The monastery of Deir Mar Musa in Syria has become a focus of interfaith dialogue, thanks to the efforts of an Italian priest. Carole Corm reports. Photos by John Wreford

Few monasteries can claim among their visitors Harvard scholars, Muslim sheiks and South Korean pilgrims. Such a varied clientele is even more surprising in a place that is hidden away in a desert mountain range, some 80km north of Damascus, Syria’s capital. Thanks to the efforts of Italian Jesuit priest Father Paolo Dall’Oglio, however, Deir Mar Musa, the Monastery of Saint Moses, attracts visitors from across the world.

When Father Paolo stumbled upon Mar Musa’s desolate ruins in the early 1980s, it was in a dire state of decay. Perched on a rocky outcrop, almost 1,400m above sea level, it had been largely forgotten by everyone except a few Christian goat herders who tended their flocks in the vicinity.

Through Syrian-Italian cooperation and European Union funding, the church roof has been rebuilt, the remarkable, multi-layered frescoes have been restored and 343 steps, blending into the mountain, have been added to facilitate access (somewhat). Since 1984, not only has Mar Musa become a vibrant example of oriental monastic life and hospitality, but, perhaps even more importantly, a centre for interfaith dialogue.

While Syria is predominantly Muslim, about 10 per cent of its population is Christian. Mar Musa belongs to the Syriac church, a Christian sect that, like the Copts in Egypt, has its roots in the 5th century, as a result of theological disputes with Byzantium. The Church uses Syriac in its liturgy: an ancient Semitic language that is close to the Aramaic that would have been spoken by Jesus.

Ever since the beginning of Christianity, monastic life has been a feature in this region. Monasteries have kept the community together and, some scholars argue, have brought the Christian faith closer to the surrounding Muslim world. The convent of Sednaya, for instance, 21km north of Damascus, is famed for the miracles that are said to have occurred there and attracts Christian and Muslim visitors alike. As for Mar Musa, it holds mystical powers for the region’s Muslims, who climb up to the site in spring for communal picnics.

Inter-faith communion might be fragile, but at Mar Musa it is made visible in a shared architectural tradition and ceremonial practices. Bending down through the very small door into the monastery’s church, one is immediately struck by the similarities with a mosque. Carpets and sheepskins cover the floor, while the Bible is displayed on a stand, similar to those that usually hold the Koran. During prayer, the monks and nuns prostrate themselves like Muslim worshippers, a surprising tradition that can be found in a handful of other Syriac monasteries.

Naturally, conflicts in nearby Palestine and Iraq, polarised in jihadist terms, and recent controversies about cartoons of the prophet Mohammed, have not helped to nurture communalities. Father Paolo, however, stresses the need for inter-faith conviviality. ‘Christian monasteries are an integral part of the spiritual life in the Muslim world,’ he says.

Almost invisible from a distance, and surrounded by the vast desert plains, Mar Musa was founded by Saint Musa the Abyssinian in the 6th century AD. Musa, the son of an Ethiopian king, abdicated the right to inherit his father’s kingdom, in favour of a life of religious duty. From Ethiopia, he fled north, to Egypt and the Holy Land, performing miracles on the way. His journey led him to modern-day Syria, where he established himself in one of the many grottoes that dot this mountainous desert. Miracles and solitude notwithstanding, Musa met a sticky end, martyred at the spearpoints of a group of Byzantine soldiers.

According to Guyonne de Montjou, a French journalist who spent a large amount of time in Mar Musa, and wrote the definitive book on the monastery, it is no coincidence that Musa lived roughly at the same time as the Prophet Mohammed. On the contrary, it only re-affirms the monastery’s role as a place of Christian-Muslim dialogue. As if to confirm this idea, Arabic inscriptions marked on the existing church wall begin with: ‘In the name of God the Merciful, the Compassionate,’ the very same introductory words that can be found in the Koran.

In 1058 a church was built on the site of Musa’s grotto. Colourful frescoes were soon commissioned from local artists and, over the next century, two additional layers of frescoes were added, testifying to the active monastic life of the period. The richness and expressionism of the various Bible scenes, such as the crowded representations of paradise and hell – with Syriac subtitles – come as a colourful surprise amid the bare and silent surroundings.

Until the 15th century, entire families would live in and around the monastery, forming congregations that would pray together and share monastic duties before retreating to separate quarters. This ‘double monastery’ as it is called, was reproduced in the recent restoration works, with an annex for male visitors and priests, and another for female visitors and nuns.

From the end of the 15th century a period of long decline ensued, with the last monk leaving Mar Musa in 1831. In the years that followed, the buildings decayed, with the monastery serving as a focal point for Christian goat herders and co-religionists from Nebek, a village about a quarter of an hour’s drive away, who would still hike up the mountain to baptise their children. A monastic community was re-initiated by Father Paolo and Deacon Jacques Mourad from Aleppo in 1991. Today, it comprises nine members, including four monks currently studying in Rome, two novices and one trainee nun. As is true of most monasteries, finding people prepared to dedicate their lives to God is difficult. ‘People complain about how precarious their jobs are, but when it comes to planning their life around God, it turns out people prefer to be precarious,’ says Father Paolo.

