Rector's blog

Perhaps I should not be surprised to see how different are the things that move us.  Today I had a beautiful conversation with someone at lunch in which she named the three moments of this pilgrimage which most moved her.  I had expected none of these – and they were completely different from my own highlights.  For example, at lunch we were at a restaurant overlooking the Nile – the food and company were good.  For a while, I watched an old felucca plying its trade as a ferry across the river, carrying people with their shopping or some going to visit relatives on the other side.  This must be a scene that has been repeated here for the last 3000 years.  Yet it moved me deeply – in its simplicity, in its naturalness, in reminding me of other occasions such as watching the ordinary people of Venice get around their city.  Yet I don’t suppose many other of the pilgrims would have seen this moment as special in the same way.

As a lad, I can remember going to the Tutankhamen exhibition in the British Museum, and being specially enthralled by the famous death mask.  So going to the Museum of Cairo today, I was not expecting to be that surprised by what I saw.  Yet there are hundreds of objects from Tutankhamen’s tomb as beautiful, serene and intricate as the death mask.  It was humbling to recognise that what I thought was familiar was more profound and wide-ranging than I had expected.  The museum is full of objects dating from ancient history, so it was moving to see the building next door – burnt out and standing still in its blackened state – for this was the headquarters of Mubarak’s party.  Our guide has spoken candidly about the spring revolution – and what he expects and hopes for in the next 12 months.  All this will be in our prayers that this country will be ableto bring to birth a new constitution of honour and respect for all.

The reality on the ground, according to our guide, is that there is very little enmity between Muslim and Christian.  His two best friends are Christian – and the same was true for his father too.  Advocates of the previous regime are intentionally trying to stir up inter-faith conflict – but that is not natural to this country.  It was wonderful to hear that when he was in Tarhir Square during the crucial weeks of the revolution, some of the crowd recognised that looters were about to raid the Museum for valuable objects.  They formed a chain around the building to protect their history, their culture and (in effect) their identity.  Our guide was part of that chain.  Although over 60 objects were looted, 20 have so far been returned.  Memories of what happened to Baghdad when the allies forces went in and the museums were ransacked still linger.  Rob a country of its history and you can rip out its soul.

So, this afternoon we visit two churches – both still in use and both originally dating from the 4^th or 6^th century.  We pass a Mosque built originally in 642 AD – so, very close indeed to the origins of Islam.  Our final stop was to visit a mosque that is built in imitation of the Hagia Sophia mosque in Istanbul.  That mosque was once a church, and, whichever religion you follow, must be recognised as a holy site.  As I step into their mosque I can feel the atmosphere of prayer as much as people say they can when they visit St Mary’s in Guildford.  Some of the experiences of this pilgrimage underline the differences of our religions (Jewish, Christian and Moslem) – and it would be dishonest and blind not to acknowledge these.  Nevertheless we should not be surprised to be moved by some of the same things as our neighbours – and we can be humble enough to acknowledge that whichever culture we inhabit, or religion we follow, there is more to God’s truth than can be expressed in our own language.

And now – I am a little apprehensive about the return to Guildford. I hope that these blogs have enabled readers to feel a connection with our journey.  I know that I have a number of resolutions about how to live my life differently because of what I have heard and seen – and I know that I need both to honour that desire to be changed by this experience and also accept that much will (or, perhaps, should) remain the same.  Perhaps it is hard to know when to be surprised by God’s grace, and when to accept that we already know something of how God is at work amongst us.

Mount Sinai is a fearful place, according to the Old Testament.  It is a place that no one should approach lightly.  It was above all the place where, once Moses and all the people were purified ready to receive from God, Yahweh gave Moses the central commandments of the Law.  If you study the book of Exodus carefully, you will find all sorts of small ways that this statement needs to be nuanced: did Yahweh only give 10 commandments?  When were the 10 recognised as the kernel of the Law (which allegedly extends to 633 commandments)?  Read Exodus 24 and you will find a beautiful story in which Moses, Aaron and 70 others sit and eat with God on this holy mountain. So as well as God’s awesomeness, we need to hold in mind and heart God’s companionship and God’s mercy dispensed through guidelines that can inform many aspects of our lives.

