ABIQUIU, N.M. – In the tradition of St. Benedict, a stranger at the door is always welcomed into the Monastery of Christ in the Desert. You never know when that stranger might be Christ.
More likely, he or she will be a spiritual seeker who is curious about the monks living in solitude and silence in these northern New Mexico mountains. Father Aelred Wall and two others from New York’s Mount Saviour Monastery were the first to arrive in 1964. Benedictine monks have been praying in the valley ever since.
Anyone who goes to the trouble of finding the monastery’s unmarked dirt road and then bumping along for 13 difficult miles is invited to share the peaceful oasis at its end. And those who have thought to make reservations at the abbey’s guesthouse are welcome to share the comforting rhythm of life inside – as long as they follow a few specific rules.
Guests are not admitted to the cloistered area where the monks live and pray. Nor may they talk to the monks, or to other guests, unless both agree.
That silence extends to the chapel, mealtimes and the period of deep silence that stretches from the last service of the day until after breakfast.
Musical instruments, radios and tape recorders without headphones are forbidden, as are shorts, smoking and pets.
In return, guests can tap into the spiritual energy created by 30 monks as they pray together seven times a day, a total of four hours parceled out in regular services that start at 4 a.m. and finish about 8 p.m.
They also can share a setting so spectacular that it is, on its own, inspirational.
The monastery is nestled into a valley carved by the Chama River. Mesas and buttes line both sides, most of which are capped by a distinctive horizontal layer of red and yellow rock. The top layer is uranium-yellow, followed by tan and underscored by a band of red. The ground beneath is that same red, and church builders have used it in their adobe.
Georgia O’Keeffe spent a lifetime painting these cliffs, which continue past the monastery onto her Ghost Ranch, just 20 miles away. “Red and Yellow Cliffs” is one of her most famous works.
The river’s banks are lush and fertile, covered with coarse grasses that blend with gray-green sage and desert bushes. They almost hide the monastery from view, except for the tall bell tower that juts above the chapel. Its bell is a constant companion in the valley, announcing each phase of a daily routine designed to open the heart and prepare it for the divine.
“We are coming from such fast-paced lifestyles (that) the pace … can seem very slow. By the end of our visit, it is the outside world that seems to be rushing along too quickly.” – Christ in the Desert guest materials
I approach the abbey late in the day, coming from work in downtown Denver and trying to make good time so I can arrive before sundown. The guesthouse has no electricity, and I’m not sure it will be open to me once evening prayers begin.
The steep, narrow Forest Service road that follows the Chama River into the monastery is dry and therefore fairly easy to navigate, so I am pressing my luck, driving just as fast as I can without losing control.
As the sun dips behind a mesa, I notice a small, gray car on the horizon and feel somewhat better. I’m not the last one on the road.
I pull up behind him, forming a kind of convoy. I imagine us driving in together, our cars gliding around hairpin curves, dipping down toward the river, veering right toward the scrub brush in a kind of motorized choreography.
I’m feeling much better now, until he pulls to the side of the road. My rush-hour driving habits have followed me down this one-lane road in the middle of nowhere, and I’ve been tailgating. He thinks I’m trying to pass.
I pull ahead and speed along, reaching the guesthouse just as the sun disappears. A list of room assignments has been posted on the fence. L. Castrone, Room 2. The room has been left unlocked for me.
As I’m unloading the car, the gray car pulls in. The next day, its young driver will laugh with me about the sight of a woman in an SUV driving as though she is homebound on I-25. Tonight we nod in silence and step into our rooms.
“Slow down, brothers and sisters. God’s not going anywhere.” – Guest materials
The guesthouse is an L-shaped adobe, with a gift shop anchoring one end. It can hold 16 people in single and double rooms, a few of which have private bathrooms. Tonight I see no one but notice name tags on four doors. Room 2 is spartan, but not uncomfortable. The bed is a single mattress that rests on a shelf built into the wall. It’s made up with navy sheets, a soft blanket and two thick pillows.
