What is a Labyrinth?
Labyrinth enthusiasts have various and technical descriptions of what is, officially, a "labyrinth." My working definition is simple: A labyrinth is merely a long path wrapped up into a small, safe ace.
People have been using labyrinths for over four millennia. Unlike mazes, there are no dead-ends and no tricks. Labyrinths do not need to be "solved," they are - despite their visual complexity, profoundly simple. As a general rule, there is a single pathway that takes you into the center and out from it. All you have to do is follow the path.
Labyrinths are "archetypal" – they transcend any specific tradition or culture. They have been used throughout history in many ways and for many reasons. They are not uniquely Christian but have been uniquely embraced by some in the Christian faith as a helpful tool to facilitate prayer and meditation.
Why "use" a labyrinth?
Labyrinths are spiritual tools. Like any of the other tools we use to care for the inner part of our humanity (fasting, meditation, prayer, etc.), there are many ways to use them. There is no “right” or “wrong” way, no “appropriate” speed, and no special ritual or liturgy. There are no rules you need to learn or follow.
There are a few things, in particular, that I find uniquely appealing about this special tool:
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The labyrinth is a unique combination of order and chaos. In one sense, a well-built (and well-tended) labyrinth is the most ordered space in the universe; in another sense, a labyrinth is profoundly uncontrollable (and uncontrolled). I have learned, as I’ve progressed on my journey to be a more faithful person, that I need that. I have found that I need to be well-disciplined in order to be healthy and faithful (that doesn’t come naturally to me, it was a slowly-learned lesson). In the process I learned that there needs to be space inside that discipline for the Spirit to confront me with ideas and observations that I wouldn’t normally consider. The labyrinth is the only discipline that has managed to provide adequate “order” to my external self to provide the freedom for my internal self to safely confront whatever unknown the Spirit may want me to encounter.
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The labyrinth is not bound by time or space. The vast majority of my life follows an organized timeline: My sermons must be done by Sunday morning. Board meetings fall on a regular schedule. My children’s routines are (fairly) consistent. Amazon Prime ensure my shopping experience is timely and predictable. The labyrinth is not bound by such proclivities. I can schedule a labyrinth walk, but I cannot schedule when or how the divine one will use that walk to deal with me. I have learned, as I’ve progressed on my journey to be a more faithful person, that I need that. I often say that “any God I can fully comprehend isn’t worth my worship.” The labyrinth is a tool that I cannot fully comprehend and reveals a divinity beyond predictability.
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The labyrinth is all-inclusive. I am a white, straight, middle-class man who grew up in a patriarchal family, a masculine church, and a (not wealthy, but nonetheless) privileged community. The labyrinth does not preference any of what I am, indeed – it could be argued that the labyrinth, indeed, privileges the opposite of everything I am. Yet it does so without judgment. I have learned, as I’ve progressed on my journey to be a more faithful person, that I need that. The labyrinth requires me to experience the circuitous in a world that preferences the direct; it requires slowness in a world that preferences the immediate; it forces me to recognize my place in the midst of others’ and yet assures me that, though I am not special because of my privilege, I still belong.
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The labyrinth is safe. I remember asking, at my facilitators’ training, about whether we should say “in” or “on” a labyrinth. The trainers both referred to being “on” a labyrinth; I say “in.” Semantics are all about interpretation – for some, being “in” a labyrinth may seem constricting or claustrophobic. For me, it is safe. The labyrinth creates (dare I suggest) a mystical space to explore, to rest, and to recover. I have learned, as I’ve progressed on my journey to be a more faithful person, that I need that. The vast majority of my life is spent focusing on the needs and responding to the demands of others. The labyrinth provides a space – away from that – where I can focus on my own needs, where I can deal with my own failures and celebrate my own successes without fear or judgment.
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The labyrinth is profound. Depth is a strange thing. On one hand, it threatens the possibility of drowning; on the other, it confirms that the world is bigger than it seems on the surface. I have learned, as I’ve progressed on my journey to be a more faithful person, that I need that. One might think that, in my line of work, profundity is a common experience, but sadly it is surprisingly rare.