If you only have as much faith as a grain of mustard seed you can move a mountain, Jesus said. Jenny Jobbins visited Muqattam to see how they do it In a series of caves hollowed out in the Muqattam Hills not far from the Citadel are seven churches and chapels, each dedicated to a different saint but all known collectively as the Monastery of St Samaan the Tanner. One would expect at least some of the churches to be old: secret meeting places, perhaps, or natural cathedrals which served as edifices for the poor. Not a bit of it. Though St Samaan moved a mountain in his time, poor as he was, he had no church of his own. Now, a thousand years after his fabled miracle and his death, mountains have been moved for him. St Samaan's lies behind the zabbalin (garbage collectors') village of Mansheiyet Nasser on the opposite side of the road from the Citadel, and a visit is not for the faint-hearted. As we drove through the village in an air-conditioned car, windows tightly closed, we could only bow to the people whose life and livelihood it is to sort our refuse, and from now on I'm going to be even more diligent about starting the recycling process at home just to spare those little hands from picking apple cores out of sardine cans (sorry about this, but it's fresh on my mind). I admire, too, the people who have helped the zabbalin, including those who conceived the idea of St Samaan's. Through the winding streets of the village and the rubbish reception and sorting areas, plastic on this side, tin cans on that, with helpful hands pointing the way (they seemed to know what we were aiming for) we reached the end of the sorting area and were suddenly passing through a gate into a paved courtyard with an open blue sky. It was dotted with trees and bordered on one side by the Muqattam escarpment. The cliff made a splendid backdrop for the scene at its feet. There were several small tour buses in a parking area, obviously bringing pilgrims. Our first stop was the bookshop, where we bought an excellent English-language guidebook. There was also a small grocery store where purchases were made through a window grille. Dramatic carvings have been cut in relief into the escarpment, all created by a Polish artist, Mario, who has been working here for several years. Jesus rides through the clouds, the Holy Family make their way to Egypt, and the nativity scene reminds us of the humble dwellings on the other side of the monastery gate. Over the entrance to the Church of St Samaan is a colourful mural of the miracle of the loaves and fishes. There are quite a lot of steps in the complex, and though all are paved and easy to negotiate I was glad of comfortable shoes. We crossed the courtyard and found ourselves looking down on a huge tiered auditorium to a stage with a gold, tasseled theatre curtain and a large projection screen dwarfed by the sheer space. We climbed down the steps and, just as we were wondering what it was all about, we were lucky enough to meet Father Marcos, the priest of a church in Sharm El-Sheikh who has been a frequent visitor here over the years. Father Marcos, his words punctuated by beautiful impromptu translations of biblical passages, kindly and patiently told us about the monastery and St Samaan and why it took a thousand years for a church to be dedicated to his name. It was fortunate that Father Marcos was a civil engineer by profession, since he also told us a good deal about how the churches were built -- or rather carved. We were standing on the wooden stage of the Church of St Samaan, at the foot of the tiered auditorium which holds 15,000 -- and does so every Thursday evening at sunset, when Father Samaan, the priest of St Samaan, conducts a service. The auditorium is also used as a meeting and film hall. At the centre-back of the stage was an altar covered by a marble canopy crowned with a small cross, behind which was a large natural cave. On the right of the altar was a glass-fronted stone box bearing relics of St Samaan. While we watched a schoolgirl added a scrap of paper with a written plea to several others tucked into the edge of the box. Over our heads, in relief, was the distinct image of the Virgin Mary holding the Infant Christ which, it seemed, was exposed when some rock fell away during an earthquake. The relief appeared to have had a little help from Mario. The "stage" area was originally filled with half a million tonnes of fallen rock which took 13 years to clear away. Work on the auditorium began eight years ago, once the rock clearance was finished. "Every time I came here," Father Marcos said, "something had changed and there are more additions." Father Marcos, oblivious of the dozens of pilgrims who approached while we were speaking to kiss his hand and the cross he held in it, told us the legend of St Samaan and how he moved a mountain. According to Coptic tradition, St Samaan was a tanner or shoemaker who lived in Babylon (Old Cairo) towards the end of the 10th century, when Egypt was ruled by the Fatimid Caliph Al- Muizz and Anba Abram was the Coptic Pope. Samaan lived an ascetic life: he would rise before dawn, fill a waterskin and take water to the old and sick -- a much-despised task in those days -- and then leave the skin at home and go to work in the tanneries. One day he was making a shoe for a lady. As she lifted her skirt a little for the fitting to reveal her leg he felt ashamed of his lust, and there and then put out his left eye with an awl -- obeying perhaps rather too literally the words of