Walking the Labyrinth: Guide My Steps, O God

Today I walked a labyrinth. It's a spiritual practice I have tried before but now the Adult Forum at my church is reading Barbara Brown Taylor's An Altar in the World: A Geography of Faith. In one of the chapters we discussed this morning, Taylor describes the spiritual discipline of "walking on the earth," of being connected with the ground that holds us up. We had also discussed how easy it is to fall into "cow paths," worn ruts that are direct but also unimaginative.

The most famous labyrinth is probably the one in Chartres Cathedral. Our church is having a competition for local artists to design a temporary labyrinth that can be set up on the lawn for Lent. It reminded me of the Franklin Community Garden and walking prayer maze that Dear Husband and I had discovered on one of our many daily quarantine walks way back last spring. I decided to check it out.

As you can see, the setting isn't much, especially this early in the year. But the half-circle, quasi-mushroom-shaped path was clear. I prayed before I started that the stress of house-hunting would be lifted. And then I walked. Not too fast, not slowly, just steadily onward, looking at the ground. 

I could see that other people had piled small stones on top of the brick painted "LOVE" at the center of the maze. Probably they had picked up a rock on their way in and left it--and the burden it represented--before spiraling out of the center.

I was not carrying a burden today so much as practicing the discipline of walking in the prescribed path. I could have easily stepped over the low brick markers, of course, but I chose not to. I found myself praying, "Direct my steps, O God."

On my way out, however, I couldn't help but notice that some of the bricks had fallen slightly out of line. I nudged them back into alignment with my foot. Then I picked up a chunk of brick to one side and carried it with me to a spot that no longer had a stone. This meant I deviated a somewhat from the path, but no one was waiting to take their turn or to pass me, so it seemed undisruptive, maybe even helpful to those who might come after me.

A charitable reading of this would be to say that it was like I was co-creating with God and the labyrinth builders. The bricks were out of place, and I was able to re-place them. A critical reading would suggest that I can't help meddling, that I assume my ideas are the correct ones, and that I can't leave well enough alone.

I can't tell you which is the correct answer, and maybe there isn't one. But I spent a short half hour in the thin sunshine, and I plan to walk the labyrinths at Chatham University and at Third Presbyterian Church later this Lent.

What spiritual disciplines are you practicing?