By John Johnston / Enquirer staff writer

With darkness shrouding rural Kentucky's hills, a tolling bell signals the start of the day's first prayer service at the Abbey of Gethsemani.

At 3:15 a.m. organ music fills the church, its narrow worship space framed by whitewashed brick, exposed wooden beams and stained glass, dark at this hour. In choir stalls made from red oak, black-robed Trappist monks stand with several casually dressed men, including 38-year-old Doug Owens, who wears a knit shirt and khakis. The chanting begins:

Oh Lord, open my lips.

And my mouth shall declare your praise.

Monks and "live-in" visitors arrive for prayer Wednesday evening, May 12, 2004, in at the cloistered Roman Catholic Trappist monastery in Trappist, Kentucky. The Gethsemani Abbey is home to monks but also hosts a retreat house and those who feel they may enter the order, who live and pray with the monks. (The Enquirer/Craig Ruttle)

Owens, who sells flooring in Chattanooga, Tenn., is one of 10 Roman Catholic men - among them a construction worker, nurse, hospice chaplain and factory worker - participating in the abbey's "live-in experience" this week in May. The men spend anywhere from a few days to two weeks at America's oldest Trappist monastery, 65 miles southwest of Lexington, contemplating their relationship with God and hoping to answer the question: Am I being called to be a monk?

"I think about it every day," says Owens, who lived in Cincinnati for seven years in the 1990s. "I've spent 38 years doing things my way. I figure it's about time to try to do it God's way. I could still end up selling flooring five, 10 years from now."

Guests have been welcome at the abbey since its founding in 1848. Retreats are popular, and have been open to women since 1989. What's different about the live-in experience - offered the first two weeks of each month for the past 31/2 years - is that men pray, eat and work alongside the monks in areas formerly off-limits to guests.

The hope is that permitting such interaction will draw more potential candidates to the abbey. Just as the numbers of parish priests and nuns have declined significantly nationwide, Gethsemani monks have dwindled from a high of 270 in 1955 to 65 today.

The daily schedule at the Abbey of Gethsemani:

3 a.m.Rise. 3:15 a.m. Vigils (prayer). 5:45 a.m. Lauds (prayer). 6:15 a.m. Mass. 7 a.m. Breakfast. 7:30 a.m. Terce (prayer). 7:40 -11:45 a.m. Work assignments. 12:15 p.m. Sext (prayer). 12:30 p.m. Dinner. 1 p.m. Optional siesta. 2:15 p.m. None (prayer). 2:30 p.m. Interval (prayer, reading or walking). 5:30 p.m. Vespers (prayer). 6 p.m. Supper. 7:30 p.m. Compline (prayer). 7:45 p.m. Chaplain's talk. 8 p.m. Retire.

Some guests soon discover the lifestyle is not for them.

"They pray a lot. And the silence took some getting used to," says Craig McHenry, a 33-year-old factory worker from Massillon, Ohio.

In fact, there's a good bit to get used to, such as rising well before dawn each day for 3:15 a.m. Vigils, the first of seven prayer services throughout the day.

While the monks lead what seems a simple life, that doesn't mean it's easily embraced.

A booklet distributed to live-in participants says: "Monastic life is not a picnic. Day by day there is really nothing difficult about it, but put a number of days in a row, one after another, and certain types are apt to climb the walls."

Each monk has his own room, typically 15-by-13, with a fan (no air conditioning), walls of white painted brick and a linoleum floor. There are no televisions or radios, although monks have access to a computer room.

The monks dine in silence on a diet that does not include meat. Conversation also is curtailed from 8 p.m. until after morning Mass, which ends about 7. It is "a time of deeper listening to God's voice, and of respecting our brethrens' inner journey," says Brother Luke Armour, the abbey's vocation director.

Monks work during the day, washing each other's clothes, cooking, cleaning and the like. Some make cheese, bourbon fudge and fruitcake. Income from those mail-order operations supports the monastery. Nobody takes vacations.

The Gesthemani monks - the most famous of whom was poet and essayist Thomas Merton - belong to the Order of Cistercians of the Strict Observance. They make vows of obedience, chastity, poverty and stability. The latter means they remain in one monastery as long as they live. Monks can leave Gethsemani's tranquil, 2,600-acre grounds only with permission of the superior.

"There's an inherent loneliness, but I don't know that it's more pronounced than anything anyone else (outside) has to face," Brother Luke says.

At 54, slim and with salt-and-pepper hair, he could pass for 10 years younger. He comes from a large Irish Catholic family in New York and wields a sense of humor. He notes, for instance, that it's been said the Cistercian order's initials - OCSO - stand for "our cheese surpasses others."

He felt a strong call to become a monk when he arrived at the abbey in 1973. Five years later, he made his final solemn vows.

Today, he sees far more uncertainty among the live-in guests.

"They're just not as sure as many of us used to be," he says. "There seems to be much more weighing of factors - what's the food like, what's the winter like - and questions that didn't seem as important to many of us. We knew God wanted us here."

Most of the live-ins say they feel called by God. To do what, they're not sure.

McHenry, the factory worker, is typical. Taking a break from labeling cheese, he says he's been "searching for a religious vocation for about 10 years." He hasn't found it here, "although it was a great experience for me. I got to see how other people relate to God."

Likewise, Phil Hackel, 36, an electrical construction worker from Wausau, Wis., says he arrived "wanting to test the call, wanting to know what's God's will." He's younger than the typical live-in guest, most of whom are in their 40s and 50s.

Hackel says he plans to look into other religious communities more focused on outreach, such as serving the poor.

As he mulls his religious calling, he acknowledges that making a commitment is difficult. "It's kind of like getting married," says Hackel, who is single. "It's a big step."

Indeed it is, says Brother Luke, who has no regrets. Living as a monk is "so innate with me now, I can't even think that anything's hard about it."

"This is a place of love and service, there's really nothing else," he says. "And the fruit of love and service is joy."

E-mail: jjohnston@enquirer.com