This is one of a series of posts about a trip I took to walk labyrinths in July 2022. See this post to see why I refer to these labyrinths as my “Emmaus labyrinths.” Note: the numbering refers not to how many labyrinths I walked on this trip, but to the total number I’ve blogged about so far.
This is a six-circuit classical labyrinth in the grass behind St. Paul’s Episcopal Church. It’s fascinating – the path of this labyrinth is grass, and the walls are spray painted onto the grass! Which means two things: first, it’s really hard to even see that there’s a labyrinth there until you’re right on it. And secondly, this labyrinth has to be constantly maintained, or it will disappear with just a few mowings! I found this fascinating.
I was moved by the impermanence of this labyrinth, and I thought about the impermanence of the experiences I have in these labyrinths. The deep insights I so often receive fade so easily after I return. So my question was: “What can I take home with me to keep practicing? How can I make the temporary permanent?”
It was hard to follow the path while walking this one. It’s interesting that there is signage all over the property directing people (and inviting people) to the labyrinth. Yet once you are here, it’s a challenge to follow it. That might be an image of the Christian life. Everyone is invited, and everyone is welcome, but once you are here, it can be a challenge to live out. Nonetheless, I was able to walk it. This path, so tenuous, so temporary, always in need of a touch-up – just like our faith, I suppose.
The message I heard as I was walking was, “Keep moving. Keep looking. Rest, but don’t stop.” Everything is tentative and temporary unless you keep moving.
Rest, but don’t stop.