Every Friday morning, a small group of Milligan University students — usually about six, though the number can fluctuate — leaves campus at the aggressively-early hour of 7 a.m. Their destination: a monastery the size of a double-wide trailer home. There, at the edge of farmland and asphalt, they engage in a practice long rooted in Christian tradition. First, they remove their shoes — a strongly encouraged gesture — and enter, greeted by a sweet, smoky haze and the faint crackle of a small but persistent fire.
Inside, the makeshift chapel is furnished with chairs facing both a lectionary stand and a crucifix, while a pipe organ sits in an adjacent corner. A priest, vested in liturgical robes, initiates a brief 30-minute service that includes the Eucharist. The students partake — most wide-eyed in the fuzzy, early-morning hush — and when the liturgy concludes, they linger 10 or 15 minutes to chat about anything from breakfast to the latest season of a streaming show. They then return to campus for a bite in the cafeteria, sometimes joined by the priest and Brother David Butzu — a Benedictine “brother,” which essentially means he’s not ordained. His life revolves around a near-constant tapestry of prayer and work.
Ask Brother David what it means to be Benedictine — and you probably will, since the incense and liturgy tend to provoke big questions — and he’s likely to respond plainly: “Pull up a chair, let’s pray, you’ll see.”
This rhythm, or set of rhythms, is grounded in the Benedictine tradition, one of many religious orders that emerged throughout Christian history. As Brother David — who could give a semester’s worth of lectures on the subject — puts it:
“There were many movements of religious life — groups of people who felt a specific devotion to a certain kind of prayer, community or rule of life. These groups lived according to shared schedules, values and types of work. Over time, especially during the Middle Ages, these movements became codified into what we now call ‘orders.’
“St. Benedict lived in the sixth century, but the Benedictine order didn’t formally develop until a few centuries later. These orders became families of monasteries — not only sharing the same founder, but also the same structure and way of life.”
That structure — a balance of prayer and work — distinguishes Benedictines from, say, Franciscans, known for Passion Plays and living nativity scenes, or Dominicans, famed for rhetorical flourish and preaching. For Benedictines, the day is punctuated by liturgical prayer offices, with each hour marked by psalm-chanting or Scripture reading.
Interestingly, Brother David wasn’t raised Catholic or Benedictine. He grew up Pentecostal in Detroit, and his passion for theology eventually led him through a winding path: from Tennessee to Emmanuel Seminary, then to Catholic University, where he encountered the Oblates of St. Francis de Sales. It was there, amid morning prayers at 7, communal dinners at 6 and shared dorm-style living, that he fell for monastic rhythms.
“I thought, ‘Every Christian should live like this,’” he said. “It was perfect. It was doable. I thought, ‘This is the life I want.’”
Returning to Tennessee, he found like-minded companions — including Phil Kenneson and Craig Farmer — and helped form Holy Trinity Monastery, which received official state recognition in 2014. He made his solemn vows in 2015, committing to life under the Rule of Benedict — a document he can explain in great detail, if you give him an hour or two.
Today, his ministry goes beyond his monastery. He leads Tuesday night Adoration services, fosters ecumenical connections between Catholics and Protestants, hosts retreats for newcomers to liturgy and welcomes alumni guests into the monastery’s rhythms. He even composes original music for the gatherings. And for students? Participation is free.
As for what’s next, Brother David’s vision is simple: more open doors, more liturgical experiences in that humble space of his and more thoughtful expansion of prayer and service.
In short, if you want to witness centuries-old Christian practices in the stillness of dawn or the quiet of an evening, you just have to show up. Whether it’s a smokey Friday morning or a contemplative campus service, the monastery’s presence serves as a gentle invitation — a kind of “holy interruption” in the busyness of daily life.
And if that sounds unfamiliar or intimidating, Brother David would likely remind you that Benedictine tradition was never meant to be aloof. It’s about weaving prayer into everyday routines, whether in a medieval abbey or a trailer a couple miles from campus.
“There’s a lot of work to be done,” he says. “And it takes a real team.”
picture by pexel – pixabay
by Chris Cox