A rawhide necklace rests on the pillow, where maids in fancy hotels leave bedtime mints. Monastery guests who want total silence during their stay are instructed to wear the necklace and report anyone who fails to respect it.
A pine desk doubles as a nightstand and holds a New American Bible, the story of St. Benedict and a guestbook with detailed instructions. It serves as a lifeline, explaining what is expected of guests and how they can merge into the abbey’s daily schedule.
As the last bits of light fade, my world shrinks to the interior of this room. With no light pollution to illuminate it, the outside world has disappeared into darkness. I fumble for a candle packed in my duffel and strike a match. Although the candlelight is too dim to read by, it creates a warm glow in my solitary cell.
At 8 p.m. the world becomes so silent I am left with only my thoughts to keep me company. I have come here for some kind of spiritual renewal before the holidays, some kind of deeper understanding of life in times of war and hardship. I’ll have to work hard to get answers, but without the ability to ask questions, how will I find them?
Not one to let worry keep me awake, I crawl beneath the covers and begin to dream vividly.
“The world is immersed in a ‘noise culture.’ People conditioned by this culture have experienced uneasiness and even fear of solitude. We hope to help you turn off the ‘noise’ in order to tune into God.” – Guest materials
I sleep so soundly that I miss the first three worship services of the day. By the time I’m dressed and out the door, the guesthouse is deserted again.
The day’s predictable routine starts at 4 a.m. when the bell rings to announce Vigils. Six more sessions of prayer follow – Lauds, Terce, Sext, None, Vespers and Compline. Mass is celebrated after Lauds and before breakfast, which is a serve-yourself meal of hard-boiled eggs, toast, cereals, instant coffee and juice. Work assignments begin after Terce.
Manual labor is an important part of a monastic life, and guests are encouraged to participate at least a few times during their stay. They are assigned to watch the gift shop, pick lavender, water the gardens or do other odd jobs.
It also is an excellent chance to socialize. About 9 a.m., I spot three other guests in the gift shop and join them. Hilda has been assigned to tend the store. Father Shields, a retired priest, sits beside her, and Ryan, the man I followed in last night, is in the back making instant oatmeal and coffee. I soon learn that the rules aren’t as rigid as they sound.
Father Shields goes back to his room and returns holding a dog leash. At the other end is Leo, a tiny papillon. For the past four years, Father Shields has come here for his annual spiritual retreat, with Leo in tow.
“He’s the only dog the abbot allows,” the priest says. “When I make my reservations, he tells the brothers that Leo is coming and is bringing me along with him.”
Father Shields answers my questions about the Catholic rituals that fill each day. These monks say the same daily prayers that priests are required to say, but every week they also recite the book of Psalms. And instead of saying the prayers, Benedictine monks sing them in Gregorian chants.
Monks are allowed to talk, he adds, but only about important things. No idle chit-chat or gossip, the kind of conversation we entertain ourselves with. When our shift ends at noon, we have sold no merchandise but have talked ourselves hoarse. I stroll back to my room, lips once more pressed shut.
“The key elements of the Benedictine way of life are love of one another, prayer, reading, study and manual labor. The atmosphere most conducive to this kind of sharing includes silence and some solitude. Keep the church, the sacristy and the convent places of special silence.” – Guest materials
When the bell rings to announce Sext, we walk silently down the footpath to the chapel and file in, one by one. The chapel’s footprint is the shape of a cross, with guests sitting at the bottom of the cross, the altar at the top. A stark square sandstone table fills the center of the room. Above it the ceiling has been lifted like the dome on a train car, providing us with views of the stunning cliffs outside.
About two dozen monks file in from behind the altar and split into two groups that fill the arms of the cross. They are dressed alike, in traditional black hooded robes.
They range in age from mid-20s to mid-80s and come from West Africa, Mexico, Vietnam, England and the U.S. The abbot wears a black cap and sits in front of a shepherd’s hook.
Once they’re all seated, they begin singing their prayers. After 10 minutes the monks bow, then file back out. One returns to open the gate and leads us inside to eat.
