Yesterday, while at an ecumenical day of reflection for spiritual directors, I had the opportunity to walk a labyrinth at Mercy Center in St. Louis. I’ve heard and read about labyrinths, but this was my first time experiencing one. Unlike an English garden maze, which I have experienced (and it was frustrating and a little scary…) a labyrinth offers only one path and it’s not out to trick you or get you lost. There are no high hedges to hem you in, only parallel rows of white rocks and a mulched walkway. There’s only one way in and one way out. So setting my own pace and simply following the path, I was moved — however rambling — toward the labyrinth’s peaceful center under a tree.
There’s nothing inherently mystical or sacred about a labyrinth, for it’s the intention and attention of the walker that makes the path holy. But I found it to be a gentle, guiding tool for meditation on the movement of God in my life, a meaningful melding of the spiritual and the physical.
It is, of course, an apt metaphor for our spiritual journey, for only by continuing to walk and trusting the path we are on and its Creator can we reach the center where God waits for us, patient as a friend and lover. And like the labyrinth, God is not out to trick us or set traps for us, for when following the way of Christ (“I am the way, the truth and the life…”) we do not need to worry about which way to turn, as long as we keep to the path. The call of the labyrinth, like the call of God, is to quiet our minds, to trust our steps and to move ever forward to the center, the unmoving mover of all.
Ask yourself in silence: Do I trust the path I am walking? If not, am I on the wrong path?