Lost in Translation?

I am sorry it has been such a long wait for this new blog post.  I have been working on writing an article for journal, which is now being reviewed by the publisher.  I hope to return to more regular essays for the future.

One of my spiritual directees, a man who is aware of my particular interest in the distinctive aspects of male spirituality, recently gave me a copy of The One Year Devotions for Men by Stuart Briscoe.  The book encourages the daily reading of several bible verses with the author reflecting in depth on some aspect.

While I enjoy receiving books as gifts, I admit they get a thorough analysis before I decide to invest in reading them.  I was trained as a librarian after all!  So, I read the introduction, randomly read a few of the reflections to see if I could determine Briscoe's theological perspective, then turned to the scripture and topical indexes.  I tried looking up one of my favorite Psalms, Psalm 62, which I often read before walking labyrinths.

Turning to Briscoe's selection for April 16th, titled Waiting Quietly, I noted what seemed a curious translation of the first verse, "I wait quietly before God, for my salvation comes from him."  It seemed to turn around the focus of the verse.  Continuing on, he describes the difficulty of a "man" waiting for "his wife" to shop, and the impatience the man experiences.  Already alerted by the unequal language of a 'man" and "his wife," I was still surprised when his main point is that "God works at his own pace" to "wait before him as you wait for him" and "don't be impatient." 

So I compared it with two versions Psalm 62, verse 1, I use regularly, either from the Book of Common Prayer (BCP) or the Book of Psalms by Robert Alter.  The BCP translates the first verse as "For God alone my soul in silence waits from him comes my salvation," and Alter renders it as "Only in God is my being quiet, from him is my rescue."  So putting them alongside each other:

• I wait quietly before God for my salvation comes from him (New Living Translation)
• For God alone my soul in silence waits from him comes my salvation (Book of Common Prayer)
• Only in God is my being quiet, from him is my rescue (Alter)

The translation used by Briscoe, the New Living Translation (NLT) totally omits the exclusivity clearly conveyed by my familiar translations, either as "for God alone" or "Only in God."  My preferred versions also refer to either "soul" or "being," a concept that is omitted by the NLT version. Instead there is entirely new locational adverb of "before."  I could go on about the many ways I have problems with the translation used by Briscoe, but my point is not about the translation.  I certainly am not a Hebrew scholar, and don't know what problems the original source could have caused. 

I am disturbed by how Briscoe launched from the verse to write a mini-sermon on "waiting for his answers to arrive."  While I do struggle with patience when I have to wait for something, I have never seen this Psalm concerned with the waiting, and nothing at all about getting answers.  To do that seems a distortion and a distraction.

After reading this Psalm before walking a labyrinth, I repeat the phrase "For God alone my soul in silence waits" as a kind of mantra during the walk. When distracting thoughts arise, I affirm my intention to be focused on God, for God, and my desire to be silent, letting go of those things crowding my head. I pray for silence as a way to open myself to God.  I yearn for a sense of God, who usually speaks only when I am quiet.  The struggle is not one of waiting, but it is that of being able to be aware of God, to be trusting.  Or as I noted in the last entry, becoming Vulnerable and Available to God.

I have no desire to read anymore of the New Living Translation of the Bible based upon this experience.  I also don't expect to regularly use the book because of it's heavy use of Evangelical themes such as God's judgement.  When I looked up "doubt" in the topic index, each of the 8 reflections treat doubt as something to be relinquished or overcome.  There is no recognition that doubt can be a path into deeper understanding and faith.  I had hoped for something else. 

Prayer, Walking, and Labyrinths

(This essay first appeared at the No Chocolate in Lent blog I managed for the Middleham and St. Peter's Parish on March 31, 2011. I have revised it slightly with experiences that occurred since the original posting.)

During the recent Middleham and St. Peter’s young adult and family retreat, I introduced to the adults the spiritual practice of walking prayer. It is a practice I use regularly since I have great difficulty in sitting in one place and meditating. But if I am able to move, to walk while also quieting my thoughts, I find it easier to reduce the constant chatter for longer periods of time. It is even better if I can walk in a labyrinth.

