c. 1996 Religion News Service

(Tom Ehrich is an Episcopal priest in Winston-Salem, N.C., an author and a former Wall Street Journal reporter. E-mail him at journey(at)interpath.com.)

WINSTON-SALEM, N.C. _ The gym at St. Timothy’s Episcopal Church here had signs calling for quiet. Inside the front door, two women talked in hushed tones. I came to another door and more admonitions to silence. And then the labyrinth.

A 41-foot square of canvas, inscribed with an elaborate geometric pathway one-sixth of a mile long, the labyrinth covered almost the entire gym floor. Around its edge were votive candles set amid ivy. Gregorian chant played in the background. The lights were dim. Walking slowly around the labyrinth were six women. Another was kneeling in the center, where the circuitous path leads after doubling back on itself many times.

I first heard about”walking the labyrinth”when my friend David Stringer, rector of All Saints Episcopal Church in Corpus Christi, Texas, said his church was installing a permanent one in their new spiritual life center.

His guide was Lauren Artress, a priest at Grace Episcopal Cathedral in San Francisco, who had walked a labyrinth at a conference, visited Chartres Cathedral in France and walked their 13th-century stone labyrinth, and became an ambassador for rediscovering this unique spiritual tool.

In the Middle Ages, pilgrims walked labyrinths as a substitute for Holy Land pilgrimages when such journeys became too dangerous or costly. Today, walking the labyrinth is a quiet but growing movement in Christianity. Grace Cathedral has two, both modeled on the one at Chartres. One in the nave is made of carpet; an outdoor labyrinth is made of terrazzo tile.

Stringer believes his church’s labyrinth will be a holy spot for the spiritually minded throughout South Texas. Having made one 60-minute circuit of the Winston-Salem labyrinth, I can see why.

The form I was handed encouraged me to relax first. So I did. After sitting still for several minutes, I began the walk, entering at the one opening and trusting the path to take me where I needed to go. As I slowly followed the path, I paid little attention to the seven other walkers, except for quick glances to see if I recognized any of them.

I became aware of my hands. I held them behind me, then crossed them in front. I sensed they were clenched, a tightness I must have brought with me. I stopped, stood still, took deep breaths, and allowed my hands to fall loose at my side.

I tried to figure out the path. But as I proceeded, I stopped gauging its pattern and saw instead the canvas at my feet.

I yearned to reach the center, where the woman kneeling had seemed so peaceful. When I found the center and sat down, I expected a time of prayer. But I suddenly became aware of the people around me. Not as intrusions, but as part of whatever this journey was for me. Four of us sat quietly.

Three stood and began the path out. (Unlike a maze, a labyrinth has only one way to the center. The same path leads out.) I gave the last of them time to get started, then stood and began my outward journey. The woman ahead of me stopped at a switchback. I stopped, too, to avoid rushing her. That became our pattern. She would stop, and so would I. I began to feel connected to her, as if our journeys were parts of a single whole. We never spoke or made eye contact. But I felt as if we were even breathing in harmony.

More people arrived. But the labyrinth never felt crowded. It was wonderfully intimate to walk in silence, almost touching shoulders as we passed.

I exited the pathway and found the chair where I had taken off my shoes. I sat and watched others walk. I looked up to the ceiling and wondered what God saw as he looked down on this swirling pathway being trod slowly by people eager to know him.

Then I looked at the labyrinth again and decided that this was God’s vantage point. This was holy ground. God was in the canvas on which we walked, holding us up, feeling our feet, sensing our weight, listening to our hearts.

MJP END EHRICH