Labyrinth

I'm sure the title will be misleading, but everything else I tried just served to take away the power of that one word.  This is not a discussion of the Jim Henson film starring Jennifer Connelly and David Bowie, and I apologize if that is disappointing to you.  As it evolves, though, there may be some parallels.

This morning, my family and I walked the labyrinth at Glendale United Methodist Church, here in Nashville.  It's a cold and gray morning, pretty typical of Tennessee in early April, so we weren't able to really savor the experience as I'd have liked, but for a first very short labyrinth walk, a surprising number of thoughts came into my head.  

To back up a little, I first learned of labyrinth as a spiritual discipline in a Spiritual Formation class I took last spring.  As the only 50-something in a class full of late teens and early 20-somethings, I had gotten used to the reactions of my classmates to things they'd never heard of.  Most of the class enthusiastically participated in discussion of the Enneagram, while looking with disdain at things like marking the beginning of our class meeting with lighting a candle, building an altar on a beach during a vacation, and making household chores into a time of communion with God and the world (thank you, Barbara Brown Taylor, who also received disdain from several in the class).  And the labyrinth was no exception.  In this particular case, it was outside of my realm of experience as well, but it was a new concept that made me sit up and take notice.  First, at the time I was beginning to crave new spiritual experiences, new ways to recognize my connection to God, the body of humanity, and the created world--not new ways TO connect, mind you, since those connections are always there, but often missed.  Second, I'm a math girl, and puzzles and shapes get my mojo working.  Third, the labyrinths we looked at were all outdoors, and I've always found being in nature, in work or play or quiet, to be the best thing I could do for my mind, body, and soul.  So labyrinth, to me, was an exciting intersection of all those things, and something I could do without buying a bunch of books or special equipment, or traveling halfway around the world.

But in the hustle and bustle of the last year, I completely forgot about it, until a chance conversation last Sunday brought it to the front of my consciousness again.  So I decided that this Good Friday, when the kids and I have the day off, that we would experience a labyrinth right here in Nashville.  When we got to the beginning of the labyrinth, I explained to the kids a general idea of what it was for--walking, certainly, but also thinking, being aware of your surroundings, maybe praying or just being quiet, but also not doing anything to infringe on the experience of those who are walking near you.  So we all started off--my husband and kids walking ahead of me while I took my time.

The labyrinth at Glendale is inspired by that of the Chartres Cathedral in France (see image).  At the bottom is the start (and end), and in the center is the midpoint.  Several things came to mind as I was walking quietly.  First, the path doesn't go straight to the center.  This is an exercise in patience.  We don't get to the goal immediately, but meander around, like the Hebrews wandering in the desert for forty years instead of just going straight from Egypt to the Promised Land.  Second, it doesn't just go in concentric circles, like a spiral.  Each part of the path goes first in a quarter-circle, then doubles back on itself, as if we're going back the way we just came from.  In life, we have to revisit the things we did before, doing things better than we did the first time, experiencing the same scenery in a different way.  We're not really backtracking, but practicing.  Third, there are parts of the path that get very close to the center before moving back toward the outside to another loop.  When we have a goal in sight, we may get very close to accomplishing that goal, but need to step back and look at it again, change our approach, and move toward the goal from a different direction.  Next, this is not a maze.  There is a definite start, only one path going both in and out, one central point, and a definite end.  Spirituality is not a maze, where we wander around aimlessly, often lost, often confused, and we may reach the center if we get colossally lucky.  It's a journey, and every point of the journey is growth, moving forward, whether or not we recognize it as such.  We reach the center not by luck, but by continuing to put one foot in front of the other.  Finally, when we walk the labyrinth with others, we may meet our fellow travelers several times on the journey.  My family walked much more quickly than I did, and yet we passed each other many times throughout.  Even though we all were quiet, the smiles we gave each other as we passed were of amusement--how could that happen when they were so far ahead of me?  Our journey to communion is not a competition, there is no winner or loser:  we're all pilgrims, seekers.  The points where our journey runs parallel to that of others are opportunities to share, to care, to love.  To acknowledge that we're not the only ones traveling here.  To receive and give comfort.  To recognize that even though we all may have different stories, our stories intersect, infuse, and influence each other's.  

I admit I was a little skeptical going in to the labyrinth.  How could such a simple thing make any kind of impact?  How many times a day do I walk that same distance and never think a single thing, except about where I'm going or what I need to do when I get there?  Why was this different?  I think part of it was walking in the footsteps of those who have gone before, and not just in this labyrinth, but in all labyrinths, all spiritual journeys throughout time.  It was a connection to people I've never seen or known, people of all cultures, races, religions, national origins, ages, and abilities.  It was unhurried--I have no idea how much time it took, because I didn't check the time going in or coming out.  I was present, not thinking about the breakfast we had just eaten, or the myriad things we have to do today.  For that short period of time, all my life was about was that one thing.  There were no shoulds, no buts, no expectations.   I look forward to going back, spending more time, reflecting on different things, seeing what is revealed.  I'm confident each new experience with the labyrinth will bring new insights and new growth.