So, You Go to a Monastery Way Off in the Desert for Two Weeks Each Summer, But . . .

What do you do?

I wake up at 4:45 a.m., usually a few minutes before the (very quiet) alarm on my phone chimes.  I quickly slip on my pants and a long-sleeve shirt, since the morning air is about 60 degrees. Taking a flashlight and hat, I’m off for the 5-minute walk down and then up the gravel road to the guest reception room. I grab two boiled eggs and some coffee, sit to peel the eggs, add hot sauce, salt and pepper, and a dash of soy sauce, and enjoy. I pop a slice of bread in the toaster, add butter and honey, grab a bit of milk, and enjoy the rest of the meal. I eat in silence, even if other guests are present. At 5:30, I’m sitting in the chapel, just as the abbot knocks twice and Lauds begins; it lasts for 30 minutes.  (The monks have already had Vigils, at 4:00 a.m., for about an hour; I choose to sleep through this first office/prayer/hour of the day.)

At 6:00, I return to my room (about 8 x 10 feet, with a comfortable bed, desk, and two chairs), gather my French press and go to the guesthouse commons to make coffee. By 6:15, I am sitting in the guesthouse gardens (rocks, wildflowers, chola cacti, and a few bushes/trees) for an hour of reading, thinking, meditation, and journal writing. (I am skipping daily Mass, which occurs from 6:00 to 7:00 or so.)  By 7:30, other guests return, and the guesthouse is busier, though fairly quiet.  

Around 8:00, I close up my Dutch door and back window and shutter the blinds, a strategy that keeps the room fairly cool throughout the day.  Then I switch to work clothes and am off to Terce, which begins at 8:45 and lasts for 15 minutes. It is followed by work, and I join long-time volunteer Paul in the annual oiling of the exterior wood. As the days bring on hotter weather, sometimes we start before and work through Terce. (For this year, I also repainted some sign lettering.) By 11:00, I am back in my room, transitioning with a shower and a snack (usually, an orange) back to a favored chair on the porch near my door. I read or write for about an hour. Then I usually take a casual walk back up to the chapel, perhaps vectoring off on a trail to the river, or cutting through a back trail into monastery property marked “private.”

At 1:00 p.m., Sext begins, which lasts for 15 minutes. It is followed by the main meal, which entails sitting in the refectory with the monks, in silence, while we eat and listen to a reading. The meal is bracketed by formal hymns and prayers.  Following the meal, I sometimes attend None, which begins immediately afterwards and is often attended by fewer monks (due to necessary post-meal clean-up duties.) It lasts for 15 minutes. Before or after None, I join Paul in the Ranch House common room for coffee and discussion. We talk about the monastery, religion, and theology, but also about art, music, and politics. I try to get back to my cell (room) by 3:00 p.m.  

From 3:00 to 5:15 or so, I sit and read, usually on the porch, drinking lots of water. Except for the current year, I get to watch an occasional passing shower roll through. Sometimes I use this time to clean my room, but I must be careful to keep the door and window shut. By now the temperature is well into the 90s.

At 5:15, I head back to the chapel for the Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament, where we sit for 30 minutes in the presence of the Eucharistic Host. I take this time to think and pray, and sometimes I bring a book to read.  At 5:50, Vespers begins, which lasts for 30 minutes. It is followed by a small meal, which is usually leftovers and soup. We guests eat in silence.

Compline begins at 7:15 or 7:30, so I usually hang around the chapel area until then. Lasting about 20 minutes, the office always ends with the “Salve Regina” hymn and the blessing of everyone with holy water. After Compline, everyone is supposed to follow the Great Silence, with absolutely no talking, until the morning. Rarely do guests follow this rule, somewhat sadly.

Back at the guesthouse, if a garden chair is available, I take it and sit to watch the sky and the setting sun over the massive canyon wall. I sometimes have to settle for my porch seat, or I take a walk up the road back towards the canyon entrance. By 8:30 or 9:00 at the latest, I am preparing for sleep. I open up the Dutch door and position my make-shift screen and lie down.

Sundays and feast days (when a key saint is celebrated, like St. Benedict on July 11) have a different schedule, but the overall events are the same.

