Posted on Aug 21, 2009
What Can I say about two weeks in a Trappist monastery. First I need to explain that this is not my only time there, and it is not just any monastery.
I first visited Gethsemani Abbey when I was a college student, driving the 45 miles from Danville to Bardstown over winding country roads to find myself in an island of silence; not just the silence brought about by the absence of noise, but a silence that was filled by a sense of presence. I usually say that I am not one given to religious experience, but Gethsemani is the exception which proves the rule.
I made several retreats while in college, and then again when I was chaplain at the University of Kentucky in the 90’s. Giles and I used to spend a quiet day there every month or so until Alex was born, and it became a special place for both of us. Our good friend Father Damien was first Guestmaster, then Interior Cellarer *which means he bought the groceries), the Prior (the second in command) and then Abbot. After retiring as Abbot last year he returned to his old job as Guestmaster. Over the years he has been friend, spiritual guide and companion, and intercessor extraordinaire. Giles credits him with getting Alex here safe and sound after a difficult pregnancy.
Gethsemani has changed a lot over the last thirty years. The Retreat House has been remodeled to accommodate women as well as men, and retreats have become so popular that they now have to use one wing of the monastery itself to accommodate retreatants.
Though the comforts are modern the schedule is medieval. The community rises at 3:15 for Vigils, a service of prayer and readings. By the time they sing Compline at 7:30 they will have been in church 8 times. Most of the services are sung to a modernized Gregorian chant, and, over the course of two weeks, all 150 Psalms are read or sung.
You might think that this would leave little time for work, but the motto of the Order is ora et labora, work AND prayer, and the brothers find plenty of time for the work which supports the monastery, making cheese, fruitcake and fudge.
Retreatants may follow the monastic schedule, and I have tried to do so, though I must admit to sleeping through Lauds (the 5:45 am service) a few times. Silence is enjoined throughout most of the monastery, and all meals are taken in silence. This creates an atmosphere especially conducive to prayer and reflection.
I have not spent all of my time in church or in my room inprayer. Following the advice of my retreat leader in Northumbria to “stay in touch with the earth” I have volunteered to work. This has put me at the tender mercy of Brother Conrad. Brother Conrad entered the monastery in 1957, and was the last monk to manage the Abbey farm. All of the farm land is leased out now, but there is still a lot of landscaping to be done, and other land to manage. I have found my prayers enhanced by weedeating, brush cutting, and using a chainsaw to cut up deadfall from last winter’s ice storms. This takes up three hours every morning Monday through Saturday.
In the afternoons I have gone walking on the monastery property across the highway. This is a largely wooded area featuring several prominent Knobs. Now a Knob is a geographical feature and also the name of a region in Kentucky. A Knob is defined as an “isolated, steep sloping, often cone-shaped hill.” The ones around Gethsemani rise four to five hundred feet and I can attest to the steep slopes. This too has been a species of prayer.
George MaCleod, the founder of the Iona Community used to tell the story of a woman who told a Highlander she’d been to Iona. “Aye,” he said, “Iona’s a thin place. There’s nought much between heaven and Iona.” I think that Gethsemani too is a “thin place,” where it doesn’t matter whether you sing your prayers, or work them or even hike them, there’s “nought much” between Gethsemani and heaven, and everything you do can be a prayer.