St. George’s Monastery

Mon., Feb 8, 2010

On our way to Jericho / St. George’s Monastery

Today is our day to visit Jericho. We are not allowed to drive our rental car there because it is a Palestinian city, under the control of the Palestinian Authority. Doing so voids our rental car agreement. We also don’t have much in the way of directions to get us there, because our GPS is programmed to keep us out of such dangerous areas. So we are looking at a good old fashioned road map and trying to find our way.

Well, according to the map, this road should have taken us to the edge of Jericho, where we hoped to catch a taxi into town and maybe find someone who could guide us around and tell us a little about the place. Instead, we have beaten our way about 10 km into the desert and have dead ended short of Jericho in a dusty parking lot near the St George Monastery, a very old Greek orthodox monastery that houses only 3 monks today. The only people we see are a man selling fresh orange juice, a guy selling some souvenirs, and a guy with a donkey. The man with the donkey points out the monastery across the deep valley and asks if we want a donkey ride – 50 shekels (about $12.50). We tell him we think we’re okay to walk, but he says he’ll come with us, just in case we change our mind. Walking down the very steep hill, he explains to us what we’re seeing - an ancient roman aquaduct and the current aquaduct as well as the stream that brings fresh water down from the hills. He comes with us right to the gate of the monastery, but says he’ll wait for us there.

At the monastery, we are greeted very warmly by the few people working there. There is a group of Romanians already in the church and they are absorbed in the business of praying. I like the fact that they don’t seem concerned about us not praying the same way they are or not being dressed the way they are. I have covered my arms with a shawl out of respect for the sanctity of this place, but that is the only concession I am asked to make. They are making their way around the small chapel stopping at each icon to kiss it and cross themselves and say quiet prayers.

This being an orthodox church, it is quite elaborately decorated, with many colorful glass oil lamps hanging from ornate chains strung across the ceiling. The walls and ceiling are covered in frescoes, but they are so blackened by years of burning the oil lamps that they are difficult to see. I’m sure at one time they were brilliant. The Romanian group moves ahead of us into an even smaller chapel and begins singing. I love it when they sing. They are very good singers and their beautiful harmonies resound in the small space. They are singing with such humility that it is apparent they are offering up their worship to God. It is good to just stand and be witness to their faith.

As we come out, Bilal is waiting for us. It was nice to have him telling us about the area and the culture on the way down, so we take him up on the donkey ride offer. When it is time for me to get on the donkey, I figure he’ll have me climb on the nearby wall, but he says no, I should come around to the other side. So then I think he’ll give me a leg up, but no, that’s not it either. He looks at me, smiles in a charming way and says matter of factly, “I think maybe you are little fat for me, but it’s ok, I can do it.” And with that he lifts me in his arms and sits me up on the back of the donkey. I’m so surprised I don’t even think to help, so I’m sure I’m complete dead weight for him. He’s a little guy and I’ve probably got 40 pounds on him, but it doesn’t seem to faze him. Dang, he is strong. Riding on the back of that donkey takes a little getting used to and I’m mentally preparing myself to fall off. It feels like I’m rolling around up there, and Jeff is having a good laugh at my expense. I can’t believe Mary traveled all that distance from Nazareth to Bethlehem on the back of a donkey when she was nine months pregnant.