Still, at 5.00 in the morning, most of these subtleties are not at the forefront of our minds.  We are driven to the slope below St Catherine’s and have to walk up the first stage to reach the camels that some are going to ride up (most of) the mountain.  It is still pitch dark.  But, as you will know, as you leave the artificial street lights behind, the stars become brighter and brighter – and it is once again remarkable how much you can see at night (without even a moon in view).  Part of what Mount Sinai does for me is to bring me back to the very basics of nature: how little we need that is artificial.  After 10 minutes the sky seems to be truly twinkling above us – and then we spy the Monastery ahead, lit by a few lamps.  The monastery also twinkles.  Earth matching heaven.  That is our vocation – to be part of aligning earth and heaven as closely as possible.  And I recall the experience from a few days ago when it seemed that heaven sometimes aligns itself with what is good on earth (see the blog about Wadi Rum).  Indeed, the icons in the monastery are a way of declaring that heaven and earth coincide at times in the lives of the saints – and that this is possible to a large extent in the lives of each of us.

Although the sun sets quickly here – going from dusk to blackness in ten minutes – the light dawns slowly.  This is a fantastic time to be walking.  Some go up the mountain to see the sunrise, but they have to walk the whole way in darkness.  Whereas we see the sun’s rays, bent in the atmosphere, slowly illuminating the surrounding slopes.  Dark rocks are revealed to be ruby red.  The moment that the sun breaks the horizon is special – but perhaps even more precious is the 30 minutes just before this.  “Coming to see” is an important part of all our lives – truth often dawns as slowly as the sun did today.  And now, we are walking in sunshine – though since the path snakes its way up the mountains, we are often in the shade.

Then, we arrive at the top.  Awesome.  Allegedly the place where Moses receives the 10 commandments – but it feels a much more spiritual and less judgemental place than that.  We hear a reading from Exodus – we say Psalm 121 “I lift up mine eyes to the hills” - we hear Revelation 21 that speaks of a new Heaven and new Earth: it is this that moves me.  The prophecy or pledge that God, through and with our best endeavours, will make earth anew – and that this will match what God plans in heaven.  My tears indicate that this hope is close to the centre of what I believe.  All is interspersed with high quality silence.  We listen; and in the listening is our hope.  Finally we sing “Holy, holy, holy” – not least because it has the phrase “early in the morning our song shall rise to thee”.  We walk back down to the monastery by 11.30am – what a morning.  

Sometimes the skin between earth and heaven is very thin.  We are very vulnerable and sensitive at times like this.  And also, we can hear once again our vocation to align heaven and earth.  Our final act of worship is to share bread together and pray for daily strength to fulfil this vocation given to us – here, in Guildford, and wherever we may be found.

For years I have wanted to go to St Catherine’s monastery on Mount Sinai.  This is partly because it is the oldest monastery in continuous service and in such a barely accessible place.  It is partly because it is a place that holds together important stories, biblical and from church history: the burning bush, the 10 commandments, the collection of icons and, supremely for me, and the original location of the Codex Sinaiiticus.  Pictures and photos of St Catherine’s have been imprinted on my mind’s eye for years and years – and this morning I arrived at St Catherine’s.  It feels a privilege to be here – humbling to bend down so I can walk through the low entrance into this sacred space.

Yet being here does not relegate my previous expectations and musings to second place.  The reality is wonderful – but this does not displace what I have previously imagined about St Catherine’s.  I think this is because I have always realised that what I treasure is being in touching distance of the transcendent.  You can’t grab hold of the transcendent – but you can be in the presence of “that which is beyond words”. On seeing a magnificent sunset, for example, I may enjoy the sunset, but I more deeply relish being in the presence of something more significant than a “red sky at night”.  So, tomorrow, when we are to walk up to the top of Mount Sinai, I do not expect that God will be present in way that God has not been present to me before now – nevertheless, there will  be something special about being on the top of this holy mountain.

One rather surprising aspect of today was to find that I was most moved not at the sight of the Burning Bush, nor at being in the place of Moses’ Well, nor even to be inside the church at St Catherine’s – but it was inside the museum that I was most moved.  On display there, there are some tremendous icons, books and holy objects.  One of my favourite icons was painted at the beginning of the 6^th century; this is right at the beginning of the tradition of icon-writing and contemporaneous with the foundation of the monastery.  It shows Jesus, majestic and human, holding the book of life in which are inscribed the names of all those who have lived faithful lives.  It’s interesting to note that this book looks remarkably like the Codex Sinaiiticus (the first complete Bible) which would have been written only 100 years before, and was kept at St Catherine’s for over 1400 years.  In this icon, the face of Christ is remarkably realistic (before icons became rather stylised) – and matches in technique anything that Leonardo or Rembrandt did.  Also it was delightful to see the manuscript that forms the basis of the book Sisters of Sinai (which is a touching tale, recently published, of two Victorian sisters visiting St Catherine’s in the late 1880s, and how they discovered one of the earliest Bible manuscripts).  There was so much more – each piece superbly displayed.  Everything is behind protective glass, as is appropriate – so I can’t touch the items.  Nevertheless I am in touching distance of holiness – and that is enough.

