The Labyrinth Journey Continues

When Easter arrived and my Lenten labyrinth-walking experience was officially over, I was ready to release myself of the daily discipline of finding the time to: choose a labyrinth, get myself there, walk it, transport myself back home, and then journal about it all. And I can honestly say that I have enjoyed the reprieve during the three weeks that have followed. That said, my long-term intent was to continue walking labyrinths every so often, especially seeking them out during my travels. Well, I “traveled” to DC this past week and decided to try out a labyrinth I had found on the World-Wide Labyrinth Locator website (https://labyrinthlocator.com/) early in Lent, one that was on the rooftop of an 8-story professional building just a block from Union Station. In all the walking of labyrinths I’d done during Lent, none had been on top of a roof so I was excited to discover what this particular experience would offer.

I wasn’t disappointed.

First off, the rooftop setting was beautifully designed with multiple sitting areas containing chairs and benches arranged around low coffee tables for intimate group sharing. While there wasn’t an obvious bar up there, I still envisioned rooftop Happy Hour gatherings enjoyed by the professionals who worked in that building. The most stunning visual was the L-shaped metal pergola, enveloping most of these sitting areas; it was dripping with heavy bunches of purple wisteria blossoms. Maybe it was the thought of Happy Hour still lingering in my mind that invited me to see these gorgeous blooms as grapes.

I took about 20 minutes to sit and meditate in this visually stunning “vineyard” before walking and, perhaps no surprise for a biblical storyteller, the thought that kept coming to me was Jesus’ parable about the wine and wineskins, particularly how new wine has to be put in new wineskins because its vibrant potency would be too much for the old skins, bursting them to the point of waste and ruin. Many sermons have been preached on this metaphoric passage, encouraging congregations to renew themselves, their spiritual lives, even their outdated physical buildings so as to invite, accommodate, and nourish new beliefs, methodologies, and members. And many of those messages have not been welcomed because change is perceived as too hard, too scary, too much work. Humans tend to be creatures of comfort and change, especially big change, is simply a step too far. “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. And we ain’t broke!”

It was with these thoughts still swirling around in my heart, soul, mind, and spirit that I began to walk the labyrinth. And the message I seemed to receive was that maybe change didn’t always have to involve big, earth-shattering, “road-to-Damascus” differences. It was indeed possible for small changes in location and perspective to open up completely new vistas.

My urban rooftop frame of reference was in the midst of a densely populated neighborhood of other tall, professional buildings, each with its own unique architectural style. There was a lot to take in visually. So while I had often walked my Lenten labyrinths with my eyes cast downward, on this day I consciously looked straight ahead at the various structures in my direct line of vision. Of course, “ahead” kept changing with each curve of the labyrinth. But what I also noticed, perhaps for the first time, was that where I was within the labyrinth also determined what was ahead of me. I could be facing due north but what I saw while facing that direction from the far right side of the circle was different from what was revealed from the far left side or from the center. Once I realized this, I intentionally looked for new perspectives as I journeyed along the meandering path.

Sometimes, just one additional step suddenly opened up a vista between two buildings, allowing me to now see something completely new in the gap that had previously been obscured. The closer I was to the large building to the south, the less I was able to see the dome of the Capitol in the distance; but when I moved to the opposite rim of the labyrinth, I not only saw more of the dome but now also several stone eagles gracing the top of a structure in between. Occasionally, getting closer to a building gave me a better glimpse into its windows so as to realize that curtains or other décor were actually shabbier than they appeared at first blush. I was even amazed by how just moving a little further into the middle allowed me to notice that a large pot housing a big plant just outside of the labyrinth’s circumference was seriously damaged on one side, a fact that was completely hidden from the vantage point at the labyrinth’s opening.

I was fascinated by how little effort it took on my part to experience dozens and dozens of different views and perspectives. Hm … perhaps there’s a sermon there …

Which made me think, again, of the wineskins. Maybe if the new wine is only minimally different, the old skins will be able to handle it. And once the old skins acclimate to this new reality, they’ll then be able to accommodate another boost or change in wine vibrancy … and so on, and so on, one baby step at a time. This approach takes longer, for sure, and can be extremely frustrating for progressive thinkers who want bigger changes ASAP. And, yes, sometimes circumstances do require BIG. CHANGE. NOW.

But other times, maybe it’s possible—preferable, even—to move more incrementally, where the main surrounding structures are still in place and reassuringly visible, where they, in fact, might actually be integral to the new perspectives, requiring only slight shifts in location and point of view. This approach could possibly allow humans to be more willing to see and acknowledge that some things, anyway, are indeed “broke” but by not throwing the baby out with the bath water, or the new wine out with the old wineskins, progress and growth could actually occur while also providing common areas to gather together for intimate conversation, maybe even under lovely wisteria-draped pergolas.