Service at Weston Priory

Benedictine Monks

Easter celebration began before dawn. The turnoff was easy to miss but I saw the sign pop out of the woods before we got there. My sister and I had gotten up at almost four a.m. to make the five o’clock Easter Sunday vigil held by the Benedictine Monks at the Weston Priory.

It only takes a half hour to get there, from my family home in Rutland, if you know where you’re going. Making a quick right turn off highway 155 in the central Vermont town of Weston, I found myself going up the tree lined road that ended with a dirt lot adjacent to a small scattering of simple, one story wooden structures that is the priory. We found a parking spot right away even though the lot was full. The moon was nearly full, illuminating the clouds swirling above the unpaved parking lot and the puddles left over from the chilling rain earlier that night. The priory seemed deserted even though there were a lot of cars. The moonlit horizon revealed that the mountains dominating the outskirts of the priory, situated amidst the famous Green Mountains from which Vermont (les vert monts) takes its French name.

The sky between the silvery clouds, mountains and rooftops gave us enough light to find the dirt path we followed. It turned into a wooden pathway that led to a small cluster of buildings. I couldn’t tell which one was the chapel, so we skulked about the buildings until we heard the musical Sunday worship. Following the distant melodic chant of voices and sounds of prayerful intonation, we located the enclosed outdoor chapel. Another late arrival, an older woman wearing a baseball cap, walked up to what appeared to be a solid wall and pulled open a large wooden sliding door. A puff of earthy aromatic incense slipped out. I would never have found that.

The Priory is nestled in the Mountains of Vermont, with only dirt roads, stone fences and the rustic natural setting secluding it from the outside world. We found the chapel in the early morning darkness by following the melodic chant of voices. All three of us slipped into the dark fire lit entrance and I pulled the door closed behind us. The earthy incense was the result of the ceremonies centered around the log and the fire I couldn’t quite see around a bend in the chapel. It was dark inside but my sister spotted two aisle seats right away.

There was a pretty big crowd for the small space. Someone handed us small candles with a circular disc of cardboard to protect the hand. The ambiance bore more resemblance to ancient practices than either pomp and circumstance or clinically unaesthetic gatherings of most modern church services I’ve been to. The wings centered around the alter in a simple bare wooden chapel that converted into an out door area for the summer.

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