Walking a labyrinth

By Richard A. Kauffman

Recently I spent several days at the Taizé community in southeastern France. Taizé has three daily “prayers” that are largely sung, using repetitive chant-like songs. The community draws visitors from all over the world, especially youth and young adults from Europe. There must have been close to 1,000 guests present the week I was there.

One day at the end of the noon prayers I decided to remain in the sanctuary while the worshipers processed out. We were singing over and over again the chant, “Bless the Lord, my soul, and praise God’s holy name. Bless the Lord, my soul, who leads me in to life.” As fewer and fewer people were left to sing it, the song got slower and slower, but with fewer people in the sanctuary there was more of an echo, so the response time was longer, and the slow pace seemed appropriate. Hearing a few people keeping the song going was incredible, and a small, earthly reminder that the praises of God will go on for eternity.

Later that same week, I spent a day at Chartres Cathedral, a 12th-century gothic cathedral known for its stained glass windows and a labyrinth built into the floor of the nave. In the morning I prayed the labyrinth. Some tour groups came through that didn't have a clue as to what was going on and they blithely walked across the labyrinth, running interference for the few of us using it, but otherwise it was a wonderful experience. Both the setting and the slow pace of the labyrinth made it possible for me to go places in my prayers that I don’t usually on a daily basis.

After hearing a lecture about Chartres Cathedral and going on a mini-tour of the place, I took a walk through the town of Chartres, which is like taking a walk back through the Middle Ages. When I got back to cathedral I had a little time left before catching a train. I thought about praying the labyrinth again, but that seemed like taking an extra serving of dessert, so I resisted the urge. Just then two women who were praying the labyrinth caught my attention. They were obviously friends, because whenever they got close to each other they would link arms. I was particularly intrigued by the one woman: she walked mostly with her eyes closed, arms outstretched, palms upward. She'd take three steps forward, then stop. Sometimes she’d even take a step backwards before proceeding again. It was as though she didn’t want the experience to end.

After awhile, the woman started humming ever so softly. And what was she humming? "Bless the Lord, my soul"—the same chant that had moved me so at the end of one of the prayers at Taizé earlier in the week. I was already sitting there in prayerful silence with these women, but when I realized what she was humming I had an incredible experience of mystical communion with God and spiritual solidarity with these women.

When the women finally reached the middle of the labyrinth, the one got down in Lotus position; the hummer became prostrate, face and right down on the floor. And of course they had their eyes closed. I so much wanted to make connection with them, but it was time to catch my train back to Paris. I thought about laying a business card in front of them in hopes they might see it, but I didn't have one with me. Instead, I left a Post-it note and wrote: "Bless the Lord, my soul. And bless you too, my sisters." I added my email address, then laid the note in front of them. I don't know if they saw it or if I will hear from either one. But the experience was the climax of my retreat.

Although I was initially stunned by the coincidence, I wasn’t surprised that God would minister to me twice in the same week, at very different places, using the same song. That is the God I know: a dependable God who is full of surprises. There was only one appropriate response, a response of praise: “Bless the Lord my soul, who brings me in to life.”

Comments

[John Dornheim]

A memory of my trip to Europe over 30 years ago still lingers in my soul when I recall standing in the middle of Chartres' Cathedral and being totally unaware of the pattern beneath my feet. Many years later, when I would pray my first labyrinth, a voice sang Taize songs from the balcony the whole time. since then, when I facilitated walks, I would often play those chants in the background. Oddly, the labyrinth is the only place where I can block out all else and listen for God's voice.

[Richard A. Kauffman]

John, I can't help reminiscing some more in response to your comment about missing the Chartres labyrinth while visiting there over 30 years ago. I first became aware of Chartres Cathedral 40 years ago while taking a course in Fine Arts from Mary Oyer at Goshen College. Mary is simply one of the most gifted teachers I've ever known. When I got back from the trip, which I recounted in this blog, I contacted Mary and told her that it took 40 years, but I finally made it to Chartres, and I told her about my labyrinth experience. In her response to me, she said she spent 2 weeks at Chartres studying the cathedral during a sabbatical in 1964. She was vaguely aware of the fact the labyrinth was there, but apparently paid no heed to it at that time. And Mary was one of the most observant persons I've known. Labyrinths simply weren't on peoples' radar screens then.

[Lynn Martin]

The Taize "Bless the Lord, my soul" was used in our parish during Lent. As this group sang the chant week after week my mind and heart were drawn to the concluding words, "that leads me into life." Thank you for reminding me of that experience.

[Dave Dean]

Thanks for that Richard.

We are off to Taize from Florida, USA, in a few weeks, so your pilgrimage notes have been like a prelude for me.

I had an experience that is not dissimilar to yours, but while still in Taize for the week long pilgrimage.

I was in a small group with an Italian widow, who's simple but profound faith touched my American/British 'faith' with grace.

Our small group was made up of four women and myself: two British women who knew some French, a Dutch woman who knew French and English and the woman from Italy, who knew some French. I know a bit of Spanish. We had to listen very closely to one another that week and due to that fact, we were very close by the end of the week.

On Friday evening we went to the church as group and while we were there, one of the songs, one I knew from memory, moved me in a way I've not forgotten. "Beati voi poveri, perche vostro e il regno di Dio (How blessed the poor in heart, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven)." Here was this poor, literally poor, Italian widow and me, me in my relative wealth, singing in Italian, a song I knew by heart but not in the depth of my heart.

I couldn't help but watch as she sang in the language of her heart; she sang with such dignity. Her poverty touched me... then the Spirit overwhelmed me and the tears started to flow. Holy communion, real Communion happened.

Thanks again.

[Michael Tessman]

Thank you for this reflection. Exactly 20 years ago I spent two weeks at Taize and my life has been reshaped ever since.
I rarely hear, or sing, Taize chants without tears welling up, as was constant for those weeks in 1987. Another site not to be missed is Cluny - to which we walked for a day. In contrast to the little villages around Taize, it was an awesome reminder of the social-ecclesial poles, as great centuries ago as now.