Father Paolo Dall’Oglio, a Roman Jesuit. The meeting between the Islamic and Christian worlds in the Syrian desert, far from the noise and suffocating air of the capital, at the ruins of a ancient monastery, now home to a new community.
Damascus- As a student of Arabic at the University of Naples’ Oriental Studies Department, Father Paul traveled to Syria in 1981, to further refine his Arabic and knowledge of Islamic studies. “I went on a pilgrimage to the Fort of San Simeon to understand what the apostolic priorities would have been for the disciples of Jesus, men and women who were suffering in the Middle East.” The following year, 1982, was marked by riots and massacres in Syria, where the most tragic event was the destruction of the city of Hama, a stronghold of the Muslim Brotherhood, opponents of the government. Father Paul went into the desert on a ten-day retreat, during which he felt he received, in response to his constant entreaties to God, three directives: to dedicate his life to the contemplation of the divine, engage in physical labor in order to truly live the religious vow of poverty, and to put into practice the so-called Abrahamic hospitality that combines the love of God and man. Father Paul understood the need to locate his mission in a country with a Muslim majority. “I started thinking about how to transform the Church’s presence in the Islamic world into a Church for the Islamic world.” His search ended 80 km from Damascus in the Mar Musa Wadi, a place in the border region, inhabited since ancient times by Aramaic Christians and Muslim Arabs who lived together as good neighbors. This is the valley where Deir Mar Musa al-Habashi, or the Monastery of St. Moses the Abyssinian, stands. The monastery at Mar Musa was and still is a place of pilgrimage for Muslims, since Moses is also a prophet of Islam. It is no coincidence that the chapel’s entrance is inscribed with the basmala, the verse with which some of the suras, or chapters, of the Koran begin: “In the name of God forgiving and merciful.” The history of this place is long and complicated, but let’s take a brief look at it, in order to fully appreciate its choice by Father Paolo as a place to bring together the two faiths. The hill on which the monastery stands was inhabited even in prehistoric times, thanks to the presence of water and caves in which to shelter. Much later, it’s said, the son of an Ethiopian king, Moses the Abyssinian, refused the throne, preferring to devote his life to meditation. He left his father’s house and settled in this part of the Syrian desert. He was slain, later, by Byzantine soldiers. His body was brought home by his family, but, in what’s viewed as a miracle, his right thumb came off, as though in an attempt to remain at the site, and today is kept in a church in a neighboring country. Moses the Abyssinian was declared a martyr, and the hill became a place of pilgrimage for Christians and Muslims. The chapel was built in 1058, but the monastery buildings date from the fifteenth century, when work began to add to the chapel. Beginning in 1800, for more than a century, the Syrian Orthodox Church and the Roman Catholic Church disputed ownership of the monastery. In 1983, the Catholic community was ready to sell it to local authorities. Thanks to the intervention of Father Paul that did not happen. Reopened in 1991 with Yacoub Mourad, a deacon of the Syrian Catholic Church, Father Paolo soon realized the need for a monastic community, albeit a small one to start with. Thus was born “Al-Khalil” or “Friend of God”, as Abraham is defined in the Koran, whose main focuses are dialogue, meditation, physical work and hospitality. Intrigued by the story of this monastery, I decide to visit. Leaving the city heading north, we soon found ourselves in the middle of nowhere — on a straight, endless deserted road with just a few car dealerships. After a few kilometers, the taxi leaves the main road and climbs to a village called Nebek, to reach the foot of the monastery and the starting point for a mix of gravel paths and stairs leading to our final destination. When Father Paul first came here, all he found were the ruins of the old monastery and an abandoned chapel. I find myself wondering how he and his companions managed to live in so isolated a place and without modern comforts. I see an elevator. It is the only way to bring up heavy objects. At the top, I pause for breath, but the sight of a fabulous panorama takes my breath away again: I see the road I have traveled disappearing back into the desert. A marvel to behold. I immediately realize that the monastery, just 20 years later, is now a real community. Men and women share tasks and responsibilities. There is someone who cooks, while another does the dishes, someone else takes care of the chapel, others cultivate the land and still others take care of the animals. Rooms are separated to comply with the segregation of the sexes. There are those who live permanently in the monastery, others are there on a spiritual retreat, or at least to withdraw from the rest of the world, because the monastery itself is always