Wadi Qelt is a cleft in the Judaean Desert that looks the product of a gigantic hammer fallen from the heavens. I was anxious to go there. It has been home to Orthodox monks off and on since the 5th century. Besides being the scene of a massacre of monks by the persians, it is also said to be the place where Elijah hid in a cave and was fed by ravens. We drove as far as we could through the Judaen desert, and then parked the car in front of the entryway where we were met by bedouins on donkeys.
The initial descent is amazing as you snake your way down the side of
the Wadi. As we walked further we could see hundreds of holes in both sides of the sheer walls, the homes of monks over the last fifteen centuries. Incredibly, as we got closer to the bottom of the trail things began to turn green, and lush. I felt like Ronald Colman as he stumbled into Shangri-La. At the bottom of the walkway the shade shielded us from the desert heat. Crossing a bridge we began the ascent up the serpentine path to St. George's monastery.
A gatekeeper met us, and allowed entry. I was thankful that I was in the
company of two priests, because the door seemed to swing a little quicker and a little wider than it might have otherwise. The sound of the semantron signaled our arrival into the monastery. Some say that this was the instrument that Noah used to call the animals into the ark. We were greeted with cool water, lemonade, and dates as we cooled down and had our breath restored from the hike.
We were allowed to walk through the monastery, visiting the chapel, venerating the icons, the relics of slain monks, and the body of Fr. John the Romanian. A miraculous thing happened here, but that is the story of another. But, I will relate something that will always remain with me.
I was standing in the small gift shop admiring the hand made prayer ropes, and pointing at one I asked a priest monk who was standing there something about them. Thankfully, he misunderstood my question. Taking one of the ropes, he took it between his fingers, and began to pray his version of the Jesus prayer, first in Greek, and then in English. He began to tell me about the Jesus prayer in his own way. The Jesus Prayer in The Way of the Pilgrim was one of my first introductions to Orthodoxy. I have prayed the Jesus Prayer, but in my life I had neither prayed it, nor heard it prayed the way this monk prayed it. I will forever be touched by his words, and his handling of the rope. As I was about to leave I bowed and put my hands out for a blessing. He gave me a blessing, and then looking me in the eyes, he said, "What is your name?" I gave him my baptismal name, and he put his hands on my head and blessed me again, hugging me and kissing me on both cheeks. I will never forget that monk, his prayer, his blessing, and his love for me at that moment. I now know why men go to the desert. I see why they stay.