Tables in the dining room are arranged in the rough shape of the letter E, with monks seated along the exterior tables and guests at three tables inside. Like all meals, lunch is eaten in silence, except for the religious text one brother is reading from a lecturn.
Several brothers carry dishes of pinto beans, Spanish rice and fried fish from the kitchen. They stop at each place, holding the plate while everyone serves themselves. After second-helpings, the servers sit down to eat.
The silence is awkward. We avoid each other’s gaze as we chew, and I rush to finish so I can hurry outside. Before I leave, however, Hilda walks me over to Brother Dominic, the monk in charge of work assignments. He shakes my hand and makes a little joke.
“I hope you made us a million dollars,” he says, smiling so broadly I relax on the spot. Small gestures convey large messages when speech is limited. He has made me feel welcome in the abbey.
“Silence … doesn’t mean that communication doesn’t happen. A simple smile or wave here can speak volumes.” – Guest materials
Afternoons are free time except for a 10-minute None service at 3:30 p.m., Silent Prayer at 5:30 p.m. or Vespers at 5:50 p.m. Guests may wander along the Chama River during this time, hike on Forest Service paths or find other ways to occupy themselves. Cloistered areas are off-limits, of course, as are the hazardous red and yellow cliffs to the east. One guest died while hiking alone on them and is buried in the monks’ cemetery.
I walk along the river but can’t quiet my mind enough to think. Finally I go back to my room, lie on the bed and try to drop into a meditative mood. Instead I sleep, waking when the dinner bell rings.
Dinner is made from leftovers and is served cafeteria style in the kitchen. Tonight it’s tortilla casserole and a pot of homemade chicken noodle soup. We listen to classical music as we eat, then leave our dishes for the monks to clear before Compline, their final chapel service of the day.
This morning I asked Father Shields why monks spend their lives praying when that kind of thing could be viewed as self-absorbed. They’re not praying just for themselves, he answered. They’re praying for me, for the world and for all the people in it. Tonight at Compline I finally understand.
During daytime prayers, my eyes were drawn upward toward the cliffs. At night the windows go dark and the room shrinks down to the size of the glow emitted by candles. The chapel feels snug, comforting, womblike.
I am invisible in darkness, so my mind turns itself off and my body merges into the monks’ loving lyrics. They are singing a gentle bedtime prayer that promises God will carry our worries while we sleep the carefree sleep of babies.
I have been lulled into a deep reverie by the time the singing stops and the abbot reaches for a large bowl and whisk. His smile is warm, wide and disarming as he strides toward me. I am unprepared when he dips the whisk into the bowl and then flicks it in my direction.
Dozens of drops land on my face and in my hair. It is holy water. I’ve just been blessed and, in the intimacy of a candlelit chapel, have been personally invited to share the powerful energy of many men’s prayers.
As quickly, the abbot shifts his attention to the other guests and then to the monks, blessing each before returning to his seat.
The service continues, but I don’t hear it. I’m following the drops as they roll down my neck, smiling with the realization that I’ve gotten the answer I came for but knew all along.
It’s so simple I’ll never be able to talk about it without sounding goofy: We humans are all joined together by love, and hope grows when we open ourselves to each other.
I walk slowly back to the guesthouse, savoring the dampness on my skin. The next morning after checking out and plotting my route home, the reverie is still with me. I drive the 13-mile road so slowly the car almost idles, and before joining the highway traffic, I turn back for one more look.
The monastery has long been hidden from view, but I scan the horizon for some sign, an aura maybe, or a shimmer in the sky that reflects the monks’ constant prayers as they make their way out into the world.
“Thus it is that my heart rejoices, heart and soul together; while my body rests in calm hope. Keep us safe, Lord, while we are awake, and guard us as we sleep.” – Compline
Linda Castrone is a feature writer at The Denver Post.
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If you go
Monastery of Christ in the Desert is about 75 miles north of Santa Fe and about 53 miles south of Chama, N.M., off U.S. 84. From U.S. 84, turn west at Forest Service Road 151, about 1 mile south of Echo Amphitheater or 1 mile north of the Ghost Ranch Visitor’s Center. Follow 151 about 13 miles northwest to the monastery parking area.
