Many of us will be travelling this summer and some of us may be inclined towards a pilgrimage, something that is becoming more common today.

One historically important Christian pilgrim route is through France and Spain to the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela in Galacia in northern Spain where the remains of the apostle James are thought to be buried.

And of course another is to the Middle East to visit important Jewish and Christian sites, places where Abraham and Moses, Jesus, his family and disciples walked, lived and taught.

The following three vignettes were written by Louise Simos, a student at Trinity College when she and some of her classmates journeyed as pilgrims to Egypt and Israel. They are entitled, The Sound of Silence. Three Vignettes of the Holy Land.

We wish you a wonderful summer and hope that wherever you travel your heart too might be touched by moments of numinous silence.

Morning: Mount Sinai

I am bundled in a warm fleece jacket against the crisp cold, sitting high up in my comfortable saddle. Holding securely to the worn, wooden pummel, I am accompanied by my moon shadow, riding up the mountain with me. We are both sitting tall and easy in the saddle, breathing deeply the cold, fresh air. A slight odour of musty camel and camel dung drifts past on the light breeze. Overhead, the stars shine like brilliant jewels in the clear, dry night sky.

I hear the guttural grunts and grumbles of the camels, and the calls of the camel drivers behind me. A radio blares for a while, then is silenced. I feel alone with my camel on this dark, rocky mountain.

The camel takes a small mis-step and slips a little on the loose stones. I peer down a dark, steep precipice, but I am calm and trust my camel completely. I continue to feel the rhythm of her steady steps up, up, up the mountain. Imperceptively the black sky lightens and I can see into the dark crevasses. Somewhere a bird sings a pure, simple two-note song.

The grace that has brought me here, to this place, to open my heart to God, brings me to tears. And my heart overflows as God pours in all that I need to sustain me on my journey: life and beauty, joy and love, awe and wonder, gratitude and peace, courage and strength.

An hour later, we arrive at the summit at dawn. Suddenly the camel pitches back and forth, settling down onto her calloused joints to allow me to dismount. A little unsteady on the solid ground, I take a moment to find my land legs. Soon I am back to solid reality, two feet on the rocks, my heart singing as I watch the sun rise, knowing that I will carry home the strength of this mountain of God.

You shall have a song as in the night when a holy festival is kept; and gladness of heart, as when one sets out to the sound of the flute to go to the mountain of God, to the Rock of Israel. Isaiah 30:29

Noon: The Sinai Desert

I sit alone in blissful, calm silence in a small sandstone cave carved out by the wind and rain. As the scorching sun moves overhead, I shift under the overhang to stay in the shade. The rocks are hard and uncomfortable, yet cool against my back and legs. I wet the keffiyeh on my head and shiver with the sudden coolness.

Three flies buzz and disappear Birds twitter and sing. I hear a distant buzz, like a model airplane, and a huge bee flies by, its sound amplified by the rocks. The wind blows gently and makes a soft whooshing noise as it caresses the rock, continuing to shape the mountain. The air smells like hot sand.

In the small valley before me a dusty acacia tree spreads its meager shade for a fellow pilgrim. From the right comes the murmur of the Beduin preparing lunch. The increasing chatter of hungry pilgrims, already weary of this short meditation time, becomes background noise.

At the edge of hearing I hear a bell. As it approaches I hear "Baa. Baa." Around the corner of the valley comes a small flock of jaunty goats – black, white, tan, little ones, older ones. Each goat in turn browses briefly under the acacia tree, and moves on, not finding the dry, thorny acacia twigs appetizing. Ignoring the camera-wielding pilgrims, the goats move out, following the ram, the laggards nibbling on a bush in passing. Their calls echo in the rocky hills for long minutes after they have disappeared.

Even here, in the desert wilderness, there is no silence. Footsteps, birds, flies, the light wind on the rocks, the blood coursing through my head, my breath, my heart beating. Did the desert fathers and mothers ever sense the futility of finding perfect silence? The wilderness can teach us how to find the still, small voice of God that fills us and all of creation. But the only true silence is found within us, the inner peace of God.

Evening: Church of the Annunciation, Nazareth

In the hush all I can hear are the deliberate footsteps of pilgrims walking on the polished stone floor. A murmur of whispered conversation, quickly hushed as a silent brown-robed monk walks close to the speaker and entreats silence with his eyes. A self-conscious pilgrim scrapes her chair as she sits. It is 8:30 pm and dark outside. Inside this church a hundred people are praying in silence.

My eyes are drawn like a moth to the warm, yellow light illuminating the cave and away from the darkness of the huge, cold basilica. I sit in a chair overlooking a sunken area containing a square stone altar before the cave. The altar holds an open Gospel book on a white cloth. Surrounding the cave are the ruins of the fifth century church that first marked this place before this massive, plain concrete basilica was built in the 1960’s. The heavy, ugly concrete is lost in the shadows. I feel like a tiny person held in God’s massive, strong hands – the hands of a stone mason – certain, powerful and determined.

I sit in silence, heart open. I try to pray with words, but the space draws me into contemplation. Eventually I move with the others towards the cave, walking down to the grill that closes it off. I feel the holiness of this place where Mary received her calling, where fearfully she rejoiced at being chosen by God. I sit and gaze into the cave. My rational skepticism – Is this really the site? Did this really happen? – disappears, replaced by a feeling of awe, certainty and strength.

We leave the basilica in prayerful silence, and that hush remains with us as we silently admire the beautiful icons of the Virgin Mary in the dark courtyard outside the church. Suddenly the Muslim call to prayer echoes loudly around us, repeating and amplified by the stone and concrete surfaces. I catch my breath and shiver. It is as if the very air is praying.