Jackson at the Shrine Labyrinth |
In a fortuitous coincidence, I
spent this Autumnal equinox on a day-long retreat at the Shrine of St. Therese
in Juneau. Our women’s book group at the
Cathedral had long wanted to do a retreat, and when the opportunity arrived for
a dear friend of my mother’s to come in from down south to facilitate a
labyrinth retreat for us, it seemed perfect.
The morning of the retreat did not seem perfect, however. I didn’t want to wake up early and get out of
bed on my one day where sleeping in is a possibility. I didn’t want to spend the day outside
walking in circles in the rain. But I
went because I wanted to spend the day with women I loved, and I wanted to eat
the soup my mother was bringing for lunch, and I wanted to explore the
labyrinth—an ancient prayer form which I had little experience with.
Despite its common associations with
mazes, there is actually no way to get lost in a labyrinth. The windy path may confuse you with turns and
unexpected bends which will bring you close to the center and then far away in
a matter of steps, but on a labyrinth, if you follow the path, you will
eventually make your way to the center, and then after a period of reflection,
you will make your way out again. Prior
to the retreat, I hadn’t understood the point of labyrinths. Maybe I was trying too hard to have the kind
of experience I thought I should have (always a killer to prayer). Maybe I was afraid to abandon myself to this
experience. And so on this first walk
our facilitator, Twylla, asked us to just be open to what was, with no
expectations. One by one she started us
on our way, until all 18 of us were traveling the path at our own pace, all on
very different parts of our journey, and yet journeying together.
My mother was the first to enter
the narrow way. I hung back, on the
outskirts of the labyrinth, watching in silence as the women walked. And I was surprised. Far from being anxious or bored, waiting for
my turn to begin, I realized I was already there with them. I felt the Holy Spirit whisper, See how your mother walks. There she is on the path. See how calm and purposeful her steps—she’s
not afraid of this journey. How quickly
she comes near the center, and how quickly she leaves it again to the outer
rings. The journey is long, and
after my own first curves I realize I didn’t know where I was anymore. How far
am I? Where will I go next? And the whispering of the Spirit, Go slow.
Go slow. Be present.
And as I tried to sink into this
moment of walking with presence I noticed moments of peace and joy and moments
of anxiety. How much further? I wondered.
And the Spirit assured me, Be
here, with your feet on this simple path.
The rain came hard and then passed, but we kept walking, arranging a
hood or a scarf as we went. Soon, as the
women reached the center and then began their way out again we began to pass
each other. And as I stepped aside or
offered a silent hug I thought, I love
her. I love her. I love her.
And then I imagined God saying the same thing in such delight and
joy and love, or maybe in grief or compassion:
I love her. I love her.
I love her.
And then, just as I was about to
reach the center, I paused to hug a woman who was coming out, and she broke the
silence to whisper in my ear, “Did you see the rainbow?” So I stood in the middle of the labyrinth and
turned my body toward the bright colors in the sky over Amalga harbor, and I
heard, I am there in your sorrow and your
joy. I am there in the sunshine and the
rain. And the question I didn’t even know I had been asking is thrown up at
me in stark relief, Can I, in my joy and
my depression be oriented to the rainbow of faith and grief flung
together? Can I look for the beauty in
the darkness?
Sometimes what is, is. There is sorrow and grief in this broken
world and we all must die. And in the
midst of it, we often don’t know where we are:
Close to the middle? Circling the
outskirts? And there is the chaos of
not-knowing: How much further do I have to love this path? To love my grandmother and my mother on this
path? But I do know that the ground
of our being is Love. This Holy Ground
that sometimes looks like a mud pit and other times a garden is really the
great I AM the constant One, who supports us in the Light and in the
darkness. And now is a time of
darkness. Can I celebrate it? Can I welcome it?
Later on, looking through some of the
reference books on Labyrinths which Twylla brought, I read about suggestions
for walking the labyrinth during the Autumnal equinox: “This is the day to celebrate the return of
the darkness; it is a time of slowing down, of getting ready to burrow into the
earth. Unfortunately . . . we have lost
touch with our need to wind down, to replenish, to rejuvenate. . . . Let this
walk be slow and calming with no tasks, no thoughts, no agendas. Sit peacefully in quiet meditation. If possible, take a nap in the center. Walk out as slowly as you can” (Labyrinths from the Outside In by Donna
Schaper and Carole Ann Camp).
Oh, to take a nap, and rest and be
in the center of this love and to allow myself to just feel the sadness that
comes upon me this time of year. There
is a blessing in mortality. There is a
blessing in darkness. There is a
blessing in sorrow and loss. Perhaps
it’s the shadow side of joy and love and the deeper we feel one the deeper we
must feel the other. Perhaps it is a
sharing in the Paschal mystery and the Cross of Christ.
In the Atrium last week with my 9 to 12
year-olds, I led a meditation on the great Plan of God, to bring all of creation
to the full enjoyment of God. Afterwards
one of my sixth graders who is an altar server asked me if we could go over to
the church. “Of course,” I said, “What
would you like to do at the church?”
“I would like to carry the cross,”
he replied, referencing the cross that is carried in procession by an Altar
server at the beginning and the end of the Mass. “Whenever I carry the cross,” he reflected,
“something inside me wants to carry it more.”
Perhaps the darkness is my cross in
these bleak months. Maybe in being
present to carrying it I could learn to want to carry it more. Or maybe I should just build a labyrinth in
my yard.
Katy, thanks so much for this WONDEFUL piece, which I read in the newspaper. Thankfully it pointed to your blog, which I didn't know you had until now. I am enjoying the older posts very much as well!
ReplyDeleteRobert P.