Every month I try to go to the Cathedral Crossroads at the National Cathedral on the last Tuesday evening of the month. Among other activities, they spread out two canvas labyrinths, one in each transept, to allow for prayer through walking. There is always a musician, often a harp and Native American flute player, providing soft music that echoes the length of the nave. Everyone walks in their socks, to protect the canvas pattern from wear and dirt.

Every time is a different experience. Sometimes it is crowded, so we need to share the paths and figure out how to get around each other. Sometimes I am alone, or there are only one or two other persons. At the end of the evening, everyone still in the Cathedral is invited to join in the service of Compline, a corporate closing for the day.

Sometimes, as I walk, I become calmer, less anxious, more able to get on with life when I am done. Letting go of my thoughts helps to let go of negative feelings accumulated over the day. Sometimes, new perspectives or insights will emerge from the quietness. Occasionally I sense a presence that might be the Holy Spirit. Even those all to frequent times when I feel like I didn’t get much out of the walking, I know I need to do it anyway. I cannot predict or control what will happen, but I need to show up and walk if anything is going to happen. That is true of all spiritual practices.

If you have never tried it, my only advice is to ignore whatever anyone says you are supposed to do. Just start walking at whatever pace feels right, and see what happens. Oh, and do try to stay on the path, though I have seen persons make their own path. Many people, like my Mom, never could figure out why anyone would want to do it, though she was willing to try it once. Each person is different.

David and I have been building a garden around a simple five circuit labyrinth in our yard, combining my interests of gardening with labyrinths. The photo on the left is from last May shows the grass paths that run among the flower beds.  Each week you can read about what is blooming and see pictures at Labyrinth by the Bay. If you are ever in the neighborhood, please feel free to stop by and walk the paths with a view of the Bay.

More information about labyrinths can be found at the Grace Cathedral, where the current awareness of use of labyrinths was started by Dr. Lauren Artress. I attended a workshop by Dr. Artress during the recent Spiritual Director's International conference, and her approach is direct and simple.

The Labyrinth Society has a worldwide labyrinth locator, so when you are far from home, you can find a place to walk a labyrinth.

Walking Prayer and Community

Walking a labyrinth always seemed to be a solitary and internally focused time. When encountering others on the path, one or the other of us would step aside with a simple nod, quickly returning to internal focus. We would be polite to each other, but distant, not wanting to intrude into other person’s prayer time.

That changed one evening in early July walking the gravel and stone labyrinth at the Mercy Center in Burlingame, CA. The participants in the Internship in the Art of Spiritual Direction met in silence at the outdoor labyrinth. One at a time we entered the labyrinth, walking as individuals into the center, pausing for varying times, then back out. As people finished, they sat in the grass on the side, watching until the last person was done.

Starting the walk, I was hoping for the sense of centering and quiet. As I walked, I became very aware of who was around me, their names and what I knew about them. I noted in my journal “what an entirely different feeling it was for me – I was excited to be joining in with all of the others in walking . . . . it is big enough that most of the group fit into it easily. Some greeted me as they went by, others did not.” (July 5, 2006)

I felt connected with each one. There was new kind energy in sharing prayer together, an experience of God’s presence in community prayer rather than personal prayer. In a synergy of spirit and respect for everyone, the feelings stayed with me through the rest of the training program.

During the middle ages, the faithful would walk together in a line or dance in labyrinths. We know this from church documents which record church officials denouncing the activity and forbidding it. I have wanted to experience it, so at the end of the workshop at Mercy Center, I invited the others to join me in walking the labyrinth in a line.

Several gathered at the appointed time at dusk and we walked into the center with one hand on the shoulder of the person in front. We used a simple pattern of three steps forward then one step back, then three more steps forward and one back, over and over. Late arrivals joined the line on the way, until we were circled around the center.

Walking out, we held hands and walked naturally as the darkness was settling around us. “It was quite fun and playful coming out, and fun to see the line of more than a dozen of us stretched out around one side of the labyrinth. The most fun was when we were three to four layers deep near the center.” (July 23, 2006) One person began singing “We are walking in the light of God,” and soon we were all singing it loudly.