Note: The road is winding, steep and narrow, with a dirt and clay surface that becomes very slippery when wet. Those without 4-wheel-drive vehicles should wait for the road to dry after rainstorms or, during the winter, should drive it only when it is hard-packed (at night or before sunrise).
Accommodations: The monastery can house 16 people in 10 single and three double rooms. Minimum stay is two days and two nights. Stays of longer than a month require approval.
The guesthouse has no electricity; the monastery is solar-powered. Most cellphones do not receive signals here. The nearest pay phone is about 15 miles away, at Ghost Ranch.
Rates: A $50 reservation fee is charged. Donations of $50 per day are suggested for the basic rooms, $60 for rooms with private bathrooms, and $75 for the guest suite with bathroom and patio.
Reservations: E-mail Guestmaster@christdesert.org or write Monastery of Christ in the Desert, P.O. Box 720, Abiquiu, NM 87510.
Etc.: July and August are the rainy season. Expect snow in winter, and mud in spring. The elevation is 6,500 feet, so dress in layers and come prepared for all kinds of weather. Linens, towels and soap are provided. Hot and cold water is available in the bathrooms. Bring a flashlight.
– Linda Castrone
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Other spiritual retreats in the region
Catholics aren’t the only ones offering spiritual retreats to world-weary pilgrims. Consider these regional options:
Arcosanti, Mayer, Ariz., 928-632-7135. Italian architect Paolo Soleri envisioned a utopian city of the future that would hold 6,000 people on 17 acres of land. He built a prototype in the Arizona desert and hosts workshop participants as well as overnight visitors. Seventeen people can be housed in its 10 guest rooms; organic vegetarian meals are prepared daily.
The Healing Center of Arizona, Sedona, 928-282-7710. Native Americans have come here for centuries for rest and recuperation. In 1981, Sedonan John Paul Weber tapped into their wisdom, building a cluster of geodesic domes that house 20 guests interested in nondenominational retreats. They can use the meditation room, sauna, flotation tank, sweat lodge, medicine wheel, hot tub and nearby hiking trails.
Thomas the Apostle Center, Cody, Wyo., 307-587-4400. Overlooking Cody on Dinosaur Ridge, this center is supported by the Episcopal Diocese of Wyoming but welcomes guests of all backgrounds. The six-bedroom guest house holds 10, and guests can use the chapel, a recreation area, an art and craft studio with kiln, and 200 acres of open space.
Shambhala Mountain Center, Red Feather Lakes, www.shambhalamountain.org, 970-881-2184. Learn to meditate, practice yoga, find out more about Buddha’s teachings, walk the 8-mile wilderness trail or direct your own retreat in this 600-acre mountain valley north of Fort Collins. Facilities include tents (summer only), dorms and lodge rooms. Vegetarian and non-vegetarian meals are available year ’round.
Nada Hermitage, Crestone, 719-256-4778,
www.spirituallifeinstitute.org/nretreats.html. This community moved here from Arizona in the 1982. Its members follow the teachings of Father William McNamara, founder of the Spiritual Life Institute. They live solitary lives on the property and come together for prayer. Ten guests can be accommodated in eight hermitages. Participants spend most of their time alone, but come together the other three days for Mass, supper, breakfast and work programs.
Lama Foundation, San Cristobal, N.M., www.lamafoundation.org, 505-586-1269. Located 19 miles from Taos, this community was started in 1968 by a group of hippies who followed the teachings of Indian guru Meher Baba. During summer months, its 10-15 year-round residents welcome up to 125 seekers of all spiritual paths. Facilities include domes, yurts, a meditation kiva, an A-frame, adobe and straw bale walls, a Teacher’s House and two hermitages.
Sources: “A Place for God” by Timothy Jones (Image, $14.95); “Sanctuaries: A guide to lodgings in Monasteries, Abbeys and Retreats” by Jack and Marcia Kelly (Bell Tower, $18); Shambhala Mountain Center.
