Sunday's Miriama Kamo on her time with isolated Canterbury monks

I know, with a certainty deep in my soul, so clear in my solar plexus there’s a palpable twang, that this is not the life for me.

I’m standing in the icy valley of Mt St Joseph, gloves, wool hat, puffer jacket, layers of clothes, yet still rigid against the numbing cold.

The Monks are out chopping wood; work robes on, red noses, cold hands - but as certain as I am a creature of comfort, they know there could be no better existence for them than here in the frigid depths of the Canterbury foothills.

The settlement of the Sons of the Most Holy Redeemer is 45 minutes inland from the town of Geraldine, where the suns drops early behind the hills.

A collection of buildings is planted in neat rows along the valley below Mt St Joseph, alongside an excitable stream that once swelled to a biblical flood and blocked the monks from leaving for three days.

It’s so cold here that whenever the southerly scythes through my multiple layers I find an excuse to return to the small circle of warmth generated by the wood burner in their modest farmhouse.

At turns it’s rainy, clear, then hailstones, followed by blue sky - the only constant is the cold. It’s been down to minus eight degrees.

It’s just how the Monks like it. Raw, remote, and quiet. Mt St Joseph’s is their third monastery, but they have another in Montana, which can hit minus 46 degrees, as well as Papa Stronsay - a small desolate island off the coast of Scotland.

All three locations are forbidding, off the grid, some might even say barren.

Do they mindfully seek out these challenging environments? "No, not at all," Father Anthony laughs.

"It seems to be God places us in them."

Truth is, and perhaps it’s part of God’s plan, they find the desolation allows for deeper prayer, reflection, and sacrifice.

As I discover, sacrifice is the daily bread for these deeply traditional Catholic men; Brothers Paul, Rafael, and Charles Marie de Jesu, and their head priest, Father Anthony Mary.

They are four members of an order numbering just 22 worldwide; one which seeks to be as poor as possible, to weaken the body through manual labour and to strengthen their faith through a rigorous schedule of prayer and meditation.

"We get up at five to five, and we have half an hour to get ready", Father Anthony tells me.

"Then we spend an hour and a half in private prayer. Afterwards we have the early sacrifice of the mass, so the first two and a half hours of the day are spent in prayer. And then, we have breakfast."

Ahh, breakfast! Food is one earthly comfort the Monks seem to allow themselves. Anticipating a meagre offering of a sandwich and tea, producer Jo, camera-operator Rewi and I prepared and brought our own meals.

But we swiftly broke the tenth commandment ‘thou shalt not covet thy neighbour’s goods’ when we compared our sad preparations with the Monks’ repast.

Every meal, prepared by a roster of the four onsite monks, is unfussy but hearty: soup, bread, meat and three veg.

We even spotted chocolate in one of their storage containers.

Still, they need the calories. Every day, no matter the weather, they’re outside working. Just like Papa Stronsay and Montana, Mt St Joseph’s has been built, mostly, by the monks.

It’s quite the sight - four men, religious robes aswish, work boots clunking beneath, working mostly in silence as they chop down trees and build new monastic cells.

One of them is just 19-years-old. Brother Charles Marie, formerly named Benedict, is an initiate. He’s the eldest of six children from a deeply pious family.

His parents Daniel and Shumin are both proud and torn.

In their tightly knit family, a thread has been pulled; their boy has left them to become a monk.

Equally, their faith has been rewarded, their son has left them to fulfill his religious and spiritual destiny.

For Charles Marie, his initiation was an exciting day.

There is a process that he submitted to called ‘Stripping Away of the Old Man’. ‘The old man’ gives up the trappings of the world, turns his back on worldly desires and commits instead to a new life and a diet of daily prayer and hard labour. 

Brother Charles has to give up all his belongings, right down to his socks. In fact, he even has to give up his own will.

Obedience is key to being a monk, he must do as he’s told. Brother Charles believes deeply, completely, that he is fulfilling God’s will.

