Running the Labyrinth
During my final Holy Week in the church where I served as associate pastor, I spent a significant amount of time trying to figure out how to create an indoor labyrinth without spending a significant amount of money. I needed to provide an alternative activity for children during the somber Good Friday service; the holy day seemed to me to be an ideal time to introduce children to the spiritual practice of walking a labyrinth.
Early in my tenure, I attempted to make the case that our church property was well-suited for an outdoor labyrinth. In my mind, at least three locations appeared to be ideal settings. My lobbying was rebuffed with a single declaration: “Some people will think it’s too Catholic.”
In subsequent years, I investigated the possibility of purchasing a portable labyrinth for the church (too expensive) or renting one during Holy Week (also not in the budget). After briefly considering buying a portable labyrinth on my own dime, I gave up.
The pull of the labyrinth remained strong, though. When I took our youth to Penuel Ridge Retreat Center near Nashville, I watched with delight as they explored the 11-circuit labyrinth carved into the meadow. The students who I would have deemed least likely to engage with a labyrinth were the ones who were most drawn to its mystery.
How could I pull off a labyrinth experience for children in a Sunday School classroom on Good Friday? I was determined to make it happen. After viewing images online of labyrinths created with LED rope lights, I thought I had found my answer.
I tested each rope light individually before linking the strands. Within minutes, my dream of rendering Chartres-inspired circuits with rope lights was dashed. Labyrinth-making was going to be far more challenging than anticipated. I recalled the images I had seen online - those were outdoor labyrinths with rope lights staked to the ground. My space was indoors and carpeted. I checked the weather forecast. Indoors was indeed my only option.
On Maundy Thursday, I wrestled with the packing tape dispenser for hours. The plastic tubing was determined to defy my repeated attempts to subdue it. Finally, as the time neared to return to my office to prepare for the evening service, I managed to construct a viable labyrinth. I plugged in the linked ropes and turned off the overhead lights. Inhaling deeply, I admired my handiwork. I knew I would need to retape multiple sections of the labyrinth the following day, but I had achieved a variation on my original goal. I unplugged the rope lights and closed the door.
After arriving at the church on Good Friday shortly after noon, I opened the door to the classroom and sighed. Although a few strips of tape had held, the majority had succumbed to the pressure of rope lights yearning to be free. I quickly set to work, using strategies honed on the previous day. When I plugged in the linked ropes again, an unwelcome puff of smoke emerged from the outlet. I yanked the plug out of the wall. Burning down the church on Good Friday was not an option.
I wanted to cry or curse. Instead, I ripped the ropes up from the carpet and carried them to the trash can. Good riddance. Then I mentally shifted gears. What was my new plan? To Target I would go.
I returned from my errand with three boxes of battery-operated candles – 6 dozen twist-flame LED tealights. With time running out, I had an epiphany. I didn’t need to lay out the labyrinth: This could be a DIY project.
A few hours later, the children entered the nearly bare room. They had attended the Maundy Thursday service the previous evening, so we reflected on that experience together, recounting the things we had seen on the table at the center of the room – the loaf of bread on the plate, the cluster of grapes beside the cup. We recalled the story of the meal Jesus shared with his friends in the upper room. What had Jesus said that night? Remember me.
Then I exhibited one of their favorite items from the children’s prayer room: a wooden finger labyrinth. The children always vied for a chance to hold this lovely labyrinth. They already knew they could talk to God while they traced the smooth path with their fingers. Soon they would explore a similar spiral with their feet. The labyrinth was an embodied way for children to remember Jesus.
The children were intrigued when I opened the boxes of battery-operated candles. Wide smiles spread across their faces as I described their mission to create their own labyrinth on the floor. Beginning in the center of the room, they worked together to place the tealights at regular intervals, carefully flipping on each tiny switch. Slowly the spiral pathway emerged, ever-widening, filling the floor.
When I turned off the overhead lights, the room was transformed, and so were the children. They positioned themselves as close as possible to the spiral’s entrance while listening intently to my instructions: As you walk, remember Jesus. Then, at last, with instrumental music playing quietly in the background, the children took turns walking the labyrinth.
Again and again, their little feet trod the path illuminated by the tealights. I don’t know what was going through their minds, but their body language spoke volumes. The children embraced this contemplative spiritual practice wholeheartedly.
As they took turns walking among the spiral of lights, they began to pick up speed. Eventually, they began to run. I resisted the impulse to implore them to slow down. What was wrong with running the labyrinth? I wanted their introduction to this spiritual practice to be positive and engaging. Perhaps if the adults who viewed labyrinths as being suspect had encountered one as children, they wouldn’t have labeled them as taboo for Baptists.
An 11-circuit, Chartes-inspired labyrinth is situated in a Sacred Garden adjacent to the historic sanctuary where I now worship. When I was researching congregations in preparation for our move to Western North Carolina, the photo of the labyrinth on this church’s website felt like a wink from God.
My grandson is fond of visiting this Sacred Garden. Not surprisingly, he also loves to the run the labyrinth. “Run with me, Tam Tam!” He exhorts. And so I do.
Invitation to wonder: Were you taught that a particular spiritual practice was taboo? What new spiritual practice have you explored recently?
