Insights from the Monastery

Stacy Patty, July 2024

Drive seventy miles northwest of Santa Fe, New Mexico, and turn left on Forest Road 151 for the final thirteen miles, which then should take about forty-five minutes. The single-lane, gravel road snakes up the Chama River Canyon, around treacherous hairpin turns on an incline, and – about a half-mile out, a  simple chapel comes into view. Relief from the drive is immediate, and anticipation of the real experience beings.

Christ in the Desert, a Benedictine monastery, lives its days by ora et labora (“prayer and work”), with seven communal Prayers (chanting the Psalms), work, study, and quiet. This year marked my seventh long stay there – almost two weeks each July – for what has become a most healing and renewing time. Over the years, I am coming to see some consistent and life-changing themes. These are thoughts in process, and I hope readers find them provocative, if not helpful.

Silence is Restorative. Except for prayers and occasional moments of quiet conversation, talking is unacceptable. Initially, the silence is shocking, but soon it becomes calming. One’s mind begins to relax, and busy words vanish. In their place, the Psalms and ancient hymns settle in.  And even at the oddest moments – on a walk, while eating or working – those lines from the Prayers come to memory. Silence seems to have purified the mind from less significant matters and thoughts. This auditory silence is only the beginning.  Visual noise fades as well. The constant bombardment of print and visual media, commercial signage and logos, and sports and patriotic extravaganzas dissolves, and one’s eyes find quiet. Something like a sacred emptiness fills the new void. Silence becomes nothing, as in no thing to bother, no thing to stress, no thing to plan, even no thing to ponder. One is left with, well, the Holy.  And healing begins its process.

Prayer is Awareness. Prayer often works as ritual or petition, when there is a vocalization to God in a pattern of address-content-conclusion. It is common to bow heads and close eyes from beginning to end, after which normal life or worship practices continue. This formalized prayer certainly has validity, for in prayer one comes before God. But prayer as such is in danger of missing a key reality: God’s presence is not limited to that of the object of our rituals. If we “come to God” in prayer, we risk forming a view of a God who is more present during formal practice than at other times. Prayer as awareness, instead, welcomes and engages the presence of God in every moment of our lives. God is not “out there,” beyond this world. God is present in God’s image within each human person, and God’s creative and Spirit work continues to live in all creation. Prayer as awareness anticipates encountering and experiencing the presence and action of God throughout human and cosmic history. This way of seeing prayer brings about a life that “prays without ceasing.”

Rhythm is Sacred. Cultures recognize seasons, celebrations, and hours for a purpose. Like traditional university bell towers, or Muslim calls to prayer five times a day, Benedictines mark each day with bells that announce the Prayers. One comes to expect those sounds, ending a reading or work period and calling all into the next special communion. Within a few days, a rhythm forms, bringing some sense of identity and purpose to each day and each task. Rather than awakening to rush to work, struggling to keep up with assignments and meetings, dragging home exhausted, and ending the days poorly, living within the Prayers provides a holiness to all that is done. Once again, some urgent matters or tasks that seem important fade away as the sacred rhythm of the day serves as a kind of filter or corrective, training us to live with awareness of the holiness of our walk.

Surprise is Serendipity. A first-year monastery guest may battle to preserve the quiet around him and an intense schedule for a perfect contemplative journey. In my first few visits, at each moment of the day, I had planned readings, walks, secluded spots for sitting, and expectations for sitting and chanting the coming prayers, (which of course needed to be always in English rather than Latin). No matter how well I personally performed, something or someone always interrupted. Frustration – even anger – would follow, and then guilt, before final arrogant resignation that not everyone was as focused as me. In recent years, I’ve come to accept these disruptions for what they truly are – serendipitous surprises. A serendipity is an unexpected grace, and if we take the presence of God and the holiness of the day seriously, then these detours promise unexpected gifts. Not always are the fruits pleasant, but without fail they are instructive, and ultimately they enhance our spiritual journey. Life is messy, and God dwells in the confusion as well as the order. As I am coming to accept the realities of surprises, I am discovering a richer understanding of the Divine and finding within me a deeper peace and serenity.

Relationship is Crucial. Spiritual seekers often think in terms of individual journeys and monastic solitude, and perhaps this mindset is stronger for us introverts. But even the most determined monk serves and depends upon community graces of others. This is a beauty of the Benedictine Rule: everyone prays, and everyone works, whether by cooking, cleaning, building, or repairing. Of necessity, work involves cooperation and some conversation. And in Prayer, everyone chants or the worship fails. Occasional, festive “talking meals” also bring that serendipitous surprise, whether it be with a monk who previously seemed troubled and aloof or a fellow guest with an amazing story. Christian theology and scientific teaching highlight the essential interrelatedness of both human and natural life. Without connections, death comes. Realizing the importance of relationship brings gratitude and acceptance for those nurtured and new encounters that come.

Nature is Breathtaking.

Majestic, multicolored canyon walls encompass the monastery. Occasional clouds dot a deep blue sky, turning in dark of night to reveal a stunning Milky Way. Animals prevail – robins, magpie, and geese; squirrel, rabbit, and lizard; mule deer and monastery sheep. Sagebrush, wildflowers, pinon, oak, and flowering cholla provide cover. Who could arrive at the monastery and not stand in awe before this cathedral of nature? Far from city lights, concrete jungles, and tall square buildings, words fail. Nature is thriving and stunning: there is a beetle, marking its path with a dragging leg; the sun’s rays highlighting a canyon corner, then a specific tree, then a tapestry of colors in rock layers; the clean smell of wet air following an afternoon shower; geese honking their arrival at the river; the striped markings on a common mountain rock; poplar leaves flittering as if glitter; the sound of a coyote in the distance. And who could not return to with city without new eyes toward nature everywhere? I leave the monastery with renewed joy in the variety of nature’s beauty, whether a rainbow of colors in a West Texas sunset, the roar of waters on a Pacific beach, or the swaying of giant pines in a Colorado forest. This wonder toward nature is compounded with realization of the God who is present and active in nature. This insight is beyond understanding, but I cannot ignore its reality.

Journey is Goal. Self-help gurus, business consultants, and even religious organizations value strategic plans and target goals; success is measured by reaching a goal. Monastery life helps me to see that the joy is in the journey because the journey is all we have. Plans and goals are necessary, of course, but only as provisionary guides. Since prayer is awareness in the presence of God throughout each day, determined focus on an end later hides grace now. This discovery brings freedom from anxiety and pressure, and it gives new energy to approaching the people and things before me now. The Kingdom of God is not out there, beyond, or in the future. God’s reign and presence is now.