Soledad Monastery
03/06/09 09:06 AM Filed in: Mexico
Recently I posted about the Sanctuary at Atotonilco. I’m not Catholic, not associated with any organized religion. But my wanderings seem to take me to religious sites in this most Catholic of countries.
Not far from Atotonilco, a group of Benedictine monks lives in Soledad Monastery, the centerpiece of which is this modern chapel.
The setting is pastoral: grass for feeding the monastery’s mules, corn and squash fields for feeding the monks. Rustic crosses dot the landscape, as do bas-relief carvings. This one depicts San Benito Abad (Saint Benedict, Abbot).
The monks of Soledad (Solitude) Monastery live under vows of silence. Hand-lettered signs advise visitors of proper comportment. This one reads, “A monastery is a house of silence and prayer, of meditation and of peace, a haven where God dwells.” Another says, “Keep silence that you may find God.”
Quiet spaces invite reflection. A palapa roof shades a bench. The monk who fashioned this piece—a natural-edge plank bench with spool back—appears to have been influenced by legendary Japanese furniture designer George Nakashima.
A meditating figure rests upon a stone set in a shady pond, in a posture adopted by both Christians and Buddhists. Everywhere the message of spiritual teachers seems to be the same: Sit, quiet the mind, pray.
Monks spend their days in silent meditation and doing the simple chores needed to run and maintain the monastery. They meet in the chapel seven times daily for services, the first at 4 AM.
During services, vows of silence don’t apply: they chant. They offer a cd of their music. The poster urges, “Listen O son, when the monks pray.”
Outsiders are welcome at services, and are encouraged to sing along. A table in the center aisle is heaped with chant books.
Scores have been laboriously typeset using an old-fashioned typewriter. No catchy rhythms here, no leaping intervals (except maybe for that unseemly fourth between glorioso and Dios). This music is intended to calm rather than to inspire. To me it sounds like Gregorian chant, except more subdued.
The words are in Spanish, not Latin, perhaps for the benefit of villagers who attend services. Santa Escolastica Convent shares the monastery grounds. A small, nondescript building houses a few elderly women who take occasional meals with the brothers but otherwise keep to themselves.
During my visits, the nuns were more in evidence than the monks. I saw none of the latter outside of services. But the nuns bustle about industriously in their garden, raking, weeding, pruning, planting. Their makeshift greenhouse—sheltering starts in yoghurt containers—hints at slightly fuller lives. My heart resonates with gardeners.
From time to time, friends of mine come here on retreat. The monks welcome them, housing them in simple rooms like the ones in this building. Guests eat in common with the fathers; they pray and meditate, attending services if they want to. They take long walks through the countryside, enjoying warm sun and the profound quiet.
My friends sometimes say they’re renewed and re-energized after a weekend or a week spent with Los Padres del Monasterio de la Nuestra Señora de la Soledad. Some undergo profound changes in outlook and attitude. I can appreciate why some people pause, putting everyday life on hold to contemplate redirection onto new paths. The monks are another matter. Their retreats are permanent. I imagine that for them each year is much like the last. Nothing ever changes. I find the idea little frightening.
Not far from Atotonilco, a group of Benedictine monks lives in Soledad Monastery, the centerpiece of which is this modern chapel.
The setting is pastoral: grass for feeding the monastery’s mules, corn and squash fields for feeding the monks. Rustic crosses dot the landscape, as do bas-relief carvings. This one depicts San Benito Abad (Saint Benedict, Abbot).
The monks of Soledad (Solitude) Monastery live under vows of silence. Hand-lettered signs advise visitors of proper comportment. This one reads, “A monastery is a house of silence and prayer, of meditation and of peace, a haven where God dwells.” Another says, “Keep silence that you may find God.”
Quiet spaces invite reflection. A palapa roof shades a bench. The monk who fashioned this piece—a natural-edge plank bench with spool back—appears to have been influenced by legendary Japanese furniture designer George Nakashima.
A meditating figure rests upon a stone set in a shady pond, in a posture adopted by both Christians and Buddhists. Everywhere the message of spiritual teachers seems to be the same: Sit, quiet the mind, pray.
Monks spend their days in silent meditation and doing the simple chores needed to run and maintain the monastery. They meet in the chapel seven times daily for services, the first at 4 AM.
During services, vows of silence don’t apply: they chant. They offer a cd of their music. The poster urges, “Listen O son, when the monks pray.”
Outsiders are welcome at services, and are encouraged to sing along. A table in the center aisle is heaped with chant books.
Scores have been laboriously typeset using an old-fashioned typewriter. No catchy rhythms here, no leaping intervals (except maybe for that unseemly fourth between glorioso and Dios). This music is intended to calm rather than to inspire. To me it sounds like Gregorian chant, except more subdued.
The words are in Spanish, not Latin, perhaps for the benefit of villagers who attend services. Santa Escolastica Convent shares the monastery grounds. A small, nondescript building houses a few elderly women who take occasional meals with the brothers but otherwise keep to themselves.
During my visits, the nuns were more in evidence than the monks. I saw none of the latter outside of services. But the nuns bustle about industriously in their garden, raking, weeding, pruning, planting. Their makeshift greenhouse—sheltering starts in yoghurt containers—hints at slightly fuller lives. My heart resonates with gardeners.
From time to time, friends of mine come here on retreat. The monks welcome them, housing them in simple rooms like the ones in this building. Guests eat in common with the fathers; they pray and meditate, attending services if they want to. They take long walks through the countryside, enjoying warm sun and the profound quiet.
My friends sometimes say they’re renewed and re-energized after a weekend or a week spent with Los Padres del Monasterio de la Nuestra Señora de la Soledad. Some undergo profound changes in outlook and attitude. I can appreciate why some people pause, putting everyday life on hold to contemplate redirection onto new paths. The monks are another matter. Their retreats are permanent. I imagine that for them each year is much like the last. Nothing ever changes. I find the idea little frightening.
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