Sitting high on a camel, I swing to the top of Jebel Musa. It is one-thirty, a cold night with a full moon. The mountain hangs darkly menacingly above me. I sit uncomfortably, with each step the saddle hurting my back, stomach and crotch. Does this really have to be done? Yes, it must because this is the great "attraction" of St. Catherine's Monastery: a night climb of Mount Moses to witness the miracle of sunrise at the top. As soon as the camel stops I dismount and continue on foot.

It is a special climbing experience. Even though it is not dark because of the full moon, it is quiet, cold, lonely and hard. Now hours of climbing and countless steps, I arrive at the top of the mountain by 4:30 p.m., well before sunrise. It gives me time to reflect on this place. Sitting on the camel, I kept thinking about the story of the three wise men, one of my favorite Bible stories. Now I think about what Moses experienced here. Would he have had a good coat? 

Moses, the son adopted by Pharaoh's daughter, who must flee when he murders a slave driver out of a fiery passion for justice. He ends up in the Sinai Desert where he learns to herd a flock. After a long apprenticeship, he is touched by the fiery passion of God. Fire for deliverance from bondage, but not now a consuming fire. Moses is called to lead a people of enslaved people in the exodus. Through the water they leave old life behind, seeking a promised land. But then first comes the desert of searching and not-knowing, of adversity and disappointment, of thirst and cold. And Moses must herd this flock.

How does he do it; where does he get the courage and energy; how does he recharge to lead inspiredly? I imagine this mountain was his place for that: a place of recovery and retreat. Away from the crowd, high on the mountain, close to God. After the dark of not-knowing-how-to-further, after the cold of setbacks and disappointment, here on this mountain he sees the light, stands with God in the full light. He receives the ten commandments, wisdom for the way to the promised land. Once again he is on fire: 'his face shone so that the people dared not approach him.'

Just before sunrise I almost can't stand it, so cold. Cold from the wind, cold from cooling off after climbing, cold from sitting on the rocks, cold from pondering in the dark. But then! First it dawns in the east, then it slowly becomes light. I cheer inside as I see the first red curve of the sun rise above the horizon. It is almost a physical experience of relief. Sun, light, warmth. And how quickly it goes, before I know it, all suffering is over and forgotten. After only fifteen minutes, I take off my coat.

They are often mountains that symbolically indicate how we can be close to God, how we can stand in the full light and know that we are loved by God. Jesus, too, at a difficult time in his life, retreated to a mountain. To become still, to pray and recharge. Matthew writes of this, "He changed his form, his face shone like the sun and his clothes became white as the light. Thus we, each of us, need places where we can retreat, become still, receive strength and light. That is why I am here at St. Catherine's Monastery. To be allowed to experience this secret for myself. But does one necessarily have to travel to Sinai for this? No of course not, it is religious folly to think that that could only be done on a mountain, or on this mountain. No, the mountain of Moses is wherever our lives are touched by God. That can be in your own garden, at the beach, in the woods, in a church. It can even be on a desolate piece of flat land below sea level where new monastic life is practiced: Iepenje myn eagen en reitsje my oan - Open my eyes and touch me. These are the first words sung in the morning celebration at Nijkleaster.