My first experience at a Benedictine monastery occurred several years ago at the behest of a former spiritual director. Sensing that I could do with a bit of solitude, he shuttled me off to St. Benedict's Priory, a small monastery in central Massachusetts. I arrived at the plain, barn like structure, rapped on the huge oaken door, and was warmly greeted by Father Xavier, a middle-aged monk properly dressed in his black cowl and tunic. He led me to my cell—a Spartan chamber equipped only with the most austere of amenities, from which I entered into the simple rhythms of monastic life.
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