crowded. In some of the rooms carved into the stone you can stay for free in exchange for helping with various daily chores. Of course, donations to the monastery are not refused. To enter the chapel, the place that interests me most, I take off my shoes, just as in a mosque. The walls are almost completely covered with frescoes from the eleventh and twelfth centuries, recently restored thanks to the cooperation of the Syrian Department of Antiquities and Italian Central Institute for Restoration. You can clearly identify some Bible characters and scenes that represent the highlights of the Holy Book, such as the Last Judgment. The chapel floor is carpeted, making it an ideal place to sit, relax and reflect. It’s here that Father Paul and others in the community come together for prayer, in Arabic. In welcoming people from all over the world, Father Paul has made available various translations and editions of the Bible. Since 1991, the community has attracted an ever greater and more diverse following, thanks to the extensive relationships it has, not only with local groups but also with similar ones in the rest of the world. They include active members of both Eastern and Western churches. Each year, thousands of Muslims, driven by a genuine interest in inter-religious harmony, also visit the monastery. “We believe that relations between Christians and the Muslim umma (community of all Muslims in the world) are indispensable for the salvation of humanity,” says Father Paul. I ask to insert a personal question. There is a question that concerns me, one for which I have not found answers when I’ve consulted with monks, priests and other persons close to the Church in Italy. I believe that Father Paul is the right person to turn to for a definitive answer, although I realize the issue is too delicate and complex to be summarized in some simple slogan for happiness: “How can harmony between cultures and religions be achieved? The number of Muslims living in Italy is constantly growing, therefore so are the contacts with Islam. Certain questions present themselves with increasing frequency in contemporary Italian society. For example, how to handle the question of inter-marriage, from a Christian perspective? Father Paul, a man of humor, teases me about my Campagna accent, before answering: “These relationships are difficult but not impossible.” The hospitality of Abraham is the solution. “The Christian partner should try to include those Islamic traditions which are shared by his own religious tradition, without losing his own identity.” Easy to say, a little less easy to do. But it is a valuable suggestion that can be applied more generally in any kind of relationship between people of different religions. So ,whereas the Melkite Patriarch of Damascus spoke, in the magazine Oasis, of a Church of Islam, Father Paul prefers an eschatological vision, in which Christians and Muslims eventually meet in the same place in a communion of identity with God. Then, in answer to my first question, on harmony, he adds: “Dialogue is the basis of harmony, without it misunderstandings, fears and prejudices arise. That is why Muslims love to visit Mar Musa, because in this place one can feel and experience the ancient friendship between Christians and Muslims. Christians in turn, can express their admiration for Islam without fear of being judged.” The community is involved in various activities. The range of Father Paul’s activities is much wider than one might expect and focus on more than just the religious. Father Paul also has fought to safeguard the biodiversity of the Wadi Mar Musa, an area at risk for desertification. In 2004, he chalked up another victory: The valley was declared a protected area by the Syrian Ministry of Agriculture and all tourist activities developed in the area must strictly respect the environment. The monastery is a small, albeit extraordinary, starting point for the dream of Father Paul. Given its growing number of members the Al-Khalil community is now at a point where it supports other monasteries in Syria and Italy, and there is a need to provide a solid foundation if the group wants to expand into other Muslim-majority countries. Father Paul has decided to ask for recognition of the new order. At Cori, in the province of Rome, a group has been formed where future monks and nuns can prepare to take their vows. Though he’s its founder, his hope now is to appoint someone other than himself, as head of the new order, so that he can continue to travel in Muslim countries and set up similar communities. He has already planned new destinations, but his departure from Mar Musa depends on whether the new order is approved. It seems that Father Paolo’s mission is destined to be one located in remote areas, helping anyone who wants to open their minds to new horizons. Maybe we need to begin to think no longer in terms of us and them, good and bad, faithful and infidels. The reconciliation this Jesuit has achieved can serve as a guide for all of us: dialogue, hospitality and hard work. Is it not perhaps also appropriate to look within ourselves first?