The Lesson of the Labyrinth

When I arrived at Sacred Heart Monastery for a prayer retreat, I was told about the Labyrinth. I was not unfamiliar with praying while walking a labyrinth, although it had been years since I had done so. I wanted to experience a few things I had never done before — like praying the Lauds and Vespers with the Sisters — before heading to the Labyrinth. By Saturday evening, after a day and a half of embarrassments and fumbled genuflections, I was ready. And somewhat desperate.

In preparation, I read up on praying the labyrinth. I couldn't remember if there was a specific prayer or certain practices I needed to follow (a recurring theme for the weekend, at which I was failing). I found an article online that emphasized that what is observed during prayer time is much more important than what is specifically prayed. The author shared a personal account of walking the labyrinth and realizing that while walking forward toward the destination — the center — the path would often lead you away from it, prompting reflection upon that experience.

With this in mind, I set off from my room toward the Labyrinth. Although I hadn't seen it before, I had a general sense of its location near the cemetery. As dusk settled in, I glanced at my watch and noticed that sundown was only a few minutes away.

Upon arriving, I was somewhat surprised by what I saw. It was smaller than I had expected; I had envisioned an outdoor labyrinth to be larger than the ones I had previously walked indoors, but it was about the same size. The path was narrow, allowing only one person to walk at a time. It didn't accommodate companionship; this would be a solitary walk with the Lord.

The Labyrinth also seemed slightly overgrown and somewhat neglected — a contrast to the well-manicured lawns and bushes of the 400-acre retreat center. Upon closer inspection, though, I realized it wasn't truly neglected. Positioned between two large trees and within sight of the cemetery, the pathway was marked by simple white or gray bricks on either side. Over time, roots had intertwined with the Labyrinth, causing the bricks to shift and the ground to become uneven. Despite this, the pathway remained clear. As I entered, my earlier observation of its narrowness was confirmed; there was barely enough room for a normal stride.

Before taking the first step, I gazed at the center — my destination — directly in front of me. Then, with determination, I embarked on the journey. The path immediately led me away from where I wanted to go. I recalled the essay I had read and quickly understood the author's insight. Within a few minutes, I stumbled, realizing that it was now past sunset and growing darker. Looking up, I spotted a Sister walking one of the nearby prayer paths adorned with Stations of the Cross. Given my previous embarrassments, I desperately hoped to avoid falling right in front of her. I couldn't bear the thought of them coming to my aid after finding me face down in the Labyrinth.

I began singing a variation of the Kyrie Eleison: "Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner." I focused on each step, carefully placing my feet on the uneven ground and avoiding dislodged bricks. Despite the twists and turns and the encroaching darkness, I continued to move forward, singing the Kyrie Eleison as a constant prayer.

Suddenly, much sooner than I had anticipated, I reached the center — my intended destination. I had circled it multiple times, losing count amidst the turns and switchbacks. I had been so absorbed in each step that I had stopped thinking about arriving. Bowing my head, I recited the Lord's Prayer, expressed my gratitude to God, and reflected on the profound lesson I had learned. Despite the twisting path, the constant switchbacks, and the sense of circling like water going down a drain, I had arrived at my destination at an unexpectedly perfect time. It was a sacred revelation, teaching me to focus on the present step, continually moving forward toward God, without worrying about the future (Luke 12:13–33). The walk itself was the work — not the worrying about the where, why, how, and when of the destination.

Raising my gaze, I saw the cemetery directly in front of me. Despite the deepening darkness, it was still visible — and possessed a simple, stunning beauty reminiscent of Arlington National Cemetery. Each headstone was uniform and adorned with a simple cross, arranged in perfect rows. The stones were white, seemingly glowing in the available light, whether due to regular cleaning or the inherent qualities of the material. Each row consisted of twelve headstones, with around twelve full rows and a few smaller rows that didn't contain a complete set. Over a hundred crosses illuminated the otherwise nearly pitch-black surroundings.

Standing in the center of the Labyrinth, my designated destination, I expressed my gratitude to God for the devoted service of the women buried there — women who had dedicated their lives to serving God and now basked in His glory in heaven. The center of the Labyrinth was my temporary destination, but the ultimate glory was found in communion with God. I must never lose sight of that. In the encroaching darkness, those crosses glowed.

Now it was time to exit. I turned and began retracing my steps, even more cautious as darkness enveloped the surroundings. I continued singing the Kyrie Eleison. Before I knew it, I stumbled forward and found myself outside the Labyrinth once again — much earlier than I had expected. Doubting myself, I went back and traced my steps to ensure that, in the darkness, I hadn't accidentally bypassed a marker and shortened the path.

At that moment, the Lord seized me and whispered, "You thought you would remain in the maze longer. Every difficult experience may feel eternal, but trust in Me. I will guide you through it, and what may seem like an eternity of crying out, 'How long, Lord?' will vanish through My mighty hand."

Gloria Deo.