I walk to the center

On my wall in my office I have a quilted batique of a labyrinth (with slightly more concentric circles that the one pictured above) that I made a number of years ago in seminary. Sometimes when I need to quiet myself or focus or take break from whatever I’m working (as I am now) on I’ll lean back in my chair and let my eyes follow it’s path. It almost never fails that the center comes as a little holy surprise. This happens no matter how many times I walk it, either with my eyes or with my feet.

The first time I walked the labyrinth it was even more dramatic. It was a chilly early early April evening in northern Indiana. I entered the labyrinth with little expectation – even a slight skepticism – and began to walk in the half-light. I simply followed the path. One step after the other until suddenly and unexpectedly I was there, the center. I remember feeling an almost physical sensation of windedness. In that instant the light shone and the choir sang. Yet it remained still and dim and silent. It was like the presence of the Spirit was revealed.

I fell to my knees on the damp grass and just breathed in the silence and the brightening stars. I don’t remember hearing words or a voice from heaven or anything like that, but I was changed. I realized that God could indeed work in ways that I don’t expect. I didn’t want to leave that spot that seemed so magical. Some of that has lingered every time I travel the labyrinth although mostly to a much lesser extend.

Today as my eyes traveled the path of the labyrinth, the center was a bit of a surprise but it was the end of the labyrinth on the way out that caught me off guard more than most times. It came sooner than I was expecting. My eyes wanted to keep wandering and meandering. I wasn’t ready to be thrown out into the disconnected. I wanted to remain in proximity to the center and be bound by the safety of that gravitational pull. Even now my eyes keep returning to it.

I am glad. I do yearn for the center. I do want to remain in the gravitational pull of the Spirit. I do hope that even though my orbit swings me away and pulls me close, my sun is always Christ.

There is a song in the Sing the Story Mennonite Hymnal supplement that I was reminded of as I wrote:

"Jesus be the center"

Jesus, be the center
Be my source, be my light, Jesus.
Jesus, be the center.
Be my hope, be my guide, Jesus.

Be the fire in my heart.
Be the wind in my sails.
Be the reason that I live, Jesus.

Jesus, be my vision.
Be my path, be my guide, Jesus.
Jesus, be the center.
Be my source, be my light, Jesus.