Day is ending as we come to Kiriath-Jearim* west of Jerusalem where a solid old Crusader church is nestled in a neighborhood of an Arab city. The garden inside the gate envelopes us as we walk in.
Our goal is a low door to the crypt, deep underground, but as we gather at the doorway, a small cluster of white robed monks walk down the garden. One sees our group and turns our way to greet us. “Ah,” says our guide, “It is Father Olivier.” His French pronunciation of “Oh-LIV-ee-ay” clues us to the monk's home country.
The two men greet each other warmly as old friends, and our guide explains that this is a group of biblical students.
“Perhaps you could tell them about yourself?”
“My English is not good,” the monk demurs in excellent English, but he proceeds. “I am a Benedictine monk. We spend our days in song and prayer. And we make pottery and liquor from lemons to sell.”
Our younger guide says, “Very, very good liquor.” The monk grabs him and rubs his shaved brown head. “You!” he laughs in obvious enjoyment of friend to friend.
Father Olivier continues. “I came from France. I am 62 and I have been here for 33 years. My family were not believers. In fact, my father was very anti-clergy. But my parents took me to see a movie when I was about twelve called Exodus and the story captured me. It’s a real story, you know, about some of the refugees coming here to Israel after the war.”
“After my military service, I joined a monastery in Normandy. As I sang the Psalms of David and read the Bible, I remembered the Exodus movie and it seemed that every page of scripture spoke of Jerusalem and this land. So I came, and I will never leave.”
“You know,” our older guide says, “Father Olivier is an Israeli citizen.” They look at each other with pride, both immigrants, both standing tall and sun-burnished with a look of freedom in their eyes that we have come to appreciate in this young country.
“Yes,” says the monk. “Young military boys and girls come here in small groups as part of their learning about Jerusalem.”
Our guides are both military guys of two different generations. So is the gentle monk. He goes on, “Benedictines are a hospitality order. We have people come to stay – Jews, Christians, Arabs, from the neighborhood. It is our mission.”
His English picks up as he shares his passion, even though he stumbles and asks for some individual words from our older French-speaking guide. “We are French mostly, but one man is from the Congo. And among the sisters there are French, German, Canadian, and also one from Congo. There are differences, yes, but we look past the differences. We are much the same, like those of this country.”
“I will stay here all my life,” he concludes. “Our commitment is not for a time. It is for all time.”
We leave Olivier and wander the simple lofty church left by the Crusaders. The faces of the frescoes were battered off by one of the Muslim invasions. The church stands, damaged, but solid. Father Olivier will keep his promise. Like the rock of the old church, differences and conflict will not move him. We sing a simple hymn before we leave the nave and the sound echoes off the walls and back to us.
“He arose, He arose, Hallelujah, Christ arose.”
It is a fitting end to a journey back in time. A stop on the way to a modern world, a refuge from the busyness outside the gates, a reminder that commitment brings stability and stability is eternal.
* “And the men of Kiriath-jearim came and took the ark of the Lord and brought it to the house of Abinadab on the hill…a long time passed, some twenty years, and all the house of the Israel lamented after the Lord.” 1 Sam. 7:1-2
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