sabbatical

Each afternoon at the monastery at 5:20 pm, there was a period of thirty minutes in the chapel for adoration of the blessed sacrament. A consecrated host was displayed on the altar in a small silver frame. The sunlight from the high windows poured down on it, and the red sandstone cliffs above glowed with the afternoon sunlight. It’s very peaceful to be in such a place with forty other people in pure silence.

I used this time to commune with Christ and to reflect on my life and the calling Jesus has given me – my calling as a priest, a husband, a father, a son, and a brother, and a friend to others. This kind of life review helps set things in perspective, and I tried to listen for God’s guidance and direction. Thirty minutes can pass very quickly this way.

My retreat at the monastery was like a crash course on Roman Catholicism. Growing up in the Methodist Church, I somehow got the idea that the Roman Catholic Church taught some kind of hocus-pocus, a voodoo religion based on meaningless ritual and outward performance. But as I have explored the Christian faith, I find myself drawn to the contemplative life of daily prayer and the deep symbolism of the Eucharist. These “catholic” elements have deepened the relationship with Jesus that I inherited from my Methodist upbringing. My time at the monastery helped bring these different strands together.

My room at the guest house was small and simple – a very comfortable twin bed, a small desk and chair, a night stand and a small wooden wardrobe. It was quiet and peaceful and all that I needed. The timbers overhead gave a solid, rustic feeling. The bathroom was a few steps down the outside corridor. A five minute walk would brought me to the chapel and the refectory where we took our meals. The architecture of all the buildings was authentic Southwestern adobe and timber framing, strikingly beautiful and very restful.

During my six days at the monastery I met a number of other guests, mostly devout people in their 60s and 70s (I noticed several Episcopalians!). Most people kept silence generally, although we were able to chat in the common room. There were a few guests who couldn’t keep from talking: the loquacious good ol’ boy salesman from Louisiana and the chipper yoga teacher/spiritual dilettante from Portland.

The rules of the monastery prevented contact between the monks and the guests except for coffee hour after the Sunday Eucharist. I took the opportunity to talk with a few of the monks – one from Vietnam, one from Chicago, and Martin, from Kenya. Martin told me he had been a monk in Kenya for twenty years before coming here. At his monastery in Kenya they prayed about half as much as they do here, because they spent a lot of time in the community, visiting and preaching. I asked how long he thought he would stay in this monastery. “The rest of my life, God willing,” he said.

Because many of the monks come from other countries, the monastery offers them classes in English as a Second Language, to help the monks speak without a heavy accent.

The monastery appears to be healthy financially. The buildings and equipment are well-maintained, the altar appointments and vestments are stunning, and the gift shop and website are modern and up to date. There is a wide community of supporters and oblates connected to the monastery, and the influence of the monastery is obviously quite broad, judging by the number of guests.

My time at the monastery was restful and refreshing. It slowed me down and helped me focus. Many people come back year after year for their annual retreat, and I can see why. Maybe next year I’ll find a way to return.

In my six days at Christ of the Desert Monastery, I essentially adopted the rhythms of monastic life. The monks of the monastery follow the ancient Rule of Benedict, written in the year 516 by St. Benedict, the founder of their order. The monks are quite disciplined about it. They all gather in the chapel to pray seven times a day: at 4:00 am, 5:30 am, 8:45 am, 1:00 pm, 2:00 pm, 5:50 pm, and 7:30 pm. As I joined the monks, I took on the monastic pace of life.

I counted about 33 monks. The older monks and the abbot are mostly white men who have been part of the monastery for many years. But the majority of the monks were younger men from Africa and Asia. I suppose young American males don’t value a cloistered life of celibacy and prayer, but these young immigrants do. By recruiting these prayerful young men from other parts of the world, the monastery is preserving its vitality and ensuring that it has a future. In a way it mirrors what’s happening in other parts of our country.

