I’ve 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 him 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.
Four locks of hair are cut in a cruciform pattern to symbolize the decision to leave the world and dedicate one’s life to God.
For now, Damien will live in a community 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 the prolonged 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.
Soon, we were driving south on a dusty road heading toward a distant ridge. After half an hour, we arrived at a cluster of tents.
The abbot got out and approached a man and a flurry of excited talk followed.
The man kept pointing up a dry wash towards a ridge beyond. I couldn’t understand him, but it was evident he was agitated.
I ask Damien. “What’s he saying?”
“He’s very upset—keeps repeating, No go back—No go back.”
A woman appears—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 – a stone statue there—an idol. Says he feels waves of 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 said he also 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 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 us of our 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’re 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, my Son.”
Damien’s eyes grow huge and I also feel a tingle of fear run up my spine.
This is not going to be the pleasant diversion I expected.
Suddenly this wilderness jaunt has led us to a haunt of jackals where everything seems threatening and desolate