The head of the Order, South African born and bred Father Anthony Mary, also left home for the religious life at 19.

There was no "thunderbolt", no sign, just a knowing that he was on the right path. His parents were "delighted".

"My mother was a very devout Catholic. Before getting married she told the priest ... that she’d like to have a good Catholic husband and have eight sons and for all of them to be priests."

Fr Anthony's mother must have prayed hard. She had eight sons and one daughter. And four of her nine children entered a religious life.

Perhaps her determination, the steely resolve recreated in her son, is what lead to him starting his own order at just 22.

Led by his superior, Kiwi Father Michael Mary, what they have built together over 30 years is impressive.

Three monasteries worldwide. But it’s come at a cost. The Catholic Church hasn’t always been enthusiastic about their existence.

The Transalpine Redemptorists are traditionalists.

They hold to more gendered roles in church and home; an awkward fit in a world that has moved on swiftly since Vatican 2.

In 1962 the Latin Mass was forbidden and priests were directed by Rome to conduct Novus Ordo mass, in the language common to the country.

But the decision caused a schism. For traditionalists, it undermined the sacredness of the Mass and, for them, helped facilitate the undoing of society’s faith and certainty in what was right and wrong.

"The world does seem to be going further and further away from the law of God," he says.

That decline hasn’t been helped by the rise of modern music, says Father Anthony, who adores the purity of the Gregorian chant.

"It’s the highest form of music, it’s pure melody. And after melody you’ve got rhythm, and (after that) you’ve got beat.. It appeals to the lower part of the body... we don’t like having guitars and drums and things like that ... it doesn’t seem to be sacred ... it lowers your soul, it makes you more sensual."

The sneakiness of the modern sound contributes, Father Anthony believes, to the undoing of the soul.

So, to hold the space for more traditional views and to reflect "God’s will", the Redemptorists continued to conduct their mass in Latin.

But their actions, in contravention of church law, saw them rejected by Rome. It was a painful time.

"We were often treated with scorn, like lepers, or (like) something’s wrong with us."

Father Anthony says they were often questioned about why they couldn’t just follow the Church’s law and do what everyone else is doing.

"But our belief carried on, and in the end we were vindicated."

That vindication came via an order by Pope Benedict in 2007 which essentially invited the traditionalists back into the fold.

The Latin Mass was acceptable again, at least, uneasily.

This question has created an ongoing debate in the Church which, even now, continues to create uncertainty - an epic push and pull between the traditional and modern arms.

Meanwhile, the Redemptorists are resolute. Back home in the Mt St Joseph valley they have big plans.

Another monastery, built high on the mountain tops where the winds gust unforgivingly hard.

We go up to take a look at the building site. It’s a 15 minute uphill drive in a beast of a machine called a Tuatara.

Father Anthony drives it in the way he seems to do everything - hard, focused, straight ahead.

This is a man who has built most of the buildings on the land, who maintains the Tuatara, fixes the computer and sews the habits of every monk. Nothing fazes him; the work must simply be done.

The bumps and crevasses up the mountain are many, but we may as well be on a highway for all the difference they make to him. We’re on a mission, and we get to the top efficiently, determinedly.

There, the robes of the four monks whip relentlessly about them. It is beautiful, arresting imagery.

Hoods up, hands tucked into long sleeves, pushing against the wind as they tramp the building site.

Won’t it cost a lot? How are they financed?

Turns out there are many "who believe in what we’re doing".

The Mt St Joseph settlement has been funded by devoted patrons, based mainly in the US. Father Anthony is confident that more will fund the $1 million plus needed to build the monastery on the mountain.

I’m impressed by their determination and will. But, I’m keen to get off the mountain top, to the warmth of the farmhouse fire, and back to my own life. I am a Catholic girl, born and bred, but this is not, I am certain, the life for me.

The Redemptorists have clarity, the security of certainty. But I’ve always liked the grey, the in between, the debate. For me, it’s part of the promise of life, the beauty of what is not known. I leave the mountain top, and return to the valley.