Labyrinthine Graduation Reflections

Well, it's official. After four years, Keith and I have finally graduated from Austin Presbyterian Theological Seminary. There's even a picture of us, walking out the door of University Presbyterian Church, where the commencement ceremony was held, on the seminary website to prove it (it's number 5 in the changing slideshow of images at the top of the page).

Now Keith and I have entered the "call process," seeking a call to ordained ministry in a Presbyterian Church, somewhere in the world. It's a bit of an overwhelming process. Somehow, through the Holy Spirit, we will encounter our match and begin a life-changing relationship with a group of people who have come together in this amazing thing called "church." The best comparison to this process in my experience is that of seeking, meeting, dating, and choosing a mate. So far it's been both exciting and frightening. We've taken the first step, entering a new labyrinth.

During this past momentous and busy month of May, I've had the chance to walk two different labyrinths. Just before we left for graduation, we went to a church in Ruston, Louisiana and walked their labyrinth. It was a beautiful labyrinth, a replica of the famous one in Chartres, France. A couple of days after our graduation, Keith, Lucas, and I walked another labyrinth, at John Knox Ranch, a Presbyterian camp and conference center south of Austin. It was in the classic style (check out Wikipedia's page on labyrinths, which displays various styles).

Both times, as I walked, I took the suggestion of Daniel Wolpert, in Creating a Life with God, who says that, while walking toward the center of the labyrinth, listen for and let go of the things which have become barriers to your relationship with God. In the center, rest in communion with God. As you leave the center to walk the outward path, listen for and accept where God is sending you on your continued journey of faith.

Keith and I took turns, alternately walking the labyrinth and attending to Lucas. Lucas enjoyed running crazily in and out of the labyrinth, seeming to delight in the rhythm of its lines and flow. I went first, and I walked somewhat quickly, wanting to make sure Keith would have ample time to walk. But even with this concern in mind, I settled into a comfortable pace, and I was aware of God's presence with us in that place.

I could not help but love Lucas' wild running exuberance, though at first it seemed an interruption. But then, those interruptions simply became part of the journey. As I walked the outward cycles, I came to new gratitude, receiving and accepting the life God has given me as a gift, which is now replete with such "interruptions." Instead of wishing that I could be off by myself, silently, as I might have been able before Lucas came into our lives, I gave thanks that I could practice both the spiritual discipline of the labyrinth and the practice of mothering Lucas . I gave thanks for the vocations of ministry, of marriage, and of motherhood, to which God has called me.

These experiences resonate with something I read in Gernot Candolini's book, Labyrinths: Walking Toward the Center. He writes, "For me the labyrinth is an invitation to turst that my life has both followed and is continuing on a good path. We can take the prevailing directives--'this is the way to do it right'--and lay them aside. I don't believe that my life is locked into a bewildering maze, with someone sitting in judgment behind every wrong turn mocking my stupidity. I believe in a path that I take in just the way I'm taking it. I ultimately believe in the great contradiction, the great paradox, the great mystery of life: that on one hand I am as a person utterly free, that I may be entirely myself, unique and irreplaceable; and that at the same time I am perfectly secure and led, completely embedded in a sure path" (p. 97).

I am grateful for the chance to walk these labyrinths at this time in my life, as I take leave of seminary and listen for God's call.