Those experiences changed me, and led me to become more attentive to what was going on while I was walking the labyrinth.

A few months ago at the National Cathedral, a several men were all walking one of the labyrinths at the same time. That is unusual, since there are many more women who walk than men, so I became very alert. As I approached the center, I was the second man to enter it. Then three more men entered. I wrote later:

For several minutes there were five of us men in the center – just amazing! I have never seen that many men walking before, much less to all be in the center at the same time. I was aware of all of us, praying that all could share with the others, and that God touch all of the others the way I was being energized by it. (October 30, 2007)

That small group of men, sitting together in prayer, touched me with an unexpected sense of community, even though there was no conversation and we did not even know each others names.

Now, whenever I begin each new walk through a labyrinth, I wonder if I will again sense the community of God.

Walking Prayer

Many of us were taught as children to pray by pressing our flattened hands together, holding them up in front of our chest, bending our heads down, and closing our eyes. We were supposed to stay in place, whether we were sitting or standing, and not move. Finally, no peeking was allowed.

If you ask adults to get ready to pray, they usually adopt a similar pose. They move into a similar body position with eyes closed or downcast, hands held in a particular way, and stop all movement in their limbs. It is an introspective position in which distractions are reduced and busy-ness is stopped, though as squirming children testify, not always successfully.

But as my radical Second Grade Sunday School told me, that is not the only way to pray. She told the class many years ago that prayer can be done with our eyes open, walking down the sidewalk and our hands at our sides. It so startled me at the time that I still remember that class even if I have forgotten her name. I thank her for that gift of a broader understanding of prayer.

So why did it take decades for me to adopt walking a labyrinth as a form of prayer?

In college, I encountered walking meditation based upon Eastern religious practices, which were in vogue. The leader showed us how to slowly extend one foot, putting down the heel, shifting the body weight onto the ball of that foot, lifting up the other foot to extend it, and repeating the motion very slowly. We moved so slowly I was able to feel a anxious sense of imbalance at I lifted up the foot in the back to move it forward.

Surprisingly, that deliberate movement of my body led to stillness in my mind. It was easier to let go of the distractions in my thoughts and feelings than sitting meditation. It remained a singular experience, although never forgotten.

It was a Washington Post article in April 2003 that led me to walking prayer in a labyrinth at the National Cathedral. It was very crowded that evening. I noted in my journal, “There were so many people around – side stepping, passing by, stopping. Yet I felt alone on the path, by myself at my own pace, on my own singular journey, even in the middle of community.”

After my first walk that April 29th, wrote in my journal that I became achingly aware of strong emotions that had been pushed aside. “I was feeling sorrow come up from my center and tears come up, around my eyes, down my cheeks. . . .” Similar experiences have occurred during many other walks since that one.

Since then, I try to walk that canvas pathway in my stocking feet at the National Cathedral every month. Sometimes I am with a friend and other times alone. I like to arrive around 7:30, when it tends to be less crowded. After writing in my journal to clear out the distractions from the day, I often reread the starting lines of Psalm 62, “For God alone my soul in silence waits . . . He alone is my rock and my salvation.” Then I go to whichever of the two labyrinths seems less crowded.

As I walk in toward the center, I repeat those words of the Psalm whenever my mind wanders. When I reach the center, I sit down and try to relax into quietness. I sit there until I sense it is time to leave and start walking back out. Walking in the opposite direction is different, and often feels like I am leaving behind a place that is safe and comforting.

Each time has been different, each time a new experience. Sometimes there is a sense of movement, healing or new possibility. Sometimes there is only emptiness or distraction. Yet I know I will come back again to experience the walking prayer.

I often remember one experience of release and relief. In one section of the Chartres style labyrinth, the last two half-circle paths before starting the final steps into the center, I often remember a time of letting go of deep seated anger, and feeling myself soaring. I had stuck out my arms like airplane wings, and banked my wings into the curves, floating free of the pain and weight of that anger.

It is not something I do everyday, and is not my primary form of prayer. It doesn’t always “work” at leading me into a quiet contemplative place. It does continue to lead my claiming a deeper sense of God in my life.