Newspapers may be whittling down religion space and experts, but you can still catch examples of sensitive, long-form religion writing. One is the recent "Mount Angel Monks" feature in the Oregonian.
Smooth and fast-reading despite its 2,256 words, the piece provides an intimate look at the day in the life of Father Martin Grassel, the business manager of Mount Angel Abbey, about 40 miles South of Portland. We get glimpses of him at worship with some the other 55 monks there. We watch him pay bills and assemble a glass mosaic. We learn of his call to the Benedictine life and what his family thinks of it.
"Scatter gold coins throughout your story," I once heard at a writers' workshop, and this story fairly jingles with them. The vivid, even poetic passages start right with the lede:
MOUNT ANGEL — Morning comes softly here.
There are no cars, no sirens, no trash trucks, no dogs. Only a hundred chattering birds and the swish of a monk’s tunic. The air and earth are blue, and Mount Angel Abbey feels isolated from the woes of the world.
Another:
Such is the life of a modern-day monk. It is gentle, yet rushed. Secluded, yet vulnerable.
Like his ancestors, Grassel rises before the sun, brews beer and eats in quiet harmony with his spiritual brethren. He also pays bills, answers e-mail, carries an iPhone and lives with the knowledge that even life on the hilltop is uncertain.
Grassel’s life, imagined, might seem too quaint to be relatable — or even authentic. But a monk is a man, and a monastery is earth, sacred or not.
The Oregonian also teases out the human side of the otherwise organized monk: "Oakland Raiders paraphernalia and beer bottles give Grassel’s office a slight bachelor pad feel. There are at least two scratching posts and three bags of Temptations cat treats." The treats are for Cecilia, who trots with him to his office, then lounges in an upturned boxtop by his desk.
I also admired the equally peaceful, symmetrical story ending:


