Conversations in the Labyrinth: Walking Out the Spiritual

Practice of Work & Friendship

Pilgrimage is part of our heritage as Christians. From Abram being called by God out of Ur all the way through the followers of Jesus being sent out to make disciples, Christianity is a faith in motion. As early as the 400s, believers were making intentional journeys to Jerusalem and other holy sites as an act of faith.

When Conversations Journal was founded, the intent was to bring the conversation about true transformation in Christ into a forum that any pilgrim could join in and participate. The editors envisioned chairs around a fireplace, each representing a part of the Christian family, as a welcome place of discussion and rest. Those seeking for more of Jesus could stop to be in community together as we wrestled through the ways of change.

Managing Editor Joannah Sadler and I (Senior Editor Tara Owens) first met in person at an editor’s retreat in the hills of Virginia horse country. Hosted by a friend of Conversations, Anne Grizzle, the meeting took place at The Belfry, a beautiful retreat center that was also home to a labyrinth. Walking the labyrinth has been part of the Christian tradition since as early as 350 AD as a means of making a pilgrimage without leaving one’s physical location. Often pilgrims who could not afford to travel to Jerusalem or those who were unable to leave family obligations would walk the labyrinth as a form of pilgrimage.

Although we did not know it at the time, the work that Joannah and I did with Conversations would be bookended by two experiences of just such pilgrimages that we took together. The first in Virginia in the winter, the second in Georgia in the summer. In God’s kind and beautiful way, He began our working relationship with a journey and ended it with a journey—a deep and abiding reminder that He is the one who holds our days and stories, and that He is the one we are to walk with.

In homage to Conversations, we thought it would be fun to interview each other and share what it was like to edit a magazine from offices 2000 miles apart, and lessons that walking the labyrinth together has taught us. Below, we present our conversation about our pilgrim experiences with God, and what saying goodbye to those years of working together is like under the tender care of our loving Savior. Our friendship was cemented in that first experience of the journey together, seven years into the existence of Conversations. And it continues on, after seven years of working together facilitating great conversation in a forum for authentic transformation in Christ.

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Joannah Sadler: I’ve walked a few labyrinths over the years, but I can honestly say that my most memorable experiences of walking these ancient paths are with you, Tara. Do you remember the word you wrote in the snow after walking the labyrinth at the Belfry?

Tara Owens: You’re assuming my memory is much better than it is! What I do remember from that practice was the hushed holiness of the time together, and my awareness of how special that time was going to be for us moving forward. Snow is so rare in Virginia, and to have the opportunity to walk the path together, creating fresh footprints, felt like God ushering us into a new beginning blanketed in all that white.

JS: I wish that I could remember my word from that walk, but the experience of it has stayed with me. I loved how Anne guided us through that quiet path in the falling snow. It felt like we’d stumbled into Narnia.

TO: Exactly! Anne guided us so quietly and well; every aspect of that time felt like we were being tended to by the Holy Spirit. Walking the labyrinth together was the centerpiece of that time, for me.

JS: How did that retreat experience set the tone in how you approached your work with Conversations?

TO: Well, like I said, walking the labyrinth in the snow was a really holy moment for me. Even though I was new to the conversation about Conversations—I had just been brought on in my role as Senior Editor—God was providing a blank slate, as well as an incredibly talented team of people to fill it. I was really humbled to be in the room with so many gifted people who love Jesus and believe in the work of spiritual formation. What the retreat did, in some ways, was to remind me of the deep care God had for every detail of what we were doing and His desire to be present in each part. I also felt so much more peaceful about working together with folks so many thousands of miles apart from one another. It was as if God was showing us that we would always be working together in that retreat space, no matter where we were.

JS: At that point I was a few years into the role of managing editor, so I loved having other voices gathered in the same location to talk about the path that the journal was taking. The metaphor of the labyrinth is rich, even with our work. We took the time to sit in front of the fireplace, with chairs gathered—representing the voices (or “streams” as Richard Foster refers to the traditions of the Christian faith) that comprised the vision that Gary, David and Larry had for Conversations Journal many years before.

JS: What other lessons have you learned from a labyrinth?

TO: I remember my first labyrinth experience so clearly. I was in seminary, and one of my theology and spirituality professors had invited our class to walk the “visiting” labyrinth in his church. While labyrinths are most often permanent structures, some organizations lend out canvas labyrinths that can be spread out in the basement of a church or some other large space. This was one of those.

I really wasn’t sure what to expect as I began the practice, and because I was unfamiliar with the community that was sponsoring the evening, I felt a little awkward. About a third of the way through my journey, a group of giggly youth group kids (about four of them) entered the labyrinth behind me. They were chatting and zooming through the experience, wanting to get to the center as quickly as possible. There was an awkward moment when they reached me—I was slow moving and deliberate—until they decided to step around and past where I was. We were close to the center at the time, and when they entered and knelt, and I entered and knelt, everything seemed to slow down into a kind of kairos moment with God. I didn’t say anything to them, nor they to me, but we felt connected.

I was surprised, then, when I was the first one to get up and start my journey out of the labyrinth. And I was even more surprised when the four kids slowly returned to the path themselves. Instead of zooming past me to the exit, they stayed behind me in single file. We navigated all the turns together like that, slowly and quietly, all the way back through the labyrinth. When I knelt at the exit and gave thanks to God, I turned to watch all four of them make their own prayers on their knees.

And then, they left. We hadn’t talked, hadn’t even really exchanged eye contact, but they had followed me, willingly, from the center outward.

