Outside are dozens of Bedouin hawking camel rides. It's a Greek Orthodox church, not Coptic like St. Anthony's, so the ceiling is hung with dozens of brass incense burners. My prayer is fulfilled at the ossuary, guarded by Father Joseph. In a cellar, piled behind chicken wire, are thousands of bones, including enough skulls to fill 40 shopping carts. They are the teachers, and we are the students.
Saints never die.
We learn through their memory. Their flesh is dry, but gives off a nice scent. They are not subject to ordinary limitations of space and time. God gave them special qualities. He kept the steps to the Mountain of Moses in the sixth century.