Lost in the labyrinth

I'm in the midst of eight days of silent retreat.  We had several inches of snow, blowing into uneven levels (not quite drifts, but mini- drifts).  The next day I walked by the labyrinth on the monastery grounds, and I could see the path of stones sticking up.  I thought it would be a great prayer exercise. I could see the path, but I'd have to walk slowly because I couldn't always be sure which way to turn. But it seemed clear enough.

I set out, step by step, enjoying the sun and the fresh snow.  I walked slowly and deliberately.  I made choices where I wasn't clear.  I prayed.

Then suddenly I was turning and coming up to the center.  But I had missed a whole section of the labyrinth!  My careful walk had bypassed a whole third of the path.

I couldn't stop laughing.  It struck me as hilarious.  Then, I saw the gravity of that moment.

I had not been careful.  I had been slow.  Being careful would have meant brushing snow off to see the turns, really looking rather than enjoying the walk and assuring myself all would be well.  Being careful would have been work.  By being slow rather than careful, I could have the spiritual jollies of communion without being bothered by actual attention, actual commitment.

This is a powerful truth in my spiritual life.  The labyrinth is not the only place I can do this.  My prayer life has lots of joy and wonder in it, but sometimes lacks the careful reflection and patient uncovering that are needed to find the path to God.  The stakes are much higher than whether I missed part of a pattern on the ground.  They are whether or not I can hear God speaking and find the courage to answer.  They are whether I can hear others clearly.  They are even whether I can hear my own heart.

And yet, I found myself in the center.  Catapulted, short cuts taken, suddenly in the center.  And life, and prayer, and God, are like that too.  Sometimes God just reaches across my laziness and sloppiness and grabs me by the shirt and plucks me down in paradise.  I can imagine her saying, "Oh, here.  You missed a turn back there.  That way won't work anymore.  Just come here."  And I snuggle in, a lost sheep rescued once again.

I want to be a better sheep.  I want to do my part, and be more careful.  But in the meantime, in most times, I'm so grateful to the mother sheep who grabs me and plants my feet in the center.

May you be safe and warm in this season of blowing snow.  May your light shine for those still lost in the drifts.  Have a blessed week.