For its third time the growing community of Wild Church met again in Dartington. For some the day began with the Su
nday service at St Mary’s and for others it began with a wild feast at the village hall, followed by a silent walk along the river into Totnes where a labyrinth was awaiting our feet.
Having spent the day before ce
lebrating the Celtic festival of Imbolc, I was well tuned for Candlemas, which like Imbolc reflects the mid-way point between winter and spring; the darkness of winter giving way to more light and life. Fr. Richard Rohr describes it as a ‘thin time’ – a threshold space – in which mystery can be grasped in the interplay and interface between darkness and light. The story that personifies this time in the Christian mythology is of two elders, Simeon and Anna, who receive Jesus in the temple and who recognise him as the light of the world. Imitating the blessing of Jesus in the temple, a traditional ritual in churches is to bless all the candles to be burned during the year, so that at times of darkness there is always a light present. In St Mary’s, a flame was passed from candle to candle along the pews until each person carried their own flame lighting up the space with a warm and golden glow.
After this beautiful candlelit ceremony shared with the wonderful community of St Mary’s, we walked to the village hall where our shared Sunday lunch awaited, including a cake to celebrate Sam’s birthday. Lunch led into meditation and some reflections on the season, which led into our silent walk along the winding river from Dartington to Totnes, letting our feet and senses wander with the wind.
Unusually, this Sundays’ Wild Church walk found its destination at another church service; one however with fewer words and more movement. Aside from a few instructions from Helen Sands, the brilliant woman behind the event, the only words were the mesmerizing Taizé chants, accompanied by a piano, which I very gratefully chanted along with. The movement was guided by a canvas Chartres labyrinth that covered a large part of St John’s Church floor. Walking the labyrinth, for me, was a symbolic journey through life and into the depths of life. One step for every breath, I focussed my attention on the meeting of foot and ground, enabling a mindful state of heightened awareness and presence. However, with very narrow lanes and many others walking the labyrinth too, walking also necessitated dancing around the steps of others, teaching me to let go of control over my own path and to allow others to affect its course. Many who came onto my path I had some level of relationship with, from jovial acquaintances to deep friends and leading figures of inspiration. Encounters were sometimes light hearted smiles, other times loving hugs, and sometimes sorrowful hugs of grief. Other times, when I felt the need for solitude, I drew back from engagement except for the the necessary dance around feet. These periods of solitude brought up a whole other range of emotions from feelings of deep peace and expansiveness, to boredom and anxiety (that I would never find the way out!). Having only ever walked labyrinths on my own, I was surprised at the poignancy of walking with others, reflecting to me the centrality of relationship with others, with myself and with the world I inhabit.
A blue river of material caught me in the exit, where the labyrinth was no more. The lines of the lanes, guiding each person on their individual and collective paths vanished into a blue abyss. I looked back at the labyrinth, the black circling lanes going round and round as if moving through the cycles of life, and I felt the stillness and rest of the exit.
Each person exiting the labyrinth lit a candle creating a table of light. When all journeys had ended, we looked upon the sea of candles and saw all of ourselves, having travelled through the cycling labyrinth and now flickering as flames.
In my bag that day was a poem from Wendell Berry that I’d meant to read at some point, but for some reason or other decided not to. Over the following week the poem became more and more meaningful to me, and now in reflecting on the journey of the labyrinth it is speaking loudly in my head. So I shall read it here…
Within the circles of our lives
we dance the circles of the years,
the circles of the seasons
within the circles of the years,
the cycles of the moon
within the circles of the seasons,
the circles of our reasons
within the cycles of the moon.
Again, again we come and go,
changed, changing. Hands
join, unjoin in love and fear,
grief and joy. The circles turn,
each giving into each, into all.
Only music keeps us here,
each by all the others held.
In the hold of hands and eyes
we turn in pairs, that joining
joining each to all again.
And then we turn aside, alone,
out of the sunlight gone
into the darker circles of return.
My heartfelt thanks goes to Helen Sands for her profound genius and generosity in creating such a magnificently beautiful journey.
Only one activity remained on our Wild Church ramblings – to the pub!
Words and photos by Beth. Image of Chartres labyrinth courtesy of labyrinthos.net.