I enjoy walking labyrinths. Labyrinths are maze-like structures that have been used as spiritual tools for centuries. There are many of them around, and I am in the habit of trying to visit a lot of them. For more information about labyrinths, check out The Labyrinth Society. Find where labyrinths are in your area at the Worldwide Labyrinth Locator.

I drove to this labyrinth immediately after walking #74, the one at Portiuncula Center for Prayer. Before I even got in my brother-in-law’s car (which he generously let me borrow for this trip), I knew what my question was going to be for this one: What from my childhood still needs to be healed?

As I drove, it occurred to me that what I meant by that question was this: What from my childhood do I still need to atone for? Because it just never occurs to me that I might have been hurt as a child – all I know is that I did hurt other people. But I decided to keep the question as I had worded it, because who knows? Maybe there is something I’ll discover.

I arrived at the Center, and found the labyrinth. It was another Chartres replica. This one was made completely of brick-sized pavers, one color for the path and another for the walls. When I arrived, there was a woman sitting in a chair near the labyrinth, with a watering can and a trowel next to her. We briefly said “hello.” I assumed she worked here, and was taking a break from her work, or something. I sat on a different bench and started to journal. I felt somewhat self-conscious with the woman there. It didn’t seem like she planned to walk the labyrinth, though, so I figured I might as well walk it myself. Despite how many labyrinths I’ve walked, I don’t often encounter others right at the place, and I’m not entirely sure about how the etiquette should work. My instinct is to be quietly respectful of one another, and do your own thing. Right or wrong, that’s what I did. I heard a wind chime suddenly start to bing bong with the breeze, so I took that as a sign that it was my time to walk. I got up, and did.

It was a rather painful walk. Not physically, although the sun was hot and there wasn’t any shade. But emotionally, it was tough. I entered with the question, What from my childhood still needs to be healed? And the answer was almost immediate: You were a bad child. No specifics were necessary, and none were given. My whole childhood was nothing but pain I caused for other people. I tried to think about whether there were any particular incidents, and I just kept hearing, You were a bad child. Inconsiderate and selfish. I thought about a seminary classmate I recently ran into at Synod Assembly. She and I briefly referred to the way I acted when I was in seminary in my twenties, and then she said, “But we loved you anyway.” As I walked the labyrinth, I wondered if my childhood inconsiderateness and selfishness lingered into adulthood, and maybe even up to the present.

It’s no wonder I thought like this in the labyrinth. My self-image has so often been: I was awful, and maybe I still am. I can never view my past with anything but filth-colored lenses. And today, when I’m trying to figure out how best to relate to my sister, I wonder: what is it that really needs to be healed from my childhood? Is it my self-image? Or is it the people I hurt along the way? Or maybe both?

It fits in well with my obsession with the Enneagram as well. I identify with Number Four on the Enneagram, and I’ve read that one attribute of Fours is that from childhood, we’ve felt like “something was missing or wrong.” Amen to that. Something has always seemed missing – me, the goodness that I should have always had. It feels sometimes like my baptism just didn’t take.

But I also know that my childhood could not have been the way I remember it. I know that I could not have been an intrinsically “wrong” or “evil” child. I was someone who made some bad choices, someone who didn’t always deal well with what came my way. But I have also always had some good qualities, and I have also made some good choices as well.

But it’s so hard to remember my childhood objectively, because that feeling of self-hatred is so strong, and colors everything with its shadowy brush. Maybe that’s another good reason to talk with people more, and open up more, to hear their take on how things happened. I know it can’t be quite the way I remember it – I know there was more light than I can recall. And maybe I can see that light if I can hear things from another perspective.

After walking away from the labyrinth, I felt miserable, empty, dry. I had two other labyrinths on my itinerary for the day, but I didn’t feel like going to them. On the other hand, I didn’t want to end this journey feeling like this. I knew there was a chapel somewhere on the grounds of the Center, and I started walking, trying to find it.

I found it, and walked inside. There was nobody else there, but it felt so inviting and welcoming. I felt like I belonged there. It was a little building, seating for only fifty or sixty maybe. Above the altar was a beautiful stained glass window. At the center was an image of Jesus praying in Gethsemane, an image that I’ve known since my childhood – above the altar in my childhood church was a stained glass window of that exact image. But this one was different. Jesus was in the center, but around him was a beautiful swirl of deep blues and reds. The blues felt to me like the deep, dark waters of baptism, and the reds the fire of the Holy Spirit, dancing around Jesus in an intricate pattern.

I noticed that this small wood-and-stone chapel had two large cross beams going across the room, one toward the front and one toward the back. I know nothing about architecture – were they load-bearing? I guess? But I do know my own theology, and they were certainly load-bearing in that way, because there were words carved in each of them. The one in the front said, “LOVE NEVER FAILETH,” and the one in the rear said, “GO IN PEACE.”

I sat in the front pew for a few minutes, and it felt as though a voice was speaking to me: “I have always been here. So have you. It is OK.” I felt empty and completely open in this place. And I felt the water of baptism flowing. I am whole. I am healed and I am healing. And I can go on, I can be compassionate toward others, and I can share who I am.

I’m so grateful to find this chapel. I needed that labyrinth, and I needed this chapel. I drove away, bought some coffee, and went back to my sister’s house.