Labyrinth Thinking
My family has been busy the last two weeks. We went to a family camp with our church two weekends ago, and then—after one day at home—we went on another trip to Oregon, staying in Portland and near Mt. Hood.
In both cases, our road trip ended up being more of a traffic trip. Road construction, rush hour, and weekend travelers stymied our speed, cramped my ankle-to-glute muscles, and added to our stress. But we made it to our destinations—and back again.
While exploring the trails around the family camp (Lazy F outside of Ellensburg), we discovered a circular labyrinth of stones in a field of tall, dry grass and wildflowers. We walked the single path that spiraled and folded its way to the center of the labyrinth.
Labyrinths have been used in some Christian traditions to facilitate contemplation. Your movement through the labyrinth is a sort of mini-pilgrimage, a metaphor for the spiritual life. As you progress, you can quiet your mind, be mindful of your breath, ask God to be present to you.
As we went along, Allison said, “This reminds me of airport security lines.” And it’s true. Lines at airports (and concerts and amusement park rides and a host of other venues and events) are sometimes shaped in ways akin to labyrinths. The system of stanchions and belts folds in various ways to make the most of space and control the way people move through the queue. Like the contemplative paths of classical labyrinths, airport lines follow a single path.
When you move through a labyrinth in meditation, you will likely slow down from your regular pace. When you’re in the security line at an airport, or in line for a concert, or waiting for the next available checkout clerk at a store, you will likely be moving very slowly. Why not use the time in the “secular” labyrinth for contemplation? As you progress, you can quiet your mind, be mindful of your breath, ask God to be present to you.
I had a friend in seminary who said, “I practice patience by always getting in the longest line at the grocery store.” What if we saw long lines not as inefficient inconveniences but as opportunities to practice patience?
Maybe airport lines, with their crowds, noise, and stress, are not the best places for contemplation. But perhaps ticket lines, concert lines, checkout lines, movie lines, sporting event lines, etc., could be transformed from labyrinths of impatience and frustration to labyrinths of contemplation.
And maybe—maybe—even sitting in traffic could be a kind of transformed labyrinth, too? Or waiting in line for Costco gas? Or waiting in the drive-thru lane? Maybe not with whining, bored kids in the backseat—but maybe they could be invited into a sacred, contemplative moment, too? (Good luck, parents!)
On our Oregon trip, we stayed near Mt. Hood. One day, we went to Ski-Bowl, a ski area that also has summer activities. We tried the Alpine Slide (a long, long hillside slide you race down on wheeled sleds), inner-tube slides, putt-putt golf, pedal-bikes, and—a maze.
The maze was not just about getting from start to finish. We were given “passports” which we had to hole-punch at four different stations; the punched holes would spell the word MAZE. Because of tiredness, hunger, and heat, we did not find all four letters before we exited. We found MAE. Each of those three hole-punches were in a dead end.
In one of my earliest posts on this Substack, I wrote about the value of dead ends. Dead ends allow us to see the same path twice, but from a different perspective. And there can be treasure in dead ends, treasure which may help us in the future. In the case of the Ski-Bowl maze, the treasures were the letters that helped us complete the scavenger hunt. But the treasure could be new insight or wisdom, new self-understanding, something (or someone perhaps) we would not have encountered if we had given up on the dead end before we reached it. If we assume all dead ends are worthless, we may miss what treasure waits for us there.
There’s no need to build a labyrinth when the entire universe is one.
- Jorge Luis Borges, “Ibn-Hakam al-Bokhari, Murdered in His Labyrinth”
Next time you’re in a long line, or run into a dead end, perhaps think labyrinthically. You might say, “It’s just a metaphor.” But so much of our understanding of life depends on the metaphors we use—and our perception of those metaphors.
Labyrinth or maze can be metaphors of a life we dread. Living can feel labyrinthine with its confusions and choices, but we can reorient ourselves by treating these moments as spiritual practices of contemplation, of slowing down our thoughts and breath. The metaphor didn’t change, but our perception of it can.
May you be blessed by being slowed.
May you be blessed when you are lost.
May you be blessed by dead ends.
May you be blessed with labyrinths.