Pass-a-Grille Beach Community Church recreates a medieval labyrinth to bring its members closer to God.
ST. PETE BEACH — A footstep begins Jay Johnson’s prayer. He gets up from a bench outside Pass-a-Grille Beach Community Church, but doesn’t raise his arms, doesn’t shout “Hallelujah,” doesn’t murmur a verse. One foot slowly in front of the other, he embarks on his 825-foot journey into the center of the labyrinth, silently seeking the center of his faith.
“It’s the only way I can get my work out of my head,” Johnson says in a Southern drawl lingering from his native North Carolina. “I work on a computer all day long. Here I can get all that out of my head and talk to God.”
Labyrinths are like mazes, but instead of tricking users with multiple dead-end choices, they pull pilgrims along only one path. Churches like the one in Pass-a-Grille use labyrinths for silent prayer. Hospitals use them as a nondenominational form of meditation. Schoolchildren walk labyrinths as a new method of conflict resolution.
The labyrinth in Pass-a-Grille is painted onto cement in front of the church. The circle itself would barely cover half a volleyball court, but because walkers weave back and forth on their way to the center, they’ll meander one-third of a mile by the time they complete their quest.
The form itself is ancient; artifacts can be traced back 3,200 years to Greece. But it is again surging in popularity as people try to find quiet in an increasingly high-tech world. As many as 4,000 labyrinths now exist in the United States. Most were built in the past five years, according to Gael Hancock of the Labyrinth Society, a group of more than 800 labyrinth enthusiasts formed in 1998.
A former pastor of Pass-a-Grille Beach Community Church spearheaded the effort to put in the labyrinth, according to church historian Barbara Smith. Members of the United Church of Christ congregation, a few of whom were engineers, laid down cement and painted on the circular design when the church built an addition in 1999. It was modeled after the labyrinth at Grace Cathedral in San Francisco, which itself is a copy of a 13th century labyrinth at Chartres Cathedral in France.
The Pass-a-Grille church formally uses the labyrinth during guided walks on Thursday mornings and once a month on Monday nights, though passersby sometimes stop to walk the path on their way to the beach. On Thursdays, 10 or more participants read the prayers on behalf of the congregation as they walk, and often listen to Taize-type music, a lyrical chanting started at a monastery in France. On Mondays, walkers meditate on a chosen theme. During the winter, when the sun melts out of the sky earlier than the walkers appear, flickering candles light the perimeter.
“Some folks find it extremely powerful. It’s not powerful to others,” says the Rev. Susan Detterman, acting associate pastor at the church. “There’s no magic to the path. … It’s not the path. It’s you and God on the path walking together.”
The theme on a recent Monday was prayer for those in harm’s way, particularly soldiers, in homage to Independence Day. No music plays, though, because of the threat of more thunderstorms like the ones that rolled through earlier in the day, leaving puddles on the ivory and tan surface of the labyrinth. And because others are away on vacation or avoiding the rain, this evening, it’s only Jay Johnson and his wife, Norma.
Jay starts before Norma, and walks more quickly but still not fast. His pace is more contemplative than competitive. He keeps his arms at his side and leans forward a bit, focusing on the switchbacks the path takes.
“Part of your mind works on following the path, and the other part prays,” he says.
The symbol of the labyrinth can be found in many cultures, but its origins are obscure. According to the Web site of labyrinth historian Jeff Saward (www.labyrinthos.net), the image can be traced back more than 3,200 years. The oldest known artifact is a clay tablet found in Greece with a labyrinth inscribed. Romans adapted the design for mosaics throughout the Roman Empire. The Sun Father and Earth Mother depictions of the Hopi Tribe of Arizona are labyrinths; the Earth symbol, in fact, is one labyrinth inside another, like a child in a mother’s womb. Medieval churches and cathedrals like the Chartres added a Christian spin. The twisting path symbolized the way to eternal salvation; during the Crusades, it may have taken the place of pilgrimages to Jerusalem. In England, labyrinths were created of hedges. In Scandinavia, they were formed with stones on a shoreline.
Labyrinth enthusiasts often credit the Rev. Dr. Lauren Artress, an Episcopalian minister at San Francisco’s Grace Cathedral, with playing a leading role in the revival of the labyrinth in the United States. Artress traveled to France in 1991 and, with others, uncovered the labyrinth at the Cathedral of Nortre Dame in Chartres, which had been ignored under chairs for more than 200 years. Artress took the design back to San Francisco and constructed two at Grace Cathedral, one inside and one outside, making labyrinths accessible to the American public.
“The movement helps people who can’t sit still to meditate or pray to quiet themselves,” says Roberta Sautter, coordinator at Veriditas a nonprofit organization Artress founded. “In our modern world, with things that come in short [bursts], like television and stuff, we’ve lost the ability to sit still and access meditative skills.”
The Pass-a-Grille labyrinth is 37 feet across, a path of 11 concentric rings that weave closer and closer as the seeker reaches the center. On the outer rim is a ring of “lunations” or arches formed from 112 “foils,” or half-circles, and 113 “cusps,” or points. According to the church’s literature, this outer embellishment is thought to have been used as a calendar to determine the date of Easter. The center is formed by six circles like petals in a flower, symbolizing the six days of creation. The shape is called the rosette, which represents the Virgin Mary and enlightenment.
When Johnson enters the rosette, he pauses in each petal, sometimes for a minute or more. He starts at the near left and works his way around clockwise, arms clasped loosely in front. Birds chirp. A fountain burbles lazily.
“I collect my thoughts in the middle,” he says. “I feel so good coming out. I feel like the people I’ve prayed for have felt my prayers.”
Members of the Pass-a-Grille congregation have helped construct a labyrinth at the hospice in Pinellas Park where Terry Schiavo stayed. The Moffitt Cancer Center in Tampa has been using a canvas labyrinth as a form of therapy for patients since 2002. Patients consider a question as they journey the labyrinth, and consider each turn of the labyrinth as a step or new phase.
“Anything that can offer relief or provide comfort to anyone who is struggling with a major health concern like cancer, this is of great interest to us,” says Cheryl Belanger, coordinator of the center’s arts in medicine program. “It really offers an opportunity for effective meditation or contemplation on the symbolic journey of life.”
Schools are becoming increasingly interested in labyrinths for conflict resolution, encouraging kids to talk out their problems at different stations along the path, says Hancock of the Labyrinth Society. Universities are adding labyrinths to health and wellness centers, such as one at the medical school at the University of Texas. She says anecdotal evidence suggests that walking in labyrinths could also help those who suffer from attention deficit disorder by focusing attention on spatial perception rather than language tasks.
“Walking a labyrinth is almost like a brain vacation,” she says.
Jane Crabtree says that she’s found just that. Crabtree is a regular Thursday labyrinth walker at the Pass-a-Grille church.
“You spend your time just following the path, which for somebody as distracted as I am has been excellent,” says Crabtree, a retired fourth-grade teacher. “You don’t chat with your neighbors. You don’t listen to the birds. You just follow the path.”
The ivory paint marking the path of the Pass-a-Grille labyrinth is chipping, and cracks run across its surface like fault lines from a spiritual epiphany. Smith, the church’s historian, says that the church council plans to repaint it, keeping it vibrant not only for its own members but for the community.
As Jay Johnson finishes his silent prayer at the heart of the labyrinth, he retraces his steps back to the entrance. He chats with the minister and her visitors before following his wife as she wanders off the labyrinth and toward the beach, beginning another journey.
