Tag Archives: labyrinth

Wildfires and the journey of faith

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Labyrinth at Bonnevaux Centre for Peace (photo by Martin Malina, 21 July 2023, Marçay, France)

How could such a beginning
Ringed in water
Come to such an end
Fixed in fire?
(King, 2019)

When I recently read this poetic lament written by Canadian Indigenous historian and poet, Thomas King, I couldn’t help but immediately think about all the wildfires this summer.

Others are calling on us Canadians to get used to the “new reality” (Reed, 2025, August 11) regarding summertime wildfires. 2025 has been the second worst year for wildfires after the record-setting year in 2023.

The average number of hectares that burn over a 5-year period in Canada is around 4 million. This year alone, seven-and-a-half million hectares of land have burned due to wildfires, about 78% more than the 5-year average.

The warmer it gets the more fires we see. It is a stark manifestation of the climate crisis, with temperatures this past spring already two-and-a-half degrees Celsius above average. The hotter the climate the more the atmosphere sucks moisture out of the dead vegetation and the forest floor, creating ideal conditions for fires to start. The warmer temperatures increase the frequency of lightning that sparks the fires. Lightning is a leading cause of wildfires in remote regions of Canada’s north.

Indeed,

How could such a beginning
Ringed in water
Come to such an end
Fixed in fire?
(King, 2019)

How do you interpret this poem? Likely, we can go in many different directions with it. We could, like I initially did, take his poem literally and refer it to creation and the climate crisis.

We could also read it as a metaphor for faith, describing the journey of faith beginning in the waters of baptism and ending in the fiery passion of living in the Spirit?

Whichever way you go, poetic words are meant to call out from each of us – our own hearts and minds – a unique response. Scripture is meant that way, to elicit and evoke something from us.

Like last week’s Gospel, Jesus’ words in the opening verse of today’s reading from Luke leans into this approach: “I came to cast fire to the earth and how I wish it were already ablaze!” (Luke 12:49). Poetic. But is Jesus angry? Is he vengeful?

Recall, Jesus recently rebuked James and John for wanting retribution, wanting to bring down fire from heaven on unwelcoming Samaritans (Luke 9:54-55). Jesus means a different kind of fire. This is not the fire that incinerates. It’s not the fire of judgement raining down from heaven upon the heads of God’s (read, ‘our’) enemies. Let’s be careful about taking these poetic words literally.

Some bible scholars suggest Jesus is talking about the fire he takes upon himself. This is the “baptism by fire” (Lull, 2010, p. 361) that entails his own suffering, his own passion. God’s work on earth is Jesus’ own self-giving, his own sacrifice on the cross. “How I wish it were already ablaze,” Jesus says. How he wishes his purpose on earth was already accomplished. He was passionate.

So, where does that leave us? Jesus does not let his disciples, nor we, off the hook. In this season after Pentecost we continue to be reminded of the Holy Spirit’s work in our lives, in the church on earth. The fire the Spirit of God brings burns in the hearts and minds of followers of Jesus. “Were not our hearts burning within us?” confessed the disciples after seeing the resurrected Jesus (Luke 24:32). A spiritual awakening, a growth, a movement enflamed by the Spirit’s power continues to burn in the hearts of Jesus’ followers ever since.

So, if the fire in this Gospel refers to the passion of Jesus leading through the suffering of the cross and the empty tomb, the death and resurrection of Jesus introduce us to the paradox of faith. In other words, we cannot bypass the pain on the path to new life. Death before resurrection. Whatever good for which we pray, strive and seek only comes by way of hard, personal work. The good results from the struggle.

At the orientation meeting when I started the Master of Arts in Counselling Psychology over a year and a half ago, the Dean of the program told all of us newbies that, “to learn is to churn.” To churn, like hurricane Erin now does in the eastern Caribbean.

To learn is to churn. I didn’t want to believe him at first. But I can honestly now say that this learning journey, while rewarding and affirming in many ways, has also been a churning, so to speak.

Learning is something we say we are always doing. But the growth and positive change don’t come without the pain of loss. The ‘little deaths’, as Martin Luther liked to put it. This challenge can apply to everything from family relations to politics to community engagement and church work, from caring for ourselves and others to meeting our daily challenges. Solutions don’t come without some churning along the way.

To learn is to churn. On the one hand, churning is about movement. When we confront the ambiguity and nuance and complexity of life, we don’t just give up and stay stuck in this challenging awareness. Churning is about movement. We do something. Our behaviour changes.

At the same time, churning is about a movement that is not rushed nor hastily reactive. Churning turns things over, mixing it all, going deep. We don’t rush the turns of life. We spend time in, embrace, the change as hard as it is. Teilhard de Chardin said, “Above all, trust in the slow work of God” (DotMagis, 2025). Churning.

One highlight of the summer for me happened on the first day of summer, when members of three congregations in this community went for a walk from garden to garden to garden. We ended by walking the labyrinth on the floor in the parish hall at Julian of Norwich Anglican Church.

