I’ve been making my way through “Walking the Bible: a Journey by Land through the Five Books of Moses” by Bruce Feller. This book is aptly titled. To read the book by this lapsed Jewish scholar who has found himself drawn more and more to reconsider the Bible he put aside long ago feels like taking his pilgrimage with him. He is traveling with different authorities and historians, and his reflections on what he sees as they go from one location to another is by turns wondering, meditative, curious … but I appreciate that he doesn’t try to rush to any conclusions for himself or his readers. (And perhaps his viewers. There’s a burst on the book that says “The companion to the PBS television series,” but I never remember hearing about it.)

And so I was delighted today to read what he had to say about an orthros service that he attended at St. Catherine’s Monastery in Sinai.

By the time I arrived in the chapel it was just after 4:30, and the morning service was under way. The basilica was still dark, except for some candles above a lectern, where a monk in thick, black robes was chanting a prayer in Byzantine Greek … Gradually with the glow of the light, like liquid apricot, the dimensions of the room became apparent.

The basilica, built between 542 and 551 C.E.* is small, designed for the monks, not for the masses. The granite walls and pillars are original, as are the cypress doors and ceiling. The expansive mosaic above the apse depicting the Transfiguation of Jesus, flanked by Moses and Elijah, is one of only three surviving Byzantine mosaics in the world. The lavish highlight and by far the dominant architectural feature of the room is a lavish floor-to-ceiling wooden iconostasis, built in the seventeenth century,… Altogether, with the scarlet robes on the icons, the green on the ceiling, and the gold on the iconostasis, the chapel looks like a walking version of one of those gilded medieval triptychs that fill European museums: one part pedagogical tool, one part inspirational message, one part awesome display of wealth.

The service moved at a measured tempo. A monk would step forward to a lectern, … turn up the flame on an oil lamp, and read a few passages from the text. He would back away and another monk would step forward. Occasionally, there would be a call and response … Holy! Holy! Holy! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! There was not a wasted gesture. As one lectern was temporarily rolled away, another was pulled forward. As one book closed, another opened. The pace was steady, rhythmic, mesmerizing. In a way, the service reminded me of the pyramids in that it was perfectly balanced, reassuring in its proportions, and completely devoid of time. A “living tradition,” as the monks like to say….

In time, the sheer power of the tempo — and the dedication of those who carried it — began to feel almost overwhelming. How many religious ceremonies had I attended in my life? How many rites and rituals and prayers and benedictions? This was one of the most powerful displays of faith I had ever seen, yet also the least ostentatious. I did a small calculation. … Extended back in an unbroken line to the sixth century, this sanctuary had hosted almost three million services — all in the same place, in the same language, in the same manner. A living tradition, indeed.

* C.E. = Common Era. Together with B.C.E. — Before the Common Era — they correspond to the dating conventions of A.D. and B.C. respectively, and are a non-Christian’s answer to the apparently egregious evangelical propaganda of dividing history at more or less the birth-year of Christ. The author uses B.C.E. and C.E. throughout the book, and they bother me every time, but I may just be being peevish.