Monastery of Christ in the Desert

The Monastery of Christ in the Desert, in Abiquiú, New Mexico, is a place of deliberate quiet and daily religious practice. Its adobe buildings, chapel, desert paths, and apiary give the beekeeper a secluded home after he arrives seeking silence. The monastery’s significance lies not only in its remote setting but in the way its routines let him remain there without explaining who he is.

Setting and Daily Rhythm

The beekeeper’s small cell contains a bed, a chair, and a desk. Its single window, set in a thick adobe wall, looks onto a gravel path that leads toward the chapel; in the moonlight, the path appears silver. The desert morning is cold. Before dawn, he dresses, washes and shaves with cold water, then joins the monks walking to prayer. The sequence makes the monastery’s quiet concrete: it is built into a shared routine, not simply an absence of conversation.

Silence is the norm except for chanting, prayers, meetings, and necessary conversation at work. The monks live by the injunction “Be still and know that I am God.” The beekeeper welcomes the rule because, as the narrative puts it, he has heard enough words. His preference connects the monastery’s religious discipline to his own need for retreat, though the community does not require him to give that need a public explanation.

The chapel is simple adobe, with stone foundations hewn from the red rock cliffs along the monastery’s southern edge. A wooden cross, worn by the sun, and a single crucifix above the altar mark the space. Vigils begin at 4:00 a.m. sharp; the beekeeper walks there and kneels. The predawn service gives the monastery’s quiet a repeated form: solitude in his cell gives way to joining the monks, while prayer replaces the conversation he has left behind.

The Beekeeper’s Arrival

When the newcomer first reaches the monastery, the monks do not ask who he is or where he came from. They see a man with saddened eyes, black hair streaked with silver, and the still-strong, slightly stooped shoulders of a boxer. He says he wants quiet. Brother Gregory, the abbot, answers that quietude is what the monastery has in abundance. The exchange establishes a compact arrangement: the newcomer states what he needs, and the community offers it without first demanding his story.

He pays cash for a small room and initially spends his days walking the grounds, through ocotillo and sage, down to the Chama River, or up the mountain slope. Eventually, he enters the chapel and kneels at the back while the monks chant. His movement through the landscape is gradual: he first wanders alone, then approaches the community through prayer, and later finds a place in its working life.

The Apiary and the Monastery’s Work

The turn comes at the apiary beside the river, where bees have access to water. The newcomer watches Brother David tend the hives and helps move frames when the nearly eighty-year-old monk needs assistance. After that, he returns to the apiary every day, learning the craft and helping with the work. Months later, when Brother David is ready to retire, he recommends the newcomer for the job. Brother Gregory’s initial question—“A layman?”—is answered by Brother David’s assessment: “He has a way with the bees.”

The newcomer proves quiet and capable. He obeys the rules, attends prayer, and becomes the best beekeeper the monks have had. Under his care, the hives yield excellent Grade A honey. The monastery uses it in its own ale, sells it to tourists in eight-ounce jars, and offers it online. The apiary thus joins contemplative life to practical work and modest commerce, but the beekeeper wants no part in the business side. He also declines service at table for retreat guests and work in the kitchen or gift shop. His chosen place is with the hives, and the monks let him keep it.

Anonymity and Refuge

After more than four years, the community still does not know the beekeeper’s name. The monks call him simply the beekeeper; the Latino monks call him “El Colmenero.” They are surprised when he first speaks to them in fluent Spanish. His anonymity is not absolute ignorance of his skills or habits: they know him through his reliable work, attendance at prayer, and unexpected command of the language. But they do not turn those signs into a demand for his identity.

There is speculation that he may have been a special agent, an 007. Brother Gregory stops the gossip, insisting that the man is seeking God and that this is all the monks need to know. The answer keeps conjecture from overriding the hospitality the monastery has offered. In the final predawn image, the beekeeper goes to Vigils and kneels in the chapel. The monastery remains a place where his past is not publicly resolved; what it gives him instead is a room, a routine, meaningful work, and the silence he asked for.