Jesus: "Anyone who looks at a woman lustfully has committed adultery with her in his heart. If your right eye causes you to sin, gouge it out and throw it away. It is better to lose one part of your body that for the whole to be thrown into hell." According to the Coptic legend Caliph Al- Muizz, a generally enlightened man, enjoyed a good debate, and one day in the year 979 he invited Pope Abram and Anba Sawiris, Bishop of Ashmenein, together with a Jew named Jacob Ibn Killis, to a meeting. A few insults flowed, but Anba Sawiris got the better of the argument. Ibn Killis planned revenge. He told the caliph that Jesus had said: "If one has faith only as small as a mustard seed, one can say to a mountain, 'Move!' and it will move for you." "If they can't move a mountain," Ibn Killis pointed out, "Christianity is not a pure religion," according to the legend. The story goes that the caliph thought this was a golden opportunity to move the end of the Muqattam Hill which was spoiling his view, and therewith ordered the pope either to move the mountain, or concede it could not be done. The pope asked for three days' grace, and the Christian community -- which at that time would have been about 50 per cent of the population -- held a fast (Copts still add an extra three days of fasting to their 40-day Christmas fast in memory of this event). After praying for the three days, the pope enlisted the help of the saintly Samaan the Tanner. The Copts, so the story goes, assembled on one side of the mountain and the Muslims and Jews on the other. The Christians prayed fervently and the pope, guided by Samaan, waved his staff, and as they prayed the earth shook with a huge earthquake which toppled the hill. There was panic: buildings could be seen falling and the caliph begged the pope to put a stop to the tremor. When calm had returned St Samaan was nowhere to be found, and to this day a saying goes: "Go, like Samaan, and never come back." But St Samaan did come back. His skeleton was found in 1992 in Babylon when excavations were being carried out at the Church of St Mary. He was identified after careful analysis of his bones and hair (which still remained) and comparison with the features of a 15th-century icon in the Hanging Church believed to have copied from and earlier portrait. And in spite of his having apparently vanished -- the tale might have been invented by miracle seekers suggesting a phenomenal disappearance -- several contemporary and almost contemporary records indicate that he was buried at exactly the spot where he was found. When in 1974 the inspirational decision was made to establish a church near the zabbalin village at Muqattam, a tin church with a roof of reeds was erected, similar to the zabbalin homes which then stood nearby. St Samaan's humble origins among the tanning community and the miracle of the mountain were dual credentials for him to be the natural choice as patron saint. The church doubled as a Sunday School. The first service on 13 April was attended by just nine people, but soon the congregation had swelled to such numbers that a brick church was built. Pope Shenouda III visited the church in 1976 and accepted a grant from Finland to open a school. By 1993 the educational centre had expanded to include a kindergarten, a school for the deaf and dumb, and literacy and vocational courses. In 1994 a hospital opened. At the same time work began on enlarging the natural caves so they could be used as chapels and auditoriums. We were shown around by Adel Gadel- Karim -- who was a wonderful guide, but spoke no English -- and visited the Churches of St Marcus and St Bola (Paul) the Anchorite. A path edged with carefully tended rock gardens led down to St Marcus's, a cave which was dynamited into the rock. Also a tiered, semi-circular auditorium, this seats 5,000 and faces a wide platform and an altar. Around the walls Mario has carved bible stories in relief, very beautifully executed and much larger than life. St Bola was unusual both inside and out. Outside was a man offering indigo "Cross" tattoos for LE3.50 -- he assured us he had different colours. There were also two grey monkeys in a very large cage. The pilgrims were perhaps a little unkind when trying to be kind, since the floor was littered with sweet wrappings. But the monkeys had a good area to move and swing, a wide platform with a sleeping box and a ladder and branches, and they seemed healthy and friendly -- one of them sipped thirstily but politely out of the cup of water we offered it, and judging from the number of empty plastic cups lying among the sweet papers we saw were not the only ones to offer them a drink. St Bola's was very dark, with only a little daylight creeping in. The floor was covered with rugs, and stone benches with embroidered cushions were placed all around the walls. A group of seated men were singing an extraordinary, archaic chant to the beat of a tambourine. The monastery is a tribute to St Samaan, Father Samaan, Mario, and all the people who have worked so hard to create this clean, peaceful haven for the 30,000 local zabbalin . As a cultural experience for those of us who live complacently in a cosy world it should not be missed, since visitors -- and contributions to the collection box -- are as essential as they are welcome. Practical information To reach Mansheiyet Nasser from the autostrade, turn as if to go up to Muqattam and immediately take the first left turn.. St Samaan's lies at the far end of the village. www.saman-church.org
