From Mardin’s Old Town to Mor Gabriel Monastery: A Journey into Silence

There is a particular silence that belongs only to winter.

A few years ago, I found myself in Mardin, a city unlike anywhere else. Mardin sits on a rocky hillside overlooking the vast Mesopotamian plains, its winding streets, stone houses, and centuries-old architecture. 

I spent several days wandering through the old town, exploring its mosques, churches, and hidden alleyways before deciding to visit Mor Gabriel Monastery, deep within the Tur Abdin plateau.

Early the next morning, we left Mardin behind and drove east. 

When I finally saw Mor Gabriel, I first noticed the limestone walls. 

Waiting for us at the entrance was a young Assyrian man who introduced himself as our guide. As we walked through the monastery together, he spoke softly about its history, its traditions, and the community that continues to live there today. 

His pride in the monastery was quiet but unmistakable.

Because it was winter, there were almost no visitors. 

As someone interested in art and art history,  these are the moments I treasure most. Without crowds, architecture begins to reveal something beyond its physical form. Buildings become witnesses. They hold memory, belief, and the stories of the people who have shaped them over past centuries.

Sixteen Centuries of Faith

Founded in 397 CE by Saints Samuel and Simon, Mor Gabriel is one of the oldest continuously functioning Syriac Orthodox monasteries in the world. For more than sixteen centuries it has remained a centre of worship, learning, and monastic life.

Walking through the monastery, it becomes clear that its architecture reflects this remarkable continuity. The complex has grown gradually over the centuries, with each generation adding new churches, chapels, courtyards, and living quarters while preserving the spiritual character of the original foundation.

The monastery is built from the distinctive honey-coloured limestone quarried throughout the nearby Midyat region. In the muted winter light, the stone seemed luminous. The soft beige walls absorbed the fog, giving the entire complex a quiet warmth despite the freezing temperatures.

Our guide explained that Mor Gabriel flourished during the Byzantine period, when support from emperors, bishops, and wealthy patrons allowed the complex to expand. Yet despite periods of political instability, changing empires, and regional conflict, the monastery has never ceased to function as a living religious community.

That continuity is perhaps its greatest achievement.

Descending Underground

Nothing prepared me for the change in atmosphere when we descended beneath the monastery.

One of the most moving spaces was the Church of the Forty Martyrs, an underground Church where earlier generations of monks, bishops, abbots, and other prominent members of the Syriac Orthodox Church are buried.  This space carried weight. 

As our guide spoke about the history of the monastery, I found myself imagining the countless people who had sought refuge here during times of uncertainty. The Church serves as a place of burial but also as a reminder of the struggles of the Syriac Christian community, whose history has often been marked by hardship. 

Architecture is often discussed in terms of style, proportion, or craftsmanship. Yet places like Mor Gabriel remind us that buildings also become repositories of memory. Their significance lies in the lives that unfolded within their walls.

A Living Heritage

What makes Mor Gabriel so remarkable is that it is not a monument frozen in time.

It remains alive.

Monks, nuns, students, and local families continue to pray, work, and study within the monastery every day. Syriac continues to be taught and spoken, preserving one of Christianity’s oldest liturgical traditions and an important part of the region’s cultural heritage.

For centuries, the Syriac Christian communities of Tur Abdin have faced periods of conflict, migration, and displacement. Today, many members of the community live throughout Europe, North America, and Australia, yet Mor Gabriel remains a spiritual and cultural centre that continues to unite them.

I often think about cultural heritage as something fragile. We tend to imagine preservation as protecting buildings or conserving objects in museums. But heritage is also language, ritual, memory, and ordinary lives that continue tradition. 

Mor Gabriel embodies all of these things.

Leaving the Monastery

When we finally left, the afternoon fog had begun to settle once again across the Tur Abdin plateau.

What stayed with me was not simply the beauty of the architecture or the extraordinary age of the monastery.

It was the sense of continuity.