Walking the Labyrinth, June 12, 2009—This is the Feast of St Leo III, the Pope who crowned Charlemagne Holy Roman Emperor (as every schoolchild used to know) on Christmas Day, 800. It is the 163rd day of the year, and 202 days remain in 2009. In one of the few worthwhile “modern” holidays (because today is also National Peanut Butter Cookie Day, in case you didn’t know), June 12 is Diary Day. I’ve long kept a diary and find it helpful in countless ways. On June 12, 1929, Anne Franck was born, perhaps the 20th century’s best known diarist, and on her 13th birthday she was given her diary as a birthday present. In 1987, on this day, Ronald Reagan called out “Mr Gorbachev, tear down this wall!” To the amazement of the world, on November 9, 1989, the people of Germany did just that. Each of us has our own Days We Will Always Remember. For me, that was one. In 2003, Gregory Peck died. Despite all the roles of his long career, in my mind he will always be Atticus Finch.


WALKING, JOURNEYING, MAKING a pilgrimage, these and similar words have for a long time given us one of the best analogies of what life is. I, obviously, can think of few better descriptions of one’s pathway through life than walking a labyrinth. A journey, and certainly a pilgrimage, is supposed to take the traveler somewhere. This week past has been more a case of stumbling backwards than pressing on, for me personally. I received some shocking medical news (my ankle bone has completely deteriorated), took a bit of a financial hit (it cost more than $1000 for a car repair), and almost three thousand words of my novel disappeared overnight because of a computer problem (that taught me to back it up every night). At week’s end I consider it all in the context of the labyrinth. Not every step moves us forward, and it’s best to know it. We stumble and fall, sometimes we get tripped, sometimes we collapse under the weight of things we insist on carrying. Even on the ground, though, we’re in the labyrinth. God won’t let us out of it. He’s not playing with us, at least not maliciously (another time-worn analogy of life sees it as a game). “We see through a glass, darkly.” I’ve come to the realization that God is not too interested in whether or not we understand what goes on in our lives, or why things happen to us, as He is in growing us up. “To whom much is given, of him much is required.” St James reminds us we won’t be tempted (“tested” is just as good in Greek) above our abilities to deal with the test.
So what to do? How do we deal with the fact that sometimes we’re not even taking baby steps forward but giant steps back? While the answers are myriad, a few seem best: and the best of the best is gratitude. We are surrounded by wonder, from the far-flung stars to the sea shore’s sand; the shades of green in a tree, the sun’s warmth, an arpeggio by Bach or a friend’s familiar voice. I recall somewhere reading that the great tragedy of the atheist is not damnation, but that there is no One to thank when he needs to be thankful. In spite of the frequently-predicted doom about to be immanently wrought by global warming or nuclear terrorists, our cultures have produced amazing and wonderful things. Go to a library and look at the rows and rows of books. Watch an airplane take off. Watch even a bad movie and think about what it took to produce this piece of trash—better, watch a masterpiece. We live in a world that God has created and we have made. Not perfect (remember we’re looking at this from the labyrinth floor), but still grand and good, and—for some reason—it has pleased God to put us here in the midst of it. We may never know why; if I ever get out of Purgatory, I may not even remember to ask why about the past given What Is About To Follow. Maybe it’s enough to bear in mind, as we slowly pick ourselves up from the ant’s-eye view of the labyrinth, that we are not here for ourselves alone, but for the others walking the labyrinth with us.


A GREAT BOOK I found this week: The Majesty of the French Quarter by Kerri McCaffety, published by Pelican Publishing in 2000. It’s pages are resplendent with the colors of the Vieux Carre, and leafing through its big pages is like an evening walk through the old city. One of the most fun things about the Quarter (if you’re not one of the hoi polloi of Bourbon Street) is the amazing contrast between the sometimes demur view an old house presents to the street, and the lush, water-spangled courtyards hiding behind the old walls. This book shows you the house from the street, then invites you inside for a tour of the rooms, and finally into the old Creole patios, the heart of each home. A book to look through over and over and over again!


“We are what we repeatedly do; excellence, then, is not an act but a habit.”—Aristotle