One of three peaks in the Sinai mountains, Mount Horeb has been believed to be a place of significant biblical events for over seventeen centuries. At its base is the well where Moses helped the daughters of the priest of Midian (Exodus 2:15-21). The burning bush was encountered on its side (Exodus 3). Later, when Moses brought the Israel tribes out of Egypt, Moses climbed it to receive the Ten Commandments (Exodus 19-20).
So, while not officially on a pilgrimage, the group of Episcopal priests, deacons and family touring Egypt shifted into pilgrim mode upon arrival at the base of Mount Horeb. As many thousands do each year, we intended to climb or ride a camel up the lower portion of the trail, then continue up the "steps" to the top. It was not going to be easy, and the bus arrived much later than planned. The sun was already low behind the mountain we were climbing. We probably should have chosen to start the climb in the middle of the night to watch the sunrise. But we didn't.
I chose to walk the broad, rocky, steadily rising trail, rather than ride a camel. I have climbed many mountains over my life, and enjoy the challenge. This time was different, because we were racing against the clock, the quickly arriving sunset. I focused on climbing, not looking around to experience the bare granite mountainside or views out across to other ranges. I held onto the hope that I would be able to see the sun drop behind adjacent peaks. So I did not pace myself, but kept pushing hard to keep moving.
The few times I did stop to look around and take pictures, the view was awesome. The bare granite mountains were as alive with colors as they were devoid of any plant life. They continue as far as the eye can see, with no plants to soften their edges There is no protection from the heat during the day or the cold at night. The Bedouin people lived along the trail in low buildings with rock sides and flat wood roofs. The camels slept on the bare ground where they were tied up.
After passing the final stop for the camels, I started the steep section referred to as "the steps." There was nothing regular, level or consistent about them. Many places it was hard to see a good place to put your foot down. My legs were sore and no longer solid under me. Forty feet or so up the trail, I stopped to rest, and turned around to look. This is what I saw:
The last of the sun was at the tops of the peaks behind me, and the guide said it was another 30 minutes to the top. Even with the flashlight in my pocket, it would be difficult to know how to climb down section I had just come up. Once the sun was gone, night and dark would be arrive in minutes. I turned around, disappointed but clear it was the right choice. There would be no pictures from the top. I joined a group at the Bedouin hut at the base of the steps waiting for the rest of the group to return.
After waiting over an hour in freezing temperatures, the five of us started down, without the group climbing to the top. We tried to join another group going down, but they were much younger and faster. Soon, we were on our own. David was the scout in front, calling out loose rocks or tricky spots. I was in back, shining my flashlight forward, to highlight the roughness of the trail. Two of the group were walking slowly, tentatively, setting the pace for the whole. We knew we needed to travel together. I invented silly lyrics to familiar tunes, so we could laugh. Twice we stopped to turn off the flashlight to look up at the half-full moon and stars in the sky. Over those two plus hours walking down, we became a community with a common purpose - caring for each other, being aware of the dark rocky desert around us, and walking safely down the mountain of Moses.
I could not know when I started that afternoon that the place I would encounter God upon his mountain in the Sinai desert would not be on the mountaintop. God joined the five of us, loving and journeying together in the pale light of the guardian of the night, a pilgrimage of grace I will never forget. Thank you Susan, Hyacinth, Masud and David.
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