Adult Spiritual Formation: Notes from the Labyrinth Walk

By Verne Becker

As I drive from Nyack to walk the labyrinth at Church of the Presentation in Upper Saddle River, New Jersey, I alternately try to prepare myself for the experience and worry that no one will show up because of the blustery weather. It's sunny out, but cold and windy. I'm keeping my expectations low.

Over the past 25-30 years, labyrinths have emerged around the world as a powerful tool for prayer and meditation. Grace has sponsored several labyrinth events in recent years. Many have found it to be a calming, peaceful and insightful practice. It can be helpful to approach a labyrinth with an intention, a question, an issue one is wrestling with, or some kind of healing that is needed. Less than two weeks ago, I underwent successful cancer surgery and am now recovering. That might be a good starting place.

Upon arrival, I noticed the winds were stronger than in Nyack, and I switched to my warmer coat. Jan Valentine was unpacking and setting up her harp next to the labyrinth, when I heard a beautiful, otherworldly musical sound. It was the wind passing through Jan's harp strings, sending out sweeping harmonics that could be the soundtrack for a starling murmuration. She pulled out her phone to capture the sound: Listen. Even before I had the chance to take a few breaths and quiet myself down, the labyrinth was calling me to enter in.

I am barely a pilgrim when it comes to embarking on a labyrinth walk, but I have been learning to treat everything that happens -- before, during and after -- as metaphor, as a source of insight. I believe God is constantly beaming down signals that say "I am here," "I love you," "I care about you," "I am with you in your struggles," "I am in control," "I can show you the way," "Listen to me," "Follow me," "Trust me." But I never hear those words. Instead, I hear harp strings, see images, dreams, memories, nature, as well as whatever is going on around me as I walk the labyrinth. Feelings can arise without warning. The key is turning down the volume on one's inner noise so these divine messages can be heard.

Two more Grace parishioners arrive for a total of four participants: Art and Donna Soyk, Jan and me. We are joined by Beth Lawrence, a trained labyrinth facilitator from Church of the Presentation. She offers a simple introduction, and leads four of us onto the labyrinth while Jan plays her harp in the background.

The wind is blowing stiffly; I almost have to lean into it. I try too hard to extract meaning right away: Today's lesson is about facing adversity. I decide to surrender to the labyrinth and the weather and allow thoughts and feelings to flow on their own.

As I walk, I muse on the role wind has played in my life over the years. A dream I had while going through a divorce many years ago comes to mind. I was sitting at a picnic table in my back yard, and the wind was blowing so hard the table lifted off the ground yet remained in place midair. The wind's force was so great I could not even move; I was glued to the table. Meanwhile, my 8-year-old son came running effortlessly from the house, completely unencumbered by the wind. Then a song by Peter Gabriel starts playing in my head, and I recall a few lines ... "It's only in uncertainty / That we're naked and alive / ... I can get so scared / Listen to the wind." It occurs to me that one of my all-time favorite Bible verses is John 3:8: "The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit." Then the movie "Chocolat" comes to mind, in which a nomadic chocolatier, played by Juliet Binoche, sets up shop for a season until she notices a distinct shift in the wind, and then moves on. At the end, she feels the wind shifting again, but something in her says to ignore the wind this time and join the community.

Much of the time I walk with my head down so I don't wander off the weaving path. The stones have weathered somewhat, and the path does not stand out as clearly from the background as it once did. It's difficult to discern the path on the straight sections, where several paths run parallel, but as soon as I reach a turning point, I can see exactly which path is mine. Turning point ... turning point ... certainly my recent cancer diagnosis and surgery was a turning point, as well as a wake-up call, a reminder of my mortality. What path has my life been following? What changes do I need to make? Do I need to move in a new direction? How much time do I have left? What is truly important to me going forward?

While the wind continues, a dark cloud moves above us, obliterating the sun and delivering an additional chill. I hear grains of sand bouncing off my hood, then notice white specks on my coat. It's sleeting. We all hold on to our coats and keep walking. The total distance to the center of the labyrinth and back is about the length of two football fields. We all pause for a minute or two upon reaching the center, and then proceed to retrace our steps back to the beginning. Our pace picks up slightly, especially as the sleet changes to rain. Jan starts to pack up her harp.

At this point most of my attention has shifted to the weather, and I feel the challenge of just making it to the end. Still, I am able to marvel at how, in a short span of time, we have experienced sun, wind, sleet and rain. Maybe God is saying, "I'm bigger than the weather, bigger than you and your fears, bigger than your cancer. I'm in control and I will take care of you."

Upon exiting from the labyrinth, we watch as the black cloud passes over. The rain stops, and the sun breaks through. Beth says, "Now all we need is a rainbow." Sure enough, we look to the eastern sky and there it is. The labyrinth experience I worried would be a bust has turned into a wonderful display of God's power and love.