Meals in the monastery were eaten in silence in the refectory, a large room with beautiful timbers supporting the roof and an entire wall of life-sized saints painted by an iconographer. The tables are heavy planks stretching the length of the room, with stout chairs in the rustic Spanish colonial style. Monks eat on one side of the room facing the guests, who eat on the other side. At the main meal in the middle of the day, a monk reads from a book while others eat. I thought the reading was quite dull – a scholarly description of Carthusian monastic life.

I enjoyed eating in silence. The food was simple and plentiful, but there was no lingering after the meal. It was clear that you were supposed to finish your meal, stack your dishes in the cart, and disperse quickly. After one meal, I sat for a bit with a cup of coffee, but the monks started cleaning up around me as if I were a piece of leftover furniture!

The Benedictine Rule of Life includes time for prayer, meals, study, sleep, and labor. Mornings are set aside for work, and the monks are busy with their chores keeping up the monastery. Guests are encouraged to volunteer for work, and I was assigned to Paul, a cheerful lay Catholic who has come every summer for 35 years (!). Paul has taken on the responsibility of applying oil to all the wood surfaces exposed to the weather. He handed me a brush and a tin can half full of shingle oil and pointed me toward the gates and railings of the guest house. I worked a couple of hours each morning. It was rewarding to see the wood glow with the oil and to know that I had contributed something useful.

After lunch it was usually hot, so I went to my room and lay down. I drifted off into a nap each afternoon – after all, there was nothing on the schedule. I found these naps amazingly refreshing and restorative. I read a little and wrote in my journal, a practice that I would like to continue. In ordinary life, I don’t have time to write in my journal – or at least I tell myself I don’t have time – but it’s a good way to live a more reflective life. Writing with pen and paper slows you down and helps you collect your thoughts (I’m writing this entry in my journal and typing into my laptop later).

To be continued….

I just completed a six-day retreat at Christ of the Desert Monastery in northern New Mexico. The monastery is located in a remote canyon along the Chama River and is accessible only by thirteen miles of winding gravel road. For six days, I disconnected completely – no cell phone service, no internet, email, news, or social media – and I put myself under the care and discipline of the monks of this Benedictine community.

Returning to civilization after these six days, I feel like a load of laundry after it’s gone through the washer and dryer. Clean and fresh. The monastery is thoroughly faithful to the ancient Benedictine tradition. The monks come into the chapel seven times a day to pray, beginning with Vigils at 4:00 am (yes, 4:00 am), and ending with Compline at 7:30 pm. Their prayers consist of beautifully sung Gregorian chant, singing the Psalms and canticles until they soak into the soul. As a singer, I loved participating in the chant with the monks, alternating from side to side of the chapel. The effect is mesmerizing and enchanting (I guess that’s where the word ‘enchantment’ comes from). No wonder it feels sacred.

I attended nearly all the services except for 4:00 am Vigils. But the last two mornings I pried myself out of bed at 3:30 and made the five minute walk down the gravel road to the chapel. My memory of that walk is crisp: the stars were glimmering in the dry desert air, the breeze was bracingly cold, and the sagebrush was pungent in my nose. For an hour we chanted the Psalms and the prayers as the eastern sky began to glow with the promise of day.

Silence is the order of the day at the monastery. Guests are asked to refrain from talking except in certain designated areas, so any guest who wishes may have a completely silent retreat. Although I felt the urge to get to know my fellow retreatants, I found it a great relief not to have to make perpetual small talk with strangers.

Without the constant bombardment of the news cycle, emails, phone calls, and texts, I found that a gentle peace slowly began to emerge within me. I noticed I was less tense, less tight, less stressed. My shoulders began to relax, my thoughts slowed down, and I became more attentive to my surroundings – the dry desert heat, the sweet smell of sage, the crunch of gravel under my shoes.

The first couple of days were a kind of decompression, as if I were unfolding after being tightly wrapped. Then the rhythms of prayer and silence began to feel natural and life-giving. The beauty of the setting, the holiness of the monks, and the peaceful atmosphere began to do their work.

To be continued…