Deserted but Not Lonely

These days, the remote and ancient Mar Saba draws mostly curious tourists

BY: Don Lattin

Continued from page 1

Sitting down with his coffee, Lazarus told the story of how he came to Mar Saba and why he has stayed here for six years. After his epiphany at Holy Virgin Cathedral, he began reading books about the lives of the saints and the teachings of the desert fathers. He got a job in the bookstore at the Russian Orthodox cathedral, where he saw a volume about the Holy Land with a memorable picture of Mar Saba monastery. "Ever since I saw that picture, I dreamed of coming here," he said. "The silence of the desert is the perfect place for monastic life. There are no distractions here...no buildings, no cars, not even trees."

Lazarus says he never gets lonely and rarely tires of the spartan, highly regulated life of prayer, worship, and meditation. "Being alone is not the same thing as loneliness. Here, I am alone with God," he said. "Back in San Francisco, I had started to believe that the world was its distractions. Things like watching 49er games on television. But when you turn off the TV and tune out all the distractions, God reveals Himself."

Lazarus can spend hours talking about St. Sabas. The founder of Mar Saba was born in Cappadocia, now known as Turkey, in 439 A.D. He entered a monastery there as a young man, but came to the Holy Land seeking the absolute solitude of a Christian hermit.

Sabas spent four years in these Judean caves, living in total isolation. But stories soon got out about the holy man in the wilderness, and 150 disciples joined him in the desolation of the Kidron Valley. By 492 A.D., the Patriarch of Jerusalem ordained Sabas and put him in charge of all the monks in Palestine. St. Sabas died in 532 A.D. In his later years, he had become a leading crusader for Christian orthodoxy. Over the centuries, the monks of Mar Saba have survived earthquakes, attacks by bandits, holy wars with Islam, and the spiritual indifference of modern society.

Today, Sabas' partially decomposed body lies in a glass case in the main chapel. Nearby, in another shrine, dozens of skulls are lined up as a reminder of a massacre in the year 614, when Persian bandits invaded the monastery, seeking gold and silver.

At his height, Sabas oversaw 5,000 monks. A century ago, a hundred monks lived at Mar Saba. Only 15 monks remain, including Father Lazarus and Father Damascenos, who has lived here for 50 of his 80 years. Once a week, one of the monks travels to Jerusalem, about 45 minutes away, for food, supplies, and mail.

Ten years ago, a new road allowed easier access to pilgrims, tourists, and curiosity seekers. Before that, visitors had to walk or ride a donkey. Today, young Israelis in glistening SUVs approach Mar Saba from the other side of the canyon, staring into the compound with binoculars. Ironically, Lazarus came here seeking solitude but now spends much of his day opening the blue door and showing visitors around.

As the only monk who speaks English, his job is greeting guests and gently turning away women hoping to get a peek inside. "We're out here holding down the fort," he said, "for the tourists and the pilgrims."

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