What happens in the offices?

They begin with a call to prayer. Most of the offices all begin with “O God, come to my assistance,” led by the abbot. We respond with “O Lord, make haste to help me,” followed by the doxology.

Then there are a series of Psalms chanted, antiphonally across the chapel, interspersed with short antiphons (brief phrases), short responsories (where we chant back what the leader says), a scripture reading, a Gospel canticle, a hymn (always from the Liber hymnarius, with hymns from the very early centuries), and prayer. During the chanting and at other points during the office, we stand and bow when there is a doxology.

What do you eat?

For breakfast, in addition to boiled eggs, there is a selection of cereal, jams and jellies, fruit, and usually yogurt. Juice, coffee, and milk are available. The main meal always includes beans, rice, bread, and salad, plus a main dish and usually a side dish. The main dish is often baked fish, baked chicken, a pasta dish, or a turkey or salmon meat loaf. Red meat is rarely served; on the Feast of St. Benedict, we had lamb steaks, superbly prepared by a monk with chef experience. Water is the drink, and dessert is rare. There is always fruit available between meals. 

Do you really have to be quiet?

The Rule of Benedict calls for no talking except when addressed by the abbot or when necessary during work or other times. Sundays and feast days are usually more casual. Guests are encouraged to abide by these rules, but inevitably conversations emerge. These talks are supposed to be limited to common rooms in the guest houses and breakfast room, and most guests try to abide by the rules. Guest house double rooms, frequently occupied by married couples, often produce some subdued, consistent talking noise.  

Silence is the goal overall, but there are certainly times when talking occurs. Likely, guests will find common interests or concerns, and sometimes a person wants to talk with a monk. There is room for such good conversation.

So, why is it that you go, really?  Centrally,

• There is something about the quiet and the landscape that draws me there.  The desert is stark and beautiful, and the only thing that challenges the quiet is my tinnitus. Not the same as quiet, there is also the solitude that one can have. I’ve learned over the years that I cannot escape normal life, but getting away from time to time is restorative.

• I appreciate the monastic prayers, even when I am challenged by them. I am troubled by the theology of some of the Psalms, and I certainly find a good bit of the Catholic ritual overbearing. Sometimes, I even find the seemingly excessive number of doxologies distasteful (perhaps I should ask for forgiveness). But the rhythm and the spirituality are good, drawing me without coercion back to the central core of Christian faith.

• The surprises of contact with humans and other life are always stunning. There is the young man several years ago trying to process the death of his father only a week before; the true friendship with a former Jesuit who travels each year from Philadelphia; the chance encounter with a woman and children whose truck is out of oil; the morning bird that seems to be taunting me with its chirp; the buck on the trail not ten feet from me, staring and standing; the knowing, mischievous glance from an elderly monk across the dinner table; the friends of Bill who one year set me in a better direction; the coiled rattlesnake playing sentry guard on my path. I don’t go to the monastery for the chance to meet others nor to seek out animal life, and often I do not quickly welcome such encounters. But I find them always rewarding and often approaching something like revelation.

• Returning to “normal life” brings deeper appreciation for precious relationships and important responsibilities. At the same time, I return with a somewhat clearer perspective regarding the true value of numerous “urgent” tasks, seemingly “necessary” things, other idols that lure and choke. I hope that with each visit, I return a better person, and I pray that these changes last.

What else is important?

• This is the high desert, about 6600 feet.  Nights are dark, and the Milky Way is bright.

• Coyote, wildcat, bear are possible.  More regularly, one encounters ground squirrels, lizards, rabbits, deer, livestock, birds, geese, and snakes.  Rattlesnakes are not uncommon.

• The wildflowers and other plant life are amazing.

• The canyon walls are colorful, and one never tires of the wonders of shadow and sunray moving along the canyon.  The sky is bright and blue.

• The 13-mile, single lane dirt and gravel road into the monastery is treacherous, challenging, and often unsafe.

• I am incredibly grateful that I am blessed to go each year.  

Stacy L. Patty, July 17, 2023

(A July 23, 2018 post provides another view.)