Holy Monday

There's a chill in the air tonight as I walk slowly toward the labyrinth.  It's Monday in Holy Week, and I have decided to observe it at the labyrinth instead of in church.  Tonight's walk is not about exercise; it's about slowing down and connecting with God.  A contemplative walk.  My neck is in pain - I must have slept wrong last night - so I massage it as I walk.  When I get to the Easter State campus, I see a row of tall Bradford pear trees in full bloom.  I smell them, too, their not-quite-pleasant fragrance drifting my way on the wind.  When I arrive at the labyrinth, I see that the pears at three of its corners are also starting to bloom, although they are not as far along as the ones I first encountered.  The crape myrtles are still in hibernation, branches bare against the sky that is darkening into twilight.  Spring has begun, but it has not fully arrived.  Though it is chilly, I am grateful the weekend's cold rain mixed with snow has ended.

I walk counter-clockwise around the outside of the labyrinth before stopping at the entrance and bowing my head in prayer.  Take away my judgment, God.  Heal me from my judging thoughts and help me to be open and curious and compassionate.  I enter the labyrinth.  I wind my way along the path, moving closer and then further from the center, walking more slowly than usual.  Taking time.  At one point I imagine releasing my busy thoughts.  I breathe in peace.  I breathe out love.  I find myself wondering if the moon is full yet.  Easter is the first Sunday after the first full moon after the spring equinox.  It's almost as early as it can be this year, so the full moon must be soon.  The sun is headed to the horizon, but I can still feel its warmth on my face when I turn to the west. 

In the center I feel a deep stillness inside.  I stand with my eyes closed, facing the sun.  It bathes my face with tender, warm light.  Were you there when they crucified my Lord?  I start singing.  With each verse I turn to face a new direction.  I can't remember one of the verses, so I sing the first one twice.  When I am facing west again, I sing John Bell's, Take, O take me as I am, summon out what I shall be.  Set your seal upon my soul and live in me.  I decide that I want to walk the labyrinth every day this week if it is possible.  It has been my spiritual practice this past year.  What better way to connect with God?  Of course it may become difficult when it's not my day off, but for now that is my intention.

On the way back out, I notice a couple of cigarette butts in the cracks between the bricks.  I immediately begin an inner litany of judgment about why someone would even bother to walk the labyrinth while smoking and why they would choose to litter in the sacred space.  I know that several of the patients from the hospital have stashed packs of cigarettes in the concrete block walls near the labyrinth, so it really shouldn't be a surprise, but I hadn't thought that people smoked while walking.  Fairly quickly I realize how quickly I have jumped back into judging, so I try to shift my thinking to one of compassion for those who are addicted to cigarettes. 

As I follow the path I realize that I could bring a bag when I come back and pick up the cigarette butts that I see.  That could be my gift to this labyrinth that has nourished me all year.  Tending it, cleaning it, caring for it.  Just as Mary cared for Jesus by anointing his feet with oil and washing them with her hair in the reading from the lessons appointed for today. 

When I reach the entrance I pause for a moment before sealing the circle by walking clockwise around the labyrinth.  I notice other litter that I can pick up when I return.  The sun is below the trees now, and the air is getting cooler.  I pick up my jacket from where I had left it and head for home, stopping to look closely at the pear blossoms on my way.  As I am leaving the campus, I see the moon - almost full indeed.  My calendar says it will be full on the 23rd.  Maybe I can walk in the moonlight later in the week.  We'll see.  It's the beginning of Holy Week.  A good start.

Collect for Monday in Holy Week:

Almighty God, whose most dear Son went not up to joy but first he suffered pain, and entered not into glory before he was crucified: Mercifully grant that we, walking in the way of the cross, may find it none other than the way of life and peace; through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.