For at least twenty years, I have enjoyed walking labyrinths. Labyrinths are maze-like structures that have been used as spiritual tools for centuries. For the past seven years, I’ve been walking labyrinths throughout the northeastern United States, and blogging about them. To learn more about labyrinths, check out this page at the Labyrinth Society. To find labyrinths near you, try the Worldwide Labyrinth Locator.

Whenever I walk a labyrinth, I enter with a question in mind. I ask this question as I cross the threshold into the liminal space of the labyrinth. During the walk, without fail, I receive some answer, or some insight, or some sort of response. Somehow I must be especially attuned to labyrinths. I am very grateful for this.

As I drove toward the labyrinth at Stockton Presbyterian Church in Stockton, New Jersey, I thought about what had happened the day before. I was leading a workshop to help people to learn how to tell their story of faith, a narrative of how they’ve experienced faith, how they’ve experienced God, throughout their lives. One of the questions I asked them to prepare them for writing this story was, “Who are your spiritual heroes?” Some responded that their parents were among their spiritual heroes. Some mentioned particular saints or biblical figures. But two of them said something that floored me. They said that I am among their spiritual heroes.

On the outside, I tried to say thank you and brush it off. But inside, I was filled with emotions. It felt like alarm bells had gone off, like a great firewall slammed down within my heart, protecting me, with giant flashing neon letters saying, “DO NOT LISTEN. DO NOT LISTEN. THIS IS NOT TRUE.” Suffice it to say, I had trouble accepting the compliment. It upset me to hear that. As I drove to the labyrinth in Stockton, I wanted to explore why I had so much trouble hearing it.

I arrived at the church, and parked near the labyrinth. It’s a 5-circuit medieval style, with crushed stone path and inlaid brick walls. I decided that my question would be, Why am I so uncomfortable with being told I’m among someone’s spiritual heroes?

On the inward walk, I explored my thoughts related to hearing the compliment: It’s wrong. I’m a fraud. If they knew who I really was, they wouldn’t say that. And so forth. All very familiar words. I’ve been down this road many times before.

As I approached the center of the labyrinth, I recognized that there was something good about hearing someone say that, but I just won’t let it sink all the way in. There’s a feeling there in me that just isn’t right. As I stood in the center, I wondered what that feeling was. It felt raw – fragile – painful – tender. It’s like a nerve being touched. An exposed nerve. An unhealed spot. A sign that something is wrong, that something needs care.

At the center of this labyrinth is an icon of the Holy Spirit. She’s in there, within the center of the labyrinth, just as she is in the center of me, even in the exposed, painful places. And even though the Spirit of God is there, it still hurts. I can’t take that kind of compliment in, because something inside is unhealed. Something there needs care.

I want to keep exploring this. Watch for the next post.