In the Steps of St. Antoni, Part 3

Greeted at the gate by Father Rawais

He has a wizard's white beard, and he wears black, flowing robes. Atop his head, he wears a religious skullcap identical to the other 144 monks in St. Antoni's Monastery. His short stature belies a robust, expansive and sometimes contradictory personality. Having been in the monastery for 35 years, he is one of St. Antoni's most senior members. His name is Father Rawais (pronounced ru'-eez) Antoni, and he is at the moment, very angry.

We know this because he is telling us so.

"Right now, I am very angry." He slowly waves his hands up and down as if making a snow angel in the air. The pace at which he is waving his hands does not suggest anger however, nor does his measured voice.  Still, he continues.

"If I come to your house, I do not just walk around inside while you are away. People simply do not do this. This is why I am angry."

Like a teenager, I hang my head. Every other member of our travel group does the same. While waiting for Father Rawais to arrive to tour us round the inside of the monastery, we wandered about. We were not causing any bother or making much in the way of noise, mind you; just poking about ... in and around some of the monks' cells. No one had told us where to wait, so some of us wandered (makes for an interesting metaphor, eh?).

For the record, I was not one of the wanderers. Having spent quite a bit of time in Catholic schools and serving as an altar boy, I was taught to wait patiently while the members of the clergy tended to their business. I cannot speak for the others in my group, but my head-hanging is the product of an attempt to hide the amusement of my being chided. It has been a long time since I have been reprimanded, so I am trying to stifle and suppress a smile and a laugh.

After finishing his measured tirade, Father Rawais pauses, breathing a heavy, intentional sigh. Within a second, the thunderclouds pass over his face giving way to a radiant, beaming smile.

"My name is Rawais Antoni, and I have been a member of this community for 35 years. I do not look this old, do I?"

It is the first of many questions expressed in an almost rhetorical manner that leaves us suspended in a constant state of awkward uncertainty. Should we answer? Is an answer even wanted? If we answer, will we get scolded again? It makes for a strange afternoon, but strange in a good, light-hearted way.

The towers of the monastery

During the first half hour of our tour with Father Rawais, we discover many interesting facets of monastery. The monastery was not founded in a classic sense but rather took shape slowly after the death of St. Antoni. The monastery itself has been in continuous operation for more than 1600 years save for a few years in the 1500s when Berber marauders plundered the facility, slaughtering all of the inhabitants. From the time the monastery was reestablished after the Berber raids up until about 90 years ago, the only way in and out was through a cleverly constructed winch and pulley system that required guests to ring a bell from outside the walls if they wanted to be hoisted into the confines of the monastery. Only the promise of protection from a nearby British garrison convinced the monks to finally build a gate.

We also learn some interesting aspects about the monks who live in this place. Men wanting to become a part of the fellowship here must serve a three-year apprenticeship as a novice before being considered. All of the monks possess the equivalent of a Bachelor's degree, and several of the monks have earned Master's degrees and a few hold PhDs. Father Rawais emphasizes this last point as if to suggest that we should perhaps address him as "Doctor Father Rawais." When the apprentice-novice becomes a fully fledged member of the community, he forsakes his family name and adopts the name, Antoni, as his new family name. So there are 145 current members of the Antoni family living and working in the monastery. All of the monks have two full-time jobs. The first is to spend time engaged in prayer for others. Following in the Christian monastic tradition, the monks here pray eight times per day. The second job is to spend time in the service of the monastery. Monks here serve as builders, field workers, bee keepers, carpenters, and even as the odd English-speaking tour guide.

In time, we come to learn more about our contrary guide. Father Rawais says the simple, religious life revolves around the Bible, the Church and sincere prayer. He occupies what he says is the choicest cell in the monastery. He lived for three years in Seattle, and knows some of the Seattle neighborhoods quite well. He has an affinity for Starbucks, bold-roasted coffee ... when he can get it. He has an email address and keeps up a lively international correspondence. He has an iPhone 5 which he says is for emergencies. It rings twice during our tour, and Father Rawais excuses himself to answer both times. He likes sunglasses. He also likes one of our friend's flashlights, and he guilts her into giving it to him. He thanks her many awkward minutes later. He has a bad leg, and he proudly displays it to anyone who cares to look; I saw it twice. Because of the bad leg, he needs assistance going up and down the stairs. Being the good recovering-Catholic that I am, I volunteer on several occasions, and on each occasion, Father Rawais nicely but firmly tries to save my soul.

Father Rawais shows us his bad leg

"Kyle, you must remember three things in life in order to be happy."

"Yes, Father Rawais. I remember you telling me earlier."

"You must remember the Bible."

"Yes, Father, I will remember."

"You must remember to go to the Church."

"Yes, Father, I will."

"And you must remember the prayer; the prayer is important, Kyle."

"Yes, Father, I will remember."

And so the afternoon goes on in a similar fashion. We learn more about the monastery and the fascinating lives of the men who dwell here. We learn more about Father Rawais, and he makes a few more attempts to secure for me a sublime afterlife; bless him. 

After three hours, we reluctantly leave this beautiful place and the curious characters that inhabit it. It is easy for me to imagine the real Antoni, so torn between the life of luxury that he inherited and the life of suffering he witnessed so often around him. It is easy for me to imagine that man, forsaking everything to come here, to this beautiful oasis in the center of the Great Eastern Desert, in order to find himself and his spiritual center. Standing here, with a gentle, cool afternoon breeze blowing down from the mountains, I can understand this man and his desire for simplicity.

We file past Father Rawais one by one, shaking his hand and thanking him for his time. I am one of the last to leave his company.

"Kyle ...., " he begins in an earnest whisper.

"Yes, Father Rawais?" I am steeling myself for one last frontal assault on my pagan spirit.

"You wife is very lovely."

"Yes, Father Rawais, she is indeed."

This week's photos by the lovely, Dana Purpura. Father Rawais approves this message.