A LIFE THAT IS ‘ORDINARY, OBSCURE, AND LABORIOUS’

(continued from p. 73) the million-dollar view,” Dominic says. Inside, the oldest of the monks receive around-the-clock nursing care. Speakers broadcast services from the church so that those who aren’t well enough to walk may still participate in the rituals that have been their life’s work. Dominic explains that the worst thing they could think of would be to send these men to an assisted-living home. If you devote your life to the abbey, you should be able to spend your last days here.

So far, Spencer beer has been well received. If its success continues, the income should be enough to meet their medical needs and to provide future brothers with enough money to keep the abbey going for decades to come. That’s enough for Dominic. “I know God is real and my brothers are real,” he says. “There is something of the vocation enfleshed in my brothers. If I live present to them, if I’m available …” He pauses for a long moment as he searches for the right words, then looks up and says simply, “That works.”

At 34 years old, Brother Charbel stands out from his aging brothers like a rose amongst thistles. He has a dreamer’s eyes—deep blue and fixed on the middle distance—and his speech is punctuated with long pauses as he ponders his thoughts. He grew up in the Internet age but was never enthralled by it. “I was the only person in my community without a cell phone,” he says. “I just was happier, more joyful, without too many buzzing gadgets and distractions. For me, when [technology] gets overused, everything seems to become fragmented.” He explains that he was drawn to monasticism out of a desire to live “a singlehearted life” where he “could focus on the things that really matter.”

I ask whether he worries about what the abbey will look like 40 years from now. When he’s old, will there be someone to take care of him? “It’s a great incentive to pray,” he says with a smile. Charbel admits that he sometimes tries to run the numbers in his head—how many monks and how much money do you need to run this place? —but he never gets far with it. You just can’t approach this lifestyle from a quantitative angle, he says. It takes “a kind of naked faith and trust to even be called here.”

Ultimately he shrugs and says that the abbey could burn down tomorrow. He has faith that God will find a place for him, no matter what happens. So he puts those thoughts aside and focuses on his prayer. He says he’s comforted by the teachings of the ancient hermit monks who wrote that by leaving the world, you could come to love it better.

“When you go deep into your heart, into the heart of Christ, it’s that very separation that unites you with all,” he says. “Sometimes out of the corner of your eye you get a glimpse of the reality of that. And you know it’s true if it humbles you, if it makes you gasp.”

After Vespers, Father Dominic walks me to my car. He guides me through the darkened church, pausing a moment to bow before the altar. Outside, there are few lights to dim the brilliance of the stars above. He wishes me a safe journey and walks back toward the abbey to join his brothers for the evening meal. In the time we spent together, I was struck both by how tired he looked—how heavy his burdens seemed to weigh on him—and also by how even when speaking of the abbey’s greatest challenges, his voice was tinted with an “awe-shucks” kind of humor, as though life were a comic opera he was thoroughly enjoying.

As Dominic walked away, I was reminded of a story he told me. He once came upon an aging brother who’d spent his life in the order. He was leaning on his rake and staring off across the hills in thought. He turned to Dominic and said, “Father, what a privilege it is to live with someone till the end of their life.”

The monks here don’t see their lifestyle as a burden. They don’t think of what they’ve given up as a sacrifice. They feel as though they’re lucky to have found this place where they can pass their lives among kindred souls. At first, it’s hard to imagine why anyone would choose this life, but when you strip away the habits and the icons, the history and the religion, you see these monks not as odd. They’re simply brothers, living for one another, here atop a hill.

Yankee contributing editor Justin Shatwell is a freelance journalist whose work explores New England’s unique history and culture. His recent stories for Yankee include “The Right Home” (Jan./Feb. 2015) and “A Place Just Waiting to Be Painted” (July/Aug. 2015). justinshatwell.com