The labyrinth has a history in the Christian tradition. During the Middle Ages, when Christian pilgrimages to Jerusalem were disrupted by conflict, particularly during the Crusades, Christians developed labyrinths as a substitute for the physical journey to the Holy Land. 

These labyrinths, often called “Chemins de Jerusalem” (Paths of Jerusalem), provided a way for Christians to symbolically journey to Jerusalem through prayer and meditation, particularly on the Passion of Christ. The most famous of these labyrinths is in the Chartres Cathedral near Paris, France.

When I walked on the labyrinth at Julian of Norwich, praying and reflecting on the journey of life and faith, these words pierced my heart with renewed appreciation: “There is no wrong turn”. On the labyrinth, there is no wrong turn.

The labyrinth, after all, is not a maze. In a maze you may be tricked or mistaken in taking a wrong turn which leads to a dead end, right? But not so in a labyrinth. There is only the one path, leading to the centre. You just need to follow it.

And be mindful of the turns. Those turns take you around 360 degrees. If you are sprinting, you might overshoot and miss the turn. But by remaining faithful to the slow work, by staying on the path, that is all. You just need to take your time at each turn. On the labyrinth, there is no wrong turn. In a life of faith, there is no wrong turn.

These turns, changes of direction, in life, are not easy. But these turns provide the best learning opportunities in your life. And yes, to learn is to churn.

As I focus on my practicum over the next eight months, I will have an excellent opportunity to learn. It will also be an excellent opportunity for you, the congregation, to learn. To learn together in a new way.

Trust the path. On the way, there is no wrong turn. No decision you make is outside the purview of God’s grace, mercy and love. Because the path you are on, even with all the turns, takes you to the center of Jesus’ heart, into the fullness of Christ’s presence and love. This is the eternal journey that begins now, and in eternity never ends.

The promised glory at the end of the road requires us to take that road, and fully embrace ourselves on the path ahead, one step at a time.

Trust in the slow work of God. And be amazed.

References:

DotMagis (Ed.). (2025). Prayer of Teilhard de Chardin: Patient trust [Website]. Loyola Press. https://www.ignatianspirituality.com/prayer-of-theilhard-de-chardin/

King, T. (2019). 77 fragments of a familiar ruin: Poems. Harper Collins.

Lull, P. J. (2010). Luke 12:49-56: Pastoral perspective. In D. L. Bartlett & B. B. Taylor (Eds.), Feasting on the word: Preaching the revised common lectionary, year c volume 3 (pp. 359-362). Westminster John Knox Press.

Reed, B. (2025, August 11). Canada wildfire season already second worst on record as experts warn of ‘new reality’ [website]. The Guardian. https://www.theguardian.com/world/2025/aug/11/canada-wildfire-season

There’s no place on earth

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People of faith, since the beginning, have been on the move. Even when they settled down for a while, they created ways of practising the journey — of moving from Point A to Point B.

Rome, central to the story and expansion of early Christianity, is full of famous steps. The most famous of these are the 135 Spanish steps which visitors traverse daily en masse.

Millions of Christians have walked the Camino el Santiago which spans almost 800 kms from the foothills of the Pyrenees in France all the way to Galicia on the northwest coast of Spain.

The trails to the castle at Lindisfarne in the United Kingdom attract Christians worldwide every Holy Week to walk nearly 200 kilometres.

People of faith have valued movement as integral to their spiritual growth. Because we are not the same at the end of a journey than we were when we started. This innate desire to be better, to change, to grow and mature — is part and parcel of the life of faith.

The culture of Journeying, so important to the Lenten season we now begin, has its roots in the original pilgrimages to Holy Lands. For centuries, Christians sought a deeper connection with Jesus who walked and lived and died in and around Jerusalem and the Judean wilderness. 

When the Crusades prevented pilgrims from traveling to the Holy Lands, Christians ‘back home’ developed prayer walks in Labyrinths — the most famous and oldest in the Chartres Cathedral in France — which symbolized the long journey to meet Jesus.

Indeed, settlers to this country moved here, many of them to exercise and practice their faith in freedom. Mobility, migration, pilgrimage — this is our story, as people of faith.

How we journey is the question. The journey is not only physical, it also describes our understanding of the way things work.

Over the last month, the Ottawa Senators (NHL hockey team) were looking to score more goals. They had lost more games than won. Their star players were not producing. 

One of their younger players, Curtis Lazar, decided to give $50 to a homeless person after dining out one evening. The next night, he scored two goals in a routing of the Toronto Maple Leafs — the Senators won that game 6-1. The following game, the Senators won again, 5-1, against the Tampa Bay Lightning.

In an interview afterwards, Lazar confessed that perhaps there was “karma” working here. Meaning, because he had done a good deed, there was a ‘return’ on his righteous investment and he was rewarded with those goals and wins.

I like Lazar and I appreciate his hockey skills and character. At the same time, he reflects a dominant way of thinking. It is really what some have a called a mechanical type of spirituality, with inputs (from us) and outputs (from God). The sequence goes something like:

1. We sin

2. We are punished

3. We confess our sins