Sunday is a happy day for monks. Truly it is a "mini Easter," as the Church would have us ideally practice, and I had the opportunity to participate in a silent and pious adoration before supper. It was an exquisite dinner of pizza, shrimp couscous, tuna salad, fresh fruit and whipped cream for dessert.
All of this is made from the scratch of the scratch. The Kitchen Masters here earn their titles. Bottles of Beck’s and small pitchers of wine dotted the white linen cloth like Christmas lights, and we sat at the table with Father Cassian at the center.
It was not altogether unlike the famous scene of The Last Supper. We were even on the second story.
All meals are taken silently here at Santo Benedetto, except for lunch when someone reads from a book (everyone else eats in silence) and on Sunday, when recreation and talking is permitted.
There was a bit of very healthy laughter, and although my portions have halved since I’ve been here, I feel more satisfied and nourished than any quantity of Big Macs. There is no "itis," or lingering feeling of lethargy and sloth.
After dinner I sat and conversed about the Eucharist with a very intelligent, pious, and pretty lady who used to be the accountant at Santo Benedetto. She has green eyes and knows Latin and the Old Rite and has a quiescence about her brought only by prayer and grace —like the other 90% of the people here.
Homer Twigg ’08, from his blog "From Across the Pond," which chronicles his time managing the bookstore at the Santa Benedetto Monastery in Norcia, Italy (a position previously held by Bryan Gonzalez ’03).