Silver City: Missives to the Monastery

January 17, 2018

Brother Alexander,

Driving up the mountain to the monastery yesterday, I was nervous. Something about the visit felt significant and at the same time I worried about coming across as yet another gawking spiritual tourist. I was curious, but not casually curious. When Phil and Mary, also staying at the former convent with me in Silver City, mentioned the monastery the day before, I immediately wanted to see you. I’ve been deeply reading a book about renunciation this year, drawn to the idea of cutting out all but the essential from life to find the core of things, or at least making a dramatic life change. I felt a kinship with you, accordingly, informed in part by my own religious background in Mormonism, but mostly because I saw you and your brothers, especially in your pre-Vatican II insistence on living the monastic life the old-school way- habits, collars, shaved heads, chants, Latin Mass, etc.- as fellow seekers and renunciators, even though our specific beliefs are very different. It was not difficult to see parallels between us in my life now, having left my family and friends and reduced my worldly possessions to just what I can carry in my car (which still seems like too much), as well as in my life as a Mormon missionary years earlier when I was just a little younger than you. Unlike you, I went on my mission because that’s just what good Mormon boys did. It wasn’t a real decision because the alternative didn’t exist for me at the time, not really. Becoming a monk is an option, not an expectation within Catholicism and you, seeing your life was not going the direction you wanted, took your time deliberating whether to join the order. The hard-partying and lost-in-life construction worker was not who you wanted to be anymore so you thought out your decision to commit to the monastic life, tried it as they allow you to do, considered it carefully, and when you chose to give it a go it was with intention and clarity. And here you are, three years later. It was your decision. I respect you for it and wish I’d have taken similar responsibility for myself back then rather than just doing what I was told. That mindless obedience resulted in a lot of unhappiness for me, mostly because I assumed without knowing I assumed that in return for my righteous behavior I would be loved.

You are clear-eyed and have an open face and smile, and I liked you as soon as you walked up to me from the truck you were working on, tool belt bunching your coarse habit at the waist in a charming blend of the old and the inevitable encroachments of the modern. I chuckled at the image of another brother in a habit tearing down the dirt road on a mountain bike to check the mail.  There were so so many younger monks, which I wasn’t expecting, and to hear you are building additional rooms as fast as you can to house the dozens more who want to join… something about what you’re up to is clearly calling to people. You offer a way of living that rejects the cacophony of the modern world and its myriad competing interests. I have to believe the disciplined focus on what is most important to you, especially in contrast to your fractured life before, has brought you the peace of mind that reads plainly on your face. You’d probably describe it as the result of being close to God.

As we talked, though, I also found a hardness in your belief, a rigid certainty about Catholicism and the specific interpretation of it that somehow seemed out of place. I know the Benedictine Order is far from being kindred spirits with the Jesuits, and even less so your monastery with its rejection of the progressive Vatican II policies and doctrinal interpretations, so this shouldn’t have surprised me. As someone who once had very specific and literal beliefs about the nature and existence of God and His organization on Earth, I can relate to and even respect such certainty even if I no longer share it. I’m not certain about most particulars anymore and to be honest I like it that way. There are, though, a few recently and difficultly won beliefs I do passionately hold and defend and next time I see you I hope to tell you about them. Perhaps you’ll see my story as God speaking to me in a language I can understand. In a way that I can understand, I have been saved.

I enjoyed talking with you and hearing your story, seeing the cloister, the chapel, the enormous mortar-less stone wall the two hippies you told me about helped you build over the course of a couple of weeks. It was interesting, by the way, having read a number of ‘travel-to-find-yourself’ memoirs recently, to hear that the monastery is visible from the Trans-Continental Trail which, like the Pacific Crest Trail and others, is a popular vehicle for people’s journeys of self-discovery. Funny how what feels very personal and specific can also be kind of a cliche. Your monastery must stand out as a beacon (on a hill!) to those seekers on the path below, hence the frequent visits from them.

I regret not accepting your offer to join you for Rosary when we said goodbye. I didn’t want to take any more of your time as you’d already and generously spent the afternoon showing me around. I’ll make good on my promise to come back to visit, though. There are more things I want to ask about, like how someone like me would go about spending a week or a month living at the monastery. I think I have something to learn from you, even if I’m not Catholic. And, of course, I’d like to buy a bag of the monastery’s coffee. I’m glad to have met you, Brother Alexander!

God Bless,

Steve

[The above letter is not real, but the contents are, and it is true enough.]