Introspection: This Winding Path (2019)

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This Winding Path (2019)

Bear with one another and, if anyone has a complaint against another, forgive each other; just as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive.

Colossians 3:13 (NRSV)

But where will you go

With no one left to save you from yourself?

You can't escape

The truth

I realize you're afraid

But you can't abandon everyone

You can't escape

You don't want to escape

From "Where Will You Go?" by Evanescence

I was first introduced to a prayer labyrinth during my junior year of college, while I was on a retreat at Lake Junaluska with the Wesley Fellowship.  I think that, when I first heard about a prayer labyrinth, I expected some kind of hedge maze, but, when I actually saw one, I learned that it consisted of a single winding path that leads to a center area.  Walking a labyrinth is a form of contemplative prayer.  The journey to the center is a time of letting go of things and turning them over to God.  Time spent in the center is time spent in the presence of God.  The journey from the center outward is a time of being open to God and receiving what God offers.

One labyrinth I've visited several times in the past is behind the chapel at Furman University, my Alma Mater.

To be honest, I've never really gotten much out of walking a prayer labyrinth.  A lesson I've gleaned in the past is that, in the same way I don't really know what I'm doing in a prayer labyrinth, I don't really know what I'm doing in life in general and that, despite my lack of understanding, I have to trust that God is somehow at work in it all.  Truth be told, I struggle with contemplative prayer practices in general because I have trouble quieting my mind.  I'd rather take a long reflective walk, on which I am not trying to quiet my mind and listen but rather trying to sort through my thoughts.

Earlier this month, the women's group at my church hosted a prayer drop-in and invited the whole congregation to join them.  A portable prayer labyrinth had been set up in the gym, and, when I dropped by that Saturday morning, I decided to give it a try again.  Once, when I walked the labyrinth at my college, I chose to remove my shoes out of reverence, but, because the labyrinth in the gym was made of fabric, I had to remove them.  New socks were available for people who were not wearing any, and I availed myself of a pair since mine were a bit holey.

Since I've never really gotten the hang of walking a prayer labyrinth, I ended up focusing less on what was going on within me and focusing moreso on what was going on around me.  Still, I believe that the external aspect of my experience offered a lesson of its own.

Before I stepped into the labyrinth, I lingered for a while at the chair where I removed my shoes and put on my socks, reading the instructions for walking the labyrinth.  Intentionally or not, I waited until the woman who was walking the labyrinth ahead of me finished before I entered.  While I worked my way to the center of the labyrinth, I was alone, but, while I was in the center, other people arrived and started working their way inward.  Four times on my way out, I came face to face with other people, and, because of the narrow pathways, we had to negotiate our way around each other.  One woman unnecessarily whispered, "I'm sorry," as we passed each other.

I was able to control whether or not I was alone as I worked my way to the center of the labyrinth, but I had no control over whether or not I was alone as I worked my way outward.  The journey inward is supposed to be a time of letting go, and the journey outward is supposed to be a time of receiving.  I wonder if maybe the thing of which I need to let go is my tendency to avoid people, and I wonder if maybe the thing I need to receive is the willingness to face people, even though we might bump into each other and step on each other's toes, figuratively speaking.

I've always kept to myself, but, because of things that happened over the last few years, I've become even more reluctant to open myself up to people.  I tend to opt for isolation because I don't want hurt someone, disappoint someone, or get myself into a situation in which more is expected of me than I am willing to give.  I also tend to avoid people I think I've disappointed.  There are currently more than seven and one half billion people in this world, so it is inevitable that we will collide with each other from time to time.  To use an expression from the world of computer programming, perhaps the possibility of conflict in life is not a bug but rather a feature.

I wonder if maybe God is calling me to give up my avoidance of people and to risk conflict with others.  Inevitably I'll get in someone else's way or step on someone else's toes, but all I can do is to say, "Excuse me," and move on.  In the end, everything will be alright.


The photograph of the prayer labyrinth was taken by me in 2011 at Furman University.