Desert monks

Desert monks

It has been a rough week for me.
Ejected from the airport
Rejected from the monastery
lost my laptop charger (slim chance of recovery, should it be at the airport. now have 41 minutes of battery left for any remaining entires)
lost my flash drive (with no chance of recovery)
and many sleepless nights do to the adventures of those in the square below my room at the hotel.
I even have skipped a few meals simply out of exhaustion (bad idea mike)

Foxes have holes, badgers have dens, but the son of man has nowhere to lay his head. This is certainly how I felt, after being rejected permission to sleep at 3 different monasteries. One cannot typically just show up at a monastery and try and stay there. Here in Egypt, it is necessary to get permission from the cathedral before hand. I, thus, spent the better part of two days waiting for such permission. With surprise on each of their faces, however, I was denied for both the monasteries. Coming to Wadi Natrun, the home to four living monasteries and over 36 ruins, I wondered what might be my luck. It is only an hour from Cairo, but crossing the landscape, one indeed feels that s/he is entering the desert.
I arrived in wadi natrun on Saturday. I would have come on Friday, but the one sure place that could lodge me, was booked until the next day. I never ended up staying there after all anyways.
Every Coptic Christian I have met on my journey to get to here have been quite helpful. The people at the cathedral, failing to secure me permission, went out of there way to find me potential housing. Those on the bus were eager and willing to direct me. Marco, a peer visiting the monastery helped me approach two monasteries to try and get permission, and finally entered town with me to get permission at the church. I never stayed at the potential, expensive lodging in town.
This is beginning to sound a little dull, but the question of housing and monasteries has been on my agenda since Thursday.

In Judaism, they have a tradition, that if you ask a rabbi to become a Jew, you are rejected. If you ask a second time, you are rejected. If you ask a third time, you are rejected. Finally if you ask a fourth time, you are allowed by the rabbi to join the faith. I was hoping, after being rejected nearly four times, that my situation just might be analogous. Finally today, my second day here, I am given permission to come. The Syrian monastery, renamed the monastery of the holy virgin, has opened its doors to me, though they quickly shut behind me. I had to, in fact, enter through the back gate, as the front gate was shut by time I was able to run to town and return with my backpack.

Monastic life is experiencing an amazing revival here. Here in wadi natrun there are four different monasteries. At St. Bishoy alone there are 160 monks. Many of the youngest monks are coming from the universities. I have already met one monk with a degree in agriculture, another with a masters in psychiatric counseling, and a third who has a degree in computer engineering. It certainly would not be uncommon for a monk to have a computer.
The monasteries are large compounds that contain farming areas, workshops, book printing and much more.


"Welcome home." said the elderly monk. I have never desired to become a monk, but upon hearing these words, some of the first words I have heard out of the monk’s mouths since I was welcome to stay here, I was almost ready to drop my book and pick up the cowl. The phrase turned out to be more the product of a person who knew little English, rather than some sort of deep spiritual insight, but its hospitality has been long desired, after being rejected permission to stay at three monasteries (this one included). I was later joined by the brother, aspiring monk, who ran the bookshop, who encouraged me to ask once more to stay at the monastery. We sat outside drinking chai in the calm desert and had a broken conversation about life, Christianity and later about Islam.
I joined the monks for prayer at 4 am, but, as expected, I certainly couldn't understand the language. I quickly set myself back to bed, but within minutes heard the bells again, calling to I don't know what. I stayed in bed.

Following my brief rest and my meal of cheese and hard-boiled eggs, I decided to take a walk, not exactly knowing where I was going. As my path led me around the monastery, I suddenly encountered the stark desert.
I know why now monks and ascetics have continually retreated to the desert to meet God. Having spent the past week in Cairo, the desert was another world. In contrast to the material creations of man, cluttering up any free space, within the desert there is nothing. The sand simply continues, and one's soul is laid bare as s/he is forced to reconcile themselves on this mirrored landscape.
I was only out there for a little over an hour, but the experience left a strong impression on me. Indeed, walking out into the desert was a chance to rediscover myself and what it is that drives me.
I continued from the Syrian on to Boromos monastery. This monastery was one of those whose superior had rejected me permission to visit there. Any hesitation or ill sentiment I might have harbored was quickly dismissed in the face of the kindness and hospitality of these monks. Fr. Macarius, who was my guide through the church, was eager and interested in taking with me about theology, culture and Egypt. He confirmed an observation that I have encountered a number of times, which is the pharonic ancestry still claimed by the Coptic Church.


I have now returned from this monastic life, and experienced another stark contrast, as I met up withal new friend of mine and entreated him to join me for some live music. While it was not my intention to visit such a place, what live music eventually came to mean, was belly dancing. Arriving at about 12:30 am, we were the only two men in the room. I must admit that I felt almost a little scandalous being the only man there. Rather than being an anomyonous observer

Eventually, however, the room filled with rich gulf Arabs.

I finished my trip to Egypt the best way. Packing all my luggage (I'm close to just 30k's these days), I hit the road mid morning. My first stop was the citadel with Muhammad Ali's mosque. Mohammed ali was one of the more important late Arab leaders of Egypt. The mosque was spectacular.
Finishing that and finally picking up my passport, I made my way to Giza, hopped on a horse and road around the pyramids. I had an annoying little boy as my guide who kept mixing up left and right, and thus confusing the hell out of me as he yelled left side all the more urgently as I turned left.
I haven't been on a horse in years, but that experience riding in the desert around has certainly reawakened in me a desire to "explore the west". Too bad there is no more frontier to explore.
Often enough as I have traveled throughout Africa this year, I have wondered what it would have been like to voyage here when the world was a little larger. Even visiting the Wataturu nomads, you felt that "modernity" was just around the corner. You would not be surprised to find a monk of the desert to sport sunglasses and pull out a cell phone from the folds of his robe.
I know there is no such thing as a "pure" culture, but there must be some places in the world where "globalization" hasn't even entered the local lexicon.

Enough musings... here is mike lechevallier, signing off of this blog entry from an airplane somewhere above east Africa.