My very first monastery visit was a let down.
I was so excited, this was going to be my first visit to a monastery! Expectations are a slippery thing, more often than not evading my grasp. Not only did not see anything when I arrived but in fact, no one can!
Arriving at the monastery address with the help of Google maps I was abruptly confronted with large iron gates, beyond which led a road into the woods. I looked around and noticed a small building across the way, maybe a visitor’s center, so I turned off my rental car, grabbed my keys and headed inside. It was drizzly out and I had my raincoat tucked tightly under my chin. Not for the first time I grumbled to myself about the downside of wearing glasses. As I entered the visitor’s center, I wiped my boots and tried in vain to wipe the sprinkles off my lenses, turning them into blurry smears.
A kindly woman, likely a retired volunteer, smiled at me from behind a desk and welcomed me. “Are visits to the monastery allowed?” I asked. She explained that the Carthusians are a completely cloistered order, receiving no pilgrims or visitors, and likewise they never leave the monastery. Theirs is a strict ascetic order devoted to prayer, silence, self denial and solitude. In fact, she shared that this is the only Carthusian monastery in North America! Thanking her, I turned to browse the small visitor center. There was a small bookshelf with some CD recordings, books and pamphlets. I thumbed through one and saw photos of the monastery exterior. Nothing breathtaking, just a simple complex that gave the impression the monks spend all their time indoors; whether or not that is true I do not know. There was an illustration of the interior of the monastery, and I was shocked to see that each monk has a solitary cell where they spend most of their time in silent prayer and reflection. “This looks less like a place of union with God and more like a prison”, I thought to myself. Again, an expectation was left unmet, one that I suppose I didn’t even know I had.
Maybe I thought I would drive up and meet a sweet monk or nun and see them just beaming with the love of Christ, in complete bliss at being able to worship without distraction day and night… what I encountered instead was a locked gate and the image of men in robes praying alone in their rooms all day. Not exactly what I had wanted for my first monastery visit.
“And yet,” I argued with myself internally, “there has to be something here, something that draws these select few to this life… what is it?” I saw a rack with locally-printed pamphlets. They were printed and bound at the monastery and written by monks who abstained from taking credit. In place of an author credit, each pamphlet was credited as authored by “A Carthusian.” I smiled, finding that simple fact in itself endearing, that even to take credit for a pamphlet may lead to pride and is therefore rejected. Continuing to scan, I saw many topics, from the creation of the cosmos to the most finite detail of salvation theology. I wanted them all, a feeling that would only grow stronger as my journey continued. I resolved to purchase just three. With my jacket zipped back up I jogged back to my rental and started the engine, looking back at the closed gate in wonder that such men live just a mile away, yet a world apart.
Garden of Nectarios 
Leave a comment