter for one of St. Catherine's 20 or so monks who was spending time--perhaps all of Lent--away from even the quiet monastery to pray and fast in the tradition of the desert fathers of many centuries ago.

I felt at home the following morning when I went into St. Catherine's church, the oldest functioning church in the world, and saw the centuries-old icons crafted by these holy men as their sacred prayers--ours to witness.

The single icon that struck me ( except for the Pancrator which I wrote about last week ) was the icon of the Ladder of Divine Ascent, 12th Century painting, pictured above. ( Note the angels trying to help pilgrims ascend, while devils wielding arrows, are trying to knock them off the ladder rungs )

This icon is tucked away in the small, dark monastery church along with dozens of other icons displayed haphazardly on the sides of the church, barely visible in the dim light.

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In my state if inertia today--or perhaps more correctly contemplation--I picked up an old reference of mine from graduate school that was lying on the coffee table. "The Study of Spirituality" that is a huge compilation by Oxford Press of writings of all the Christian holy men and women in both the Eastern and Western tradition. The book had been in the basement until a few months ago when, for some unknown reason, I'd decided to bring it up to the den to take a look at again.

I picked it up this morning and checked the Index for references to the Sinai or St. Catherine's. Sure enough, there, next to page 194, is Illustration 2, entitled: "St. Catherine's Monastery, Ladder of Divine Ascent." Coincidence? I never buy that.Now I had at my fingertips another chance to learn about why I was drawn to the Sinai.

Pouring over the thick text, I find out that in the 7th Century, an Eastern or Greek Orthodox monk who was tonsured and lived at St. Catherine's until his death, John Climacus, is the author of a book of the same name: Ladder of Divine Ascent. John is said to have spent 40 years in the desert about 5 miles from the monastery. He was then tapped to be abbot, and begin writing the famous Ladder of Divine Ascent ( which is still read in many abbeys around the world during Lent every single year).

In the book, John writes about 30 rungs that lead to heaven. He begins by saying that this book is great for monastics but good for those leading an "active life". He says: " angels are the light of monastics; while the monastic state is a light for all men." Guess we know his bias!

John Climacus'( or John of the Ladder in Greek ) first rung includes 3 virtues that he thinks are essential as the foundation to gain spirituality: truthfullness, fasting, and temperance. "These virtues..have no insatiable appetite, no insatiable stomach, no body that is on fire or bestialized." Pretty strong language, but, to be fair, the temptations haven't changed much!

Just a note about the location of monastics in the Sinai Peninsula throughout the early centuries. There were famous monks, holy men, who close to a monastery near Gaza,150 miles from St. Catherine's, called the two Old Men of Gaza.

So, what's my point? Why this in depth account of the Sinai, its effect on me?

Because I was passionate about going to Sinai. Moved by the experience--not imagining Moses on the mountain top--archeologists and theologians are still fighting about that. But the idea that this desert has been a place of refuge and home to seekers since the time of Moses. The Israelites were, no doubt, in the Sinai, probably in Petra, certainly in Jordan north of current day Amman.

The bedouins have been there at least since Constantine ordered the monastery to be built--as guards and keepers of the land. Their presence, their knowledge of every inch of the land, their Muslim tradition, add another dimension of sacredness to that land.

I've had the experience before of sensing that I was standing on holy ground, in a place that had been blessed. Jerusalem struck me as, well, famous. But not holy. Galilee, and the natural beauty of the surrounding land helped me understand why Jesus' ministry was conducted here. ( Not to mention that I think he just had good taste, and understood beauty. Certainly, Jerusalem was grand but not pristine at al. )

For me, the Sinai, maybe for its tradition of desert fathers ( and presumably mothers ) spending their lives there. Meditating, reading, fasting. The literature says, trying to figure out how to pray perfectly. And getting as close to heaven as possible-- in the case of Sinai, 2200+ meters closer than the floor of the desert!


That place of stillness, interiorly, and exteriorly, exists in the Sinai today just like it has for centuries. It is the image of Sinai that I will carry with me as I continue my journey, my accidental pilgrimage.

M.C.