In the Steps of St. Antoni, Part 2

Crosses on the way up to the cave

We stand atop the Red Sea mount, awed, the desert valley far below us and a cool, Saharan wind sweeping our faces and roaring in our ears. It was here, over 1700 years ago, that St. Antoni would have emerged from his cave and looked out over the arid vista to the north. He called this place home for over 40 years. That I am here now is nothing short of a miracle. Standing here, I am transfixed, silent and solemn. I sense the vast desert, and I feel all at once insignificant and a part of the arid world around me. I am aware of only the wind, the sand and the sky. Moments or minutes pass; I am uncertain which. At some point I slowly regain my senses, a dreamer awakening from slumber.

I am me again instead of a small quiet speck of desert.

Entrance to St. Antoni's cave

The entrance to St. Antoni's cave is not much more than a crack in the side of a sandstone mountain, the top of which looms above us. From the valley below, the entrance would be completely unnoticeable. It is perhaps two meters high and barely a shoulders' width wide. Even from our vantage point just a few meters away, the entrance looks sufficiently narrow to make me think twice about wriggling my way in. But I have struggled up 1200 or more steps to get here, and I have brought a flashlight along; might as well chance it.

Dana and I approach slowly, and as we do we can feel and smell the cooler air of the inside of the cave. Another member of our company decides to quickly temper her intense claustrophobia, and she hastily joins us. I get the sense that had she waited a couple of seconds longer, she would have chickened out. Two steps inside of the cave, and I have to crouch and shimmy my way past a smooth outcropping of sandstone that blocks our view of the passage ahead. Lonely Planet was right, this cave is for the svelte and non-claustrophobic.

St. Antoni's icon

Once we pass the sandstone outcropping, we need the flashlights. Dana and our friend are not too happy about this. Flashlights snapped on, we realize that there is a u-shaped set of stairs that leads down to the cave itself. I hear sounds of hesitation behind me. I sidestep down the stairs, but I still have to crouch in the tiny cave. The cave is crowded even for one person. Dirt floor and craggy walls, this was St. Antoni's home for a long stretch of time; unbelievable.

There are only two items inside the cave that speak of St. Antoni's long residence here. On one wall, a lovely enameled icon depicting the holy monk has been mounted into the sandstone. There is a locked reliquary set into the opposite wall. Aside from this, the cave is empty. Feeling cramped, we do not tarry as we did on the the perch outside of the cave. Despite the fact that this is where St. Antoni spent years and years praying in splendid solitude, the cramped confines of the cave do not lend themselves to evoking the sense of awe and mysticism we experienced outside.

Time to leave. 

We pass through the narrow passage in silence. The long trek down the metal-framed stairs likewise passes in near silence. The climb and the scenery are having a profound impact on us all, leaving us speechless for the most part. Father Rawais was correct, the experience at St. Antoni's cave has readied us for a tour of one of the oldest monasteries in the world.

Monks' cells, St. Antoni's Monastery

Photographs taken by Dana and Kyle Purpura