Climbing Mount Sinai
We arrived at a hostel near St. Catherine’s as the sun was going down, checking into our rooms for a few hours sleep before we would be awakened before sunrise to begin our walk to the summit of the mountain. We were told it would be best to make the journey at night in order to avoid the scorching heat of the day and so that we could enjoy watching the sunrise from the top. There was very little sleep for me, however, as I endured a coldness more harsh than any I had ever experienced. My roommate and I put on every piece of clothing we had with us, covered ourselves in blankets and turned on the room’s electric heater, but this did little to keep the cold desert air from penetrating to the bone. My heart was unusually joyful when our early morning wake up call arrived. It was still cold, but the exercise involved in ascending a mountain provided some warmth. After climbing for more than two hours, we reached the top of the mountain. It was still dark outside and my thoughts began to turn toward ways of staying warm until the sun came up. Fortunately, I quickly spotted a vendor who had set up a small building where he was selling hot coffee. I bought a cup and huddled together with other pilgrims as we did our best to fend off the cold. It wasn’t long until we began to see the first rays of the sun breaking over the horizon. Within minutes, the sun was hovering in the sky, it’s heat quickly breaking through the morning chill. I opened my Bible and spent a few minutes reading through the Exodus account of Moses’ encounter with the burning bush before preparing to descend the mountain.
Walking down the mountain is one of the more memorable parts of the day for me. As we began the descent, there were hundreds of people on the path, all chatting in various languages. Several minutes into the walk, however, I noticed that the only other person I could hear or see was my classmate Felipe. We stopped to talk and realized he and I had somehow walked away from the path we had used on the way up and were now on the older route, the 3,750 stairs built by the monks of St. Catherine’s and rarely used by visitors today. Rather than backtracking, we decided to continue down the Stairs of Repentance to the monastery and rejoin the rest of the group there. With only two of us having taken this path, it was a quiet and peaceful walk to the bottom of the mountain. We saw several small chapels that I wish I had known more about at the time.
Felipe and I found the rest of our classmates outside the walls of St. Catherine’s Monastery and waited with many other pilgrims from around the world to be allowed entrance to the monastery. I am sad to say that I knew very little about St. Catherine’s at the time other than the fact that it was the oldest continuously operating monastery in the world. We entered the building with what seemed like several hundred people and were soon packed together like sardines and shoved this way and that through the ancient hallways. There are three things I remember distinctly. First was the feeling of being hemmed in on all sides as others pushed to get closer to a wall of icons in one of the first rooms we entered. “Wow, there are some icons over there,” I thought to myself, “if I weren’t being crushed, it would be great to get a closer look.” Instead, I made my way as quickly as I could toward a door to a room that looked less crowded. Two of the images were striking to me, however. One looked like people climbing a ladder, while demons were flying around attempting to pull them from the ladder and into hell. The other was an icon of Christ that seemed to have the most unique face I had ever seen. I would later learn that the room we had been in contains some of the oldest and most well known icons in the world. The second memory is of being led by one of the monks to a large shrub that he claimed was the actual burning bush. How the monks had identified the bush was not explained, but at this point we had heard so many similar stories about various rocks, trees and other items that I simply listened to him speak and continued to follow him as he led us into the main church. At this point our group had been separated from the larger group of people visiting the monastery and were privileged to enter some areas where pilgrims are not normally allowed. My third vivid memory comes from this part of the day. The monk who had been speaking to us about the burning bush led us into the church and explained to us that we would be allowed to go into the apse of the church to see a famous mosaic of the Transfiguration, but that we must keep absolute silence. I could tell from his words and demeanor how much this sacred space meant to him but it was only much later that I realized what an honor it was for the monks to have allowed us behind the iconostasis to see this very famous piece of Christian art.
Today, as I reflect upon one day of my life that took place ten years ago, I wonder how it would feel to experience the same events with the added knowledge and wisdom that has been gained since. My understanding of all that I saw and experienced that day was so limited that many times I have been sad to have not been better prepared for the visit. The experience was very much tempered by my being tired and cold, by my lack of understanding of Eastern Christianity and by having very little knowledge of the history of monasticism. The trip has not been without merit, however, as my own natural curiosity led me to learn more about these things upon returning the United States. The visit sparked an interest that has led me to discover a deeper Christianity that continues to feed me. My hope is that in ten years, it will have helped me to grow even further.
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