Nestled in the gentle landscape of Conyers, Georgia, the Monastery of the Holy Spirit sits like a quiet invitation. I can’t remember the very first time I ever visited—it feels like it has simply always been part of me—but I do remember the moment I set foot on the grounds and felt something shift inside. There was a holiness in the air, a sacred hush that wrapped itself around me as if God Himself had placed His hand upon that place.
Long before my footsteps ever touched its pathways, twenty-one Trappist monks left Gethsemani Abbey in Kentucky in 1944 to found this monastery in what was then the wilderness of rural Georgia. Conyers was an unknown town with only one Catholic family in the entire county. Atlanta sat a long way down red-clay roads, and the diocese was centered in Savannah. Yet these monks followed a calling, trusting that God had prepared this quiet corner for them.
As I walk the grounds now—something I’ve done many times, often bringing friends and family along—I still try to picture those early days. Before the Abbey Church existed, before the bookstore or retreat house, the monks lived in a barn on the old Honey Creek Plantation. Their days were filled with prayer, hard work, and an unwavering belief in what they were building.
For fifteen years they labored to construct the Abbey Church, a soaring concrete cathedral raised not by machines but by devotion, sacrifice, and their own hands. The finished church rises like a prayer in solid form.
Every time I step inside, I feel the same rush of reverence. The stillness settles over me like a comforting shawl. And when the sun pours through the stained glass windows, scattering vibrant color across the floor, it feels almost as if heaven is spilling into the room. That light has touched me deeply more times than I can count.
I’ve often dreamed of attending a spiritual retreat there. More men than women traditionally do that since it is a monastery, and the monks care for the grounds and guide the retreatants. But they do allow women, and every time I visit, a part of me wonders: Could I do it? Could I take a vow of silence for an entire weekend and simply be still before the Lord?
Fasting and prayer are familiar practices to me, but complete silence—well, that would be a challenge. Yet something in me longs for it. A quietness that deep. A stillness that intentional. A rest that holy.
Walking the paths, hearing the wind slip through the trees as if it too knows how to worship, I always feel closer to God. The lake reflects the sky in a way that makes you want to reflect, too. Even the stones seem to hold the stories of sorrow, joy, change, and renewal that the monastery has weathered through the decades.
Today, the monks rejoice in a new season of growth. New visitors come. New vocations arise. The life of prayer continues, steady and faithful as ever.
Each time I leave, I carry the peace of that place with me—like a quiet blessing tucked into my pocket. The Monastery of the Holy Spirit isn’t just a destination. It’s an encounter, a reminder to slow down, listen deeply, and let God whisper in the silence.
Closing Prayer
Dear Lord,
Thank You for the sacred places You scatter across our lives—quiet corners where our souls can breathe and our hearts can listen. Thank You for the Monastery of the Holy Spirit and for the faithful monks who built it with their hands, their prayers, and their lives.
As I reflect on the peace found there, help me to carry that stillness into my everyday moments. Teach me to seek You in silence, to rest in Your presence, and to listen when You whisper to my spirit.
Whether on retreat or in the busy corners of my home, remind me that You are always near. Let Your light—like those stained glass windows—shine through me in ways that bring beauty, warmth, and hope to others.
In Jesus’ name, Amen.
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