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Journey Back to Eden.pdf - St Mark Coptic Orthodox Church Chicago

Journey Back to Eden.pdf - St Mark Coptic Orthodox Church Chicago

Journey Back to Eden.pdf - St Mark Coptic Orthodox Church Chicago

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A TIME FOR FAREWELLS 201move the body of a foreigner. He didn’t want <strong>to</strong> be responsible formy death, so he suggested that I make a journey outside the wallsof the monastery up <strong>to</strong> the mountain where the founder had livedin a cave nine hundred years ago. This is the cave in which <strong>St</strong>.Samuel prayed, and God blessed his holiness with the foundationof a monastery under his tutelage. The mountain was several milesdistant from the monastery. The abbot arranged for an elderlymonk—really, quite old and gaunt, more gristle and bone thanmuscle and flesh—<strong>to</strong> lead me <strong>to</strong> the cave of the founder.We left the monastery in late afternoon when the sun was settingbehind the crest of a large dune, creating a little ribbon ofshade across the desert floor on which we could walk. The temperatureof the sand was immeasurably hot. We had <strong>to</strong> walk barefoot<strong>to</strong> the cave because we were walking on holy ground. I was disturbed<strong>to</strong> discover that my footprints were red with the blood ofmy feet as we walked! The old monk was walking relatively fast,sometimes beside me, sometimes in front of me, often behind me.Under my breath I was muttering and murmuring, grumbling andcomplaining “against God and against Moses” that I had been ledout <strong>to</strong> suffer in this terrible place.I could hear the elderly monk murmuring <strong>to</strong>o. At first I paidno attention because I grimly believed that I was simply being ledout in<strong>to</strong> the desert <strong>to</strong> die outside the monastery. At one point themonk even threw a rock at me—at least, it seemed he was throwingit at me, although it went over my head. When I asked the monkwhy he had done this, he walked ahead and picked up the rock.Under it there was a crushed scorpion which, it occurred <strong>to</strong> me,had been poised <strong>to</strong> sting.The monk was well aware of me, and I became progressivelymore and more aware of him. As I began <strong>to</strong> listen <strong>to</strong> what he wasmurmuring, I discovered that it was melodic. He was actuallysinging! He was singing a spontaneous quarter-<strong>to</strong>ne song in Arabic,as a child sings, right off the <strong>to</strong>p of his head! He was offering <strong>to</strong>God a song of praise! In his prayer, he was singing something likethis:“O God, I thank you and I praise you for this beautiful dayin which you smile upon us with the strength of the sunand the warmth of your heart, a furnace of love. I thank

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