Later, my professor came up to me to say he had noted the kids following me, and felt as if the Spirit was giving me a picture of what contemplative leadership could be like. I’ve carried that with me ever since.

And I’ve had so many more deep experiences with Christ in the labyrinth since then.

JS: The “stream” I spend the most time swimming in doesn’t always incorporate ancient practices like the labyrinth. Which is one of the main reasons I love the suggestion and challenge to believers that Dr. Foster gives us in Streams of Living Water. An abundant life with God is possible. And these various practices, some of them ancient, or unfamiliar, help us experience Him in new ways. (See also Conversations Journal Issue 11.1 Spring 2013 on that same theme)

The lesson the labyrinth has taught me centers around trust. I’m a planner. An ENF capital J. I write out a grocery list each week that helps me plan nightly suppers. I still use a paper calendar, and I don’t trust my (fully capable, and generally reliable) smart phone with the important details of my life. So, entering a labyrinth always requires me to take a few deep breaths, slow down—and try not to figure out where the path is taking me.

Inevitably, the unicursal path leads to the center, and I know this—but I still find myself looking ahead, making sure. After walking a few of these, I found that I could enter, quiet my wandering heart, and begin to trust that the path I was walking was the right one. The labyrinth has helped me engage in the practice of walking with God. Not ahead. Not dragging behind or avoiding. But trusting that He sets the path before me, and gently guides and walks with me. Becoming aware of how my inner voice can be critical and doubting, and learning to silence that voice, surrender my agenda, and simply walk around this little path focused on God being with me, has been transformational for me.

TO: I love that! I have the same experience of my inner voice, and I agree that walking the labyrinth focuses me on being with God in the moment, rather than anxiously trying to figure out what’s ahead or longingly looking at what’s behind.

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Seven years, and fourteen more issues of Conversations Journal passed between walking the labyrinth in the snow, and our next walk together. The season was different. This time we walked in the humid heat of a Georgia summer. We visited Serenbe, a charming farm community south of Atlanta and walked a labyrinth underneath the tall pine trees.

Unbeknownst to us, the Serenbe labyrinth had a story of the love and faithfulness of God like the labyrinth at The Belfry. When the labyrinth was built at Serenbe, the owners invited friends and supporters to bring with them a “stone with a story” to be part of the path marking the Chartres-style structure (labyrinths come in many forms, but the most common is one that mimics the pattern of the labyrinth in the floor of the cathedral in Chartres, France.) The labyrinth was constructed using these stones: one came from the foundation of a church built by a friend’s Swedish ancestors; another stone came from part of a person’s home in North Carolina; a pastor brought a rock that had been part of the Berlin wall. We entered the labyrinth unaware of how much story was in the stones around us, and yet both of us felt that the very rocks were crying out to the glory of God.

As we walked the labyrinth together, we thanked God for the gift of Conversations Journal, our friendship, and that God meets us in all seasons to pursue a deep, authentic relationship with us.

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JS: We should tell the story of the dancing butterflies at Serenbe! You’re more poetic—so you write it.

TO: You have your own poetry, my friend! I don’t know anyone more hospitable and warm than you—you kept the readers at Conversations connected with the staff and each other in ways I never could have. Yours is the poetry of the heart. I suppose that’s why you’re a great counselor.

But, if you insist, I’ll tell the tale.

We had just finished walking the labyrinth at Serenbe, grateful and, if I’m honest, more than a little sweaty. We were returning back to Atlanta for some meetings, unsure of what the future of Conversations would be. On the path back to the car, we passed under a pergola covered with flowers and hosting gorgeous black and yellow butterflies. Together we stopped to drink in just a little bit more of God’s beauty.

If you’re familiar with Conversations Journal, you know that the logo is in the form of a butterfly—a symbol of transformation. It’s also two people, face to face, in conversation. As the two of us stood there, remarking on the flowers and the incredible creatures before us, two butterflies suddenly appeared, inches from our faces. They danced together in a way I’ve never seen butterflies do—they looked almost exactly like the Conversations logo. I think we were both struck speechless at what we were seeing, as if we were making it up or the other person wasn’t seeing what we were seeing.

Then, as quickly as they had appeared, the dancing butterflies disappeared again. We looked at each other and blinked, incredulous. Did God just do that?

Always one to say, Really, God? in the face of His good gifts, I lingered for a few minutes more to see if it would happen again, but the butterflies did not reappear. In fact, they came nowhere near us.

As we returned to the car, and to the world of meetings and questions about the publication, we both felt a sense of both release and blessing from God in the dance of those butterflies. In the end, that was the very day we realized that Conversations as we then knew it was going to cease publication, but I believe we both had so much peace in the journey because of the ways God spoke to us in the labyrinth and the blessing of those butterflies. Jesus is so kind in His provision for our hearts!

JS: It’s been such a gift walking this journey with you, Tara. I can’t wait to see how God leads us to our next encounter with the labyrinth.

TO: I’m looking forward to it. I’m hoping that God will bring you out to Colorado this time so we can walk a mountain labyrinth together. But whether or not we do, I will always count myself blessed to have a colleague who turned into a deep soul friend like you. We’re pilgrims on the way, you and I, and I know we’re joined by a great cloud of witnesses on this very path of faith in Christ.

JS: Amen and Amen!

Tara M. Owens is a writer and spiritual director with Anam Cara Ministries (www.anamcara.com) She lives in the mountains of Colorado with her husband, Bryan, and their daughter, Seren.

Joannah M. Sadler is a marriage and family therapist who lives in Atlanta, Georgia with her husband, Jason, and two children, Mason and Shepherd.