—Calvin
Baal
I’ve been asked to weddings and funerals, but have never been to a consecration.
Of all my friends, I'd never have predicted Damien Moshe would suddenly convert, become a monk and choose to live in the desert as a hermit.
But here I am in Beersheba, in the central Negev, witnessing Damien making his public vows.
I knew Damien was serious when he submitted to tonsure. He actually allowed Abba Arsenius to cut his precious, long, black hair.
The four locks of hair are cut in a cruciform pattern to symbolize Damien’s vow to leave the world and its passions and dedicate his life to God.
He’ll live in a community first, on the edge of the desert, and then, after testing and spiritual growth, he’ll become a solitary anchorite, or hermit.
After the ceremony, I ask Abba Arsenius about his need for preparation to live as a hermit monk.
“It’s necessary to be spiritually mature,” he tells me, “because the wilderness is the abode of demons”
It brings to my mind a picture of Christ in the wilderness being tempted by Satan.
As we’re talking, a man from the town approaches the abbot—and begins talking excitedly in Arabic.
“This man,” the abbot tells me, “has found a strange artifact in a cave in the desert. “Would you be interested in seeing it?”
“Definitely,” I respond, “I’d be more than happy to accompany you.”
“Good, then the three of us can go in the monastery’s jeep. We’ll be met there by a Bedouin who will direct us to the cave.”
I couldn’t help but notice the excitement in Damien’s eyes as once again, we were heading out on another adventure.
We drive south for about half an hour until we come to a cluster of tents. The abbot gets out and approaches a man.
A flurry of excited talk follows.
The man keeps pointing up a dry wash to a ridge beyond. I can’t understand him, but it’s evident he’s agitated.
I ask Damien. “What’s he saying?”
“He’s very upset—keeps repeating, no go back—no go back.”
A woman comes out—probably his wife—and calms him. She offers him wine from a wineskin.
The man begins speaking very solemnly. Damien translates:
“He says there’s an eerie presence in the cave – there’s a stone statue there—an idol. Says he feels evil coming from it.”
The abbot continues talking to the man and then eventually rejoins us.
“The Bedouin are very superstitious,” he tells us. “He thinks there’s djin—a genie up there.”
“What exactly frightened him?” I ask.
The abbot sighs. “He says while he was in the cave, it grew dark—something big and evil came in. He also said he saw demons.”
I arch an eyebrow.
“He’s referring to sand devils—they often reach hundreds of meters in height—The Bedouin think devils wrap themselves in cloaks of sand because they hate to be naked.”
“I’ve heard that—the demons want a house—a body to possess.”
He nods. “If they can’t find a man or an animal to enter, they’ll cover themselves in swirling sand.”
“Where is this cave?” Damien interrupts.
“It’s about another half hour’s hike from here—I’m sure I can find it—if you still want to go.”
“By all means,” I reply.
The heat of the desert is oppressive—it makes breathing difficult and quickly saps you of your strength.
We’ve brought several canteens of water though, and end up drinking about half in our ascent to the cave.
On the way, Abbot Arsenius explains the Islamic theology of the Jinn.
“They are similar to angels,” he says, “—creatures of free will, made from smokeless fire just as we humans were made from clay. And although usually invisible to us, they are created beings like us and will be judged on the Day of Judgment according to their deeds.”
“So, these are the genies of the Arabian Nights?” Damien smiles.
The abbot’s not amused. “The other word for Jinn is demon—they’re not benign creatures, in my opinion.”
I’m beginning to regret my decision to look for ‘adventure.’
Some rocks are better left unturned, especially if there’s a chance they harbour snakes.