You’re driving up Route 100, the trees are closing in, and suddenly you bank onto a dirt road that feels like it’s leading nowhere. That’s the introduction most people get to Weston Priory in Weston, Vermont. It isn’t some austere, silent fortress where monks hide from the world behind stone walls. Honestly, it’s the opposite. It is a Benedictine community that somehow managed to become a global folk music phenomenon while staying tucked away in the Green Mountains.
If you’ve ever sat in a Catholic pew in the last forty years, you’ve likely sung their music. But the physical space in Weston? That’s a different beast entirely. It’s quiet. Not the "shhh" kind of quiet you get in a library, but a heavy, intentional stillness.
The Music That Defined a Generation of Worship
Most folks find their way to Weston Priory because of the albums. Back in the 1960s and 70s, the monks—specifically Brother Gregory Norbet—started writing music that broke the mold. It wasn’t Gregorian chant. It wasn’t Latin. It was folk. Simple, acoustic guitar-driven melodies that captured the "spirit of Vatican II" better than almost anything else at the time.
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"Locusts and Wild Honey" or "Wherever You Go" became staples. It’s wild to think about, really. These men, living a life of manual labor and prayer in rural Vermont, were essentially the rockstars of the liturgical world. They weren't looking for a record deal. They were just trying to pray in a way that felt honest to their time.
The Benedictine monks here don't just perform; they live the lyrics. When you visit for Vespers or the Eucharist, you aren't watching a concert. You're entering a rhythm. The chapel itself is a masterpiece of mid-century simplicity. Natural wood. Low light. Huge windows that let the Vermont woods act as the backdrop for the altar. It’s stripped down. No gold leaf. No distracting statues. Just the community and the landscape.
Living the Rule of St. Benedict in the 21st Century
What is it actually like there? People think monks just pray all day. Wrong. At Weston Priory, the day is a grind of "Ora et Labora"—prayer and work.
They have a shop. They do woodcarving. They manage the grounds. They handle the massive logistics of being a pilgrimage site for thousands of visitors annually. It’s a blue-collar spirituality. You might see a monk in his habit one hour and in Carhartts the next, fixing a fence or hauling brush. They aren't "holy" in a fragile way. They’re sturdy.
The community was founded in 1953 by Abbot Leo Rudloff of Dormition Abbey in Jerusalem. He wanted something different. A smaller, more intimate expression of monastic life. He found it on an old farm in Weston. The original farmhouse still stands, a reminder that this whole operation started with a few guys trying to figure out how to be monks in a farmhouse.
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The Connection to Latin America
Here is the thing that surprises most people: the monks are deeply political. But not in a "talking heads on cable news" way. In the 1980s, the Priory became a vocal supporter of the Sanctuary Movement. They formed a deep, spiritual bond with the people of Cuernavaca, Mexico, and later with communities in Guatemala.
This wasn't just a hobby. They traveled there. They lived with the poor. They brought those stories back to Vermont. It changed their music, too. You can hear the shift in the later albums—the themes move from personal peace to global justice and solidarity with the oppressed. It’s a gritty kind of faith. It’s why you’ll see symbols of Latin American liberation art mixed in with traditional New England architecture. It’s a weird, beautiful hybrid.
Why You Can't Just "Book a Room" Like a Hotel
Let’s clear up a massive misconception. Weston Priory is not a "retreat center" in the commercial sense. You can’t just jump on Expedia and book a weekend stay to "find yourself."
They have a small guest house, but it’s for people looking for deep, silent reflection. Usually, you have to write to them. Like, with a pen and paper or a very formal email. They want to know why you want to be there. It’s about joining their life, not using their property as a scenic backdrop for your Instagram.
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- The Chapel is open. Usually from 5:00 AM until 8:00 PM. You can walk in.
- The Shop has weirdly good stuff. Hand-pressed cards, their famous music, and crafts.
- The Grounds are a hike. Seriously. The trails behind the Priory lead up into the hills. It’s quintessential Vermont.
If you show up for a service, don't expect a pipe organ. Expect guitars. Expect silence. Expect to feel a bit out of place if you’re used to the "high church" drama of a cathedral. This is monasticism stripped to the studs.
The Reality of a Graying Community
We have to be real about the future of places like Weston Priory. Monasticism in the West is shrinking. The monks aren't kids anymore. While they still welcome guests and maintain the grounds, the energy of the "folk music boom" of the 70s has transitioned into a more quiet, autumnal phase of the community's life.
There’s a certain poignancy to visiting now. You’re seeing a group of men who have spent fifty, sixty years together in the same few acres of woods. That kind of commitment is rare today. We live in a world of "swipe-left" and "cancel subscription." These guys didn't cancel. They stayed through the Vermont winters, the theological shifts of the church, and the changing of the world outside their gate.
Practical Advice for Your Visit
If you’re planning to make the drive to Weston, don't just "pop in" for ten minutes. That's a waste of gas.
First, check the schedule. The monks pray at specific times: Matins, Lauds, Midday prayer, Vespers, and Vigils. If you arrive between those times, the chapel will be empty. It’s beautiful, sure, but you miss the heartbeat of the place. Vespers (evening prayer) is usually the most accessible for visitors. The light hits the trees just right, and the singing is at its most haunting.
Second, dress for the weather. It’s Weston. It’s a micro-climate. It could be sunny in Ludlow and snowing at the Priory. The chapel isn't exactly a sauna, either. Bring layers.
Third, go to the village of Weston afterward. It’s home to the Vermont Country Store, which is basically the opposite of the Priory—it's consumerist chaos in the best way possible. The contrast between the silent prayer of the monks and the "penny candy" vibe of the store is the full Vermont experience.
What to skip
Don't bother bringing a high-end camera to take photos during the service. It’s frowned upon. It breaks the "spirit of the place." They won't yell at you—they're monks, after all—but you'll feel like a jerk. Just put the phone away and listen to the guitars.
Actionable Steps for a Meaningful Experience
To get the most out of a trip to Weston Priory, you need to approach it with a specific mindset. It’s not a tourist attraction; it’s a living community.
- Listen before you go. Find their music on a streaming service. Listen to The Path of Life. It sets the tone. If you hate the music, you might find the services a bit underwhelming.
- Write ahead. If you are seeking a retreat, contact the Guest Brother months in advance. The rooms are few and the demand is high.
- Walk the "Way of the Cross." They have an outdoor path that isn't your typical "stations of the cross." It’s integrated into the woods. Even if you aren't religious, the hike is a lesson in landscape architecture and intentionality.
- Support the work. If you buy something in the shop, know that the money goes directly to the upkeep of the land and their social justice projects in South America.
Visiting Weston Priory is about slowing your heart rate. It’s about realizing that in a corner of Vermont, a group of men decided that singing simple songs and planting trees was a valid way to spend a human life. Whether you believe in their God or not, there is something deeply grounding about standing in that chapel while the wind howls outside and hearing a bunch of elderly men sing about peace.
Take the turn off Route 100. Drive slow. Leave the window down. Listen.