The monastery rule is divided between spiritual meditation and manual labour. Prayers start at 7.30am in Arabic. Those who do not understand Arabic, explains a note posted at the church’s entrance, ‘are welcome to walk in the mountains or wash the dishes’.

As for manual activities, aside from the manufacture of goat’s cheese, Mar Musa is at the forefront of environmental projects – subsidised in part by the Syrian authorities – to develop sustainable yet eco-friendly farming techniques. At a time when Syria’s population is booming, fighting desertification has become increasingly important. The monastery hopes to turn the nearby valley into a national park, to provide a shining example of landscape management for the remainder of the country.

To help in such monumental projects, Mar Musa is lucky to receive a steady flow of visitors, who often stay for long periods of time. Students, backpackers, yuppies from Europe – the monastery attracts all sorts of pilgrims. They can contribute to the community duties, observe monastic life and, at the end of the day, can sleep in one of the building’s many rooms. Alternatively, if they want a more basic experience, they can retreat to one of the nearby caves.

On one particular October visit, I witnessed the popularity and conviviality that have made Mar Musa famous. Late that Saturday morning, a large congregation of Christian Syrians from Homs, Syria’s third largest city, had come to the monastery. When we arrived, the women, wearing big, chunky crosses, were busy preparing lunch for 150 people, while on the main terrace overlooking the open desert plains, some of the men chatted with a local shepherd who happened to be passing. Others indulged in a midday nap on the church’s soft sheepskin carpets. In the middle of the crowd, helping with the lunch preparations, was a young woman from California. She had come to Mar Musa to take a break from university, and retreat for a three-month period of what she termed ’spiritual exercises’.

Earlier that day, I had met up with Father Paolo in the small town of Nebek. The burly Italian priest was on his way to a meeting of the Arab League, where the subject up for discussion was going to be inter-faith dialogue. Father Paolo must surely know his stuff, as in the next couple of months a team from Harvard Law School is scheduled to make a visit to the monastery to discuss how relations between Christians and Muslims might be improved.

It is perhaps not what you might expect to be happening in a 1,000-year-old monastery hidden in the Syrian hills. But, then again, says Father Paolo, the idea of a monastery that is stuck in time, with no internet or telephone, is a Western fantasy. ‘Monasteries have always been places of communication. We have computers now, but centuries ago monks would have copied manuscripts: that was their way of communicating and keeping themselves up to date.’

After spending 20 years resurrecting Mar Musa, convincing the Jesuit order of his mission and, in passing, creating a Syrian school for the restoration of frescoes, Father Paolo has plans for even bigger projects. ‘I want Mar Musa to become a modern Saint Jacques of Compostella,’ he says, referring to the popular medieval Spanish pilgrim site that to this day attracts legions of pilgrims.

There is one important difference, however. Saint Jacques was at the border with the Muslim empire in southern Spain, and as such it almost served the function of a literal and figurative Christian bastion against the nearby Islamic world. Mar Musa, located in the heart of Syria, appears to be the complete opposite.

‘In the Middle Ages, pilgrims were obsessed with mata moros [killing moors]; I want them to be ama moros [loving moors],’ adds the keeper of Mar Musa, with a touch of poetry. Rather than fearing and distrusting the Muslim world – a relationship with the Moors personified in Shakespeare’s plays, if you like – pilgrims today should engage with the Muslim world.

Father Paolo hopes to put Mar Musa on the Abraham Route, an international pilgrimage initiative that follows the footsteps of the prophet Abraham, a figure revered by the three monotheistic religions. The trail would run from Harran in southeastern Turkey, through Syria, and Jordan, to Hebron in Palestine.

He concedes, however, that the mere mention of Abraham’s name raises suspicion among the local population: a reticence that might lead him to rethink his plans. But, then again, for someone who rebuilt a monastery from scratch, turning Mar Musa into such a focal point in the heart of the Middle East might not be a problem. ‘I’m a provocateur,’ says the Italian priest, half jokingly. He may be, but he is one with whom people from around the world want to enter into discussion these days.

HOW TO GET THERE

FROM DAMASCUS
Take the main highway towards Homs. Nebek is clearly marked, and lies east, approximately
80km from the capital. A taxi or bus from Garajat Halab station (Qabun) can take you there. Once in Nebek, continue for another 15km towards Tariq’Arqub, before reaching a sign to the
monastery. Take the left path and drive another 2.5km until you reach the foot of the mountain.
From there, you must climb up the staircase which takes about 15 minutes.
FROM HOMS
Take the main highway south in the direction of Damascus. Nebek is clearly marked and lies to
the east of the road approximately 80km south of Homs. You can take a taxi or a bus from the
Garaget Central station. Taxi rides from Damascus or Homs should cost you no more than 1,500 Syrian pounds ($30) for the round trip. A bus ride to Nebek will cost you even less.
FURTHER READING
Mar Moussa: un monastère, un homme, un desert, by Guyonne de Montjou (Albin Michel, €17). www.deirmarmusa.org