Monday Morning Musing: Walking the Walk

I have a story to share this morning that is still so fresh and new and tender that to share it almost feels too early.  I’ve been holding it and revisiting it and remembering it for four short days; it is still teaching me.  And it’s also asking to be shared on this brisk St. Patrick’s Day morning (luck of the Irish to those who celebrate!)

During Lent, the congregation with whom I serve has laid out a labyrinth in Luther Hall.  Luther Hall is a part of what is called the “legacy building” on this site.  The original church building was downtown.  Once the sanctuary, Luther Hall is now the worship space for our contemporary worship service, the place where the quilters quilt, the spot where community choirs rehearse, and the rainy day play area for our preschool.  Among other things.  I am of the opinion that this space functions as “church” better than any space in our building, perhaps. 

On Wednesday evenings in Lent, we are surrounding the labyrinth with aids that help us experience God through one of our senses.  Last Wednesday, the labyrinth was surrounded with a singing bowl, a rain stick, chimes, shakers, and a bowl of water where small pebbles landed with a plop. We were finding the holy in sound.   The lights were dimmed and it was a peace filled space.  

Our labyrinth is temporary (although there is a longing to have a permanent one) and for many people, this was their first encounter with it.  I served as the labyrinth host, answering questions, and when asked “how do I do this?” offering assurance that there wasn’t really a right way, but to let the path guide you.  When pressed, I suggested some of my own practices: carrying prayers while walking, holding someone in our hearts, laying down our burdens in the center. 

One of the children in the congregation, who is about ten years old, approached me with the question “how do I do this?”  I told them and they pressed for more, which I offered.  And then they looked me square in the eye and asked “will you walk with me part of the way?”  Oh my.  Standing there the air shimmered and I thought to take off my shoes, for surely the presence of God was with us there – a trinity of sorts – and we were standing on holy ground.

I walked alongside them and they became lost in their intention as they walked.  Not hurrying, not noticing others, not hesitant in the least.  Eventually they looked up at me and said “I think I can do it now.” 

The metaphor is obvious, isn’t it?  On the winding path that is life sometimes all that we need is someone to walk alongside us, even for part of the way.  Just until we get our footing.  Just until we understand.  Just until our hearts believe we can walk on our own. 

Of course, we were never alone on that path.  There were others walking, too.   That’s one of the gifts of the labyrinth, that even if we are the only ones there at that moment, other feet have walked that path – prayed, laid down burdens, rejoiced, wept. 

I don’t remember the first time I walked a labyrinth, but I know that this has been a part of my spiritual practice for decades.  A labyrinth holds those who walk it and receives all that is carried with them.  It’s an invitation to understanding our steps as walking with the Divine, however we experience it/them.

Dear Ones, on this day, wherever your steps take you, may you know that God, who is Love, walks alongside you, loving you and the world around you and encouraging you on the journey.

 If you are in the South Sound area of Washington State, know that you are welcome to join us on these Wednesdays in Lent, at 6:00, as we walk the labyrinth at Gloria Dei Lutheran Church (1515 Harrison Ave. NW, Olympia, WA). At 6:45 we sing Holden Evening Prayer around the labyrinth.

To locate a labyrinth near you, visit www.labyrinthlocator.org