“Vast, echoing and God-like” were T E Lawrence’s words for Wadi Rum.  We had been expecting to travel from Petra to Aqaba by midday, with the guide pointing out Wadi Rum as we drove smoothly past it on the highway.  But the lunchtime ferry was cancelled so we had to adopt Plan B.  We exchanged our air conditioned coach at a Bedouin camp for open top jeeps, some of which would have been elderly when they were filming Lawrence of Arabia in the 1960s.  The Bedouin drivers clearly love taking these jeeps across the desert, and would give Hamilton and Button a run for their money in Formula One.  And so we are led to explore Wadi Rum, the place made famous for its role as one of Lawrence’s bases during the uprising against the Ottoman Empire during the First World War.

That fame pales into insignificance compared to the enormous beauty and magnificence of this place.  The sandstone varies from pink to ruby red, with the soft mountains being carved into Gaudi-like patterns by the wind and the rain.  Many of the high hills rest on a granite base.  Since that is impermeable, occasional springs form 50 metres up the slope.  It’s odd seeing a line of green – the occasional tree and scrub – hug the mountain side.  I expect springs in the desert to be oases on the sandy ground.  But just as this expedition was unexpected, so this majestic scenery is an unexpected gift too.  In many ways it rivals Petra – but this time all the carving is done by God’s force in nature.

We lunch at a Bedouin camp under a tent made of goat’s hair, which apparently does not catch fire (so they can light small fires inside) and (after the first shower of rain) becomes water-proof.  I know that we are tourists – but we catch a sense of desert hospitality.  As we drive on, I notice that the low lying clouds often take the colour of the surrounding sand: pink-ish clouds in the middle of the afternoon, well before sunset, seem remarkable to me.  But then there is something about heaven taking its colour from what we expect to find on earth.  If you believe in being generous, you will likely find a generous God.  Be half hearted and stingy, and God’s behaviour will appear like that to you.

Today is dedicated to visiting Petra: “rose-red city, half as old as time”.  It is nearly impossible to find the words to describe what we see, or what feelings it evokes.  This is truly an awesome place.  The story of it being re-discovered by westerners in 1812 (though known well by the local Bedouin) is itself a remarkable part of its charm and intrigue.  Having been here once before, I am slightly better prepared for what I see.  But I don’t want to spoil it for others: the approach is remarkable.  Our pilgrims start eulogising over scenes, well before what I recall as the places that are truly stupendous.  So, Petra begins magnificent and then gets better. 

“Half as old as time” has been described as an exaggeration and a nonsense phrase – but actually it captures one of the important aspects.  This is that many of the most marvellous moments are actually natural rock carvings: the soft sandstone is etched into amazing shapes, revealing wonderful colours, by wind, rain, flash-floods and simply the slow weather-beaten-ness of time. As well as that, the various civilizations that lived here have given us temples, tombs and homes superbly carved into the rock.  But essentially it is a mix of divine and human ingenuity.  After the initial shock of seeing human habitations carved straight into the rock-face, we see afresh the wonderful natural rock formations.

That’s how Petra works.  If you come to a tourist attraction, you will see something that is special – but no more.  If you are ready to be inspired, and allow yourself to be transported into wonder, then you will be.  After lunch some of us take a steep path up to the building known as the Monastery.  Perhaps that sounds suitable for those on Pilgrimage – but the place is really just an old pagan temple.  However, the path leads us up to a high spot from which we can see across the Arabah valley to Israel.  We have left all the ancient remains behind – and what stuns us is quite simply a magnificent view.  By this stage of mid-afternoon, all I need is an ordinary cup of tea, because Petra has worked its magic on me.  I have had enough new experiences – I need to let them settle within, and make sure my soul is supple enough to absorb such marvel.

 Half way through our visit we are shown a recently discovered church that was in use in the 5^th century.  There are some beautiful mosaics, but what catches our eyes is a labourer’s notice above the baptismal area which appropriately declares “work in progress”.  I am work in progress, and my baptism declares that I will always be work in progress until the day that I am taken home.  Being a person who can appreciate and rejoice in marvels is part of what I am called to become.

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You may have read in the news about a ferry fire on the crossing that we are taking tomorrow to Egypt.  This is NOT the ferry that we will be taking.  We have a modern catamaran (the sort that goes daily to the Isle of Wight).  We are assured that we will be completely safe.  Please don’t worry. If I need prayers today, it is that my blisters will shrink by the time that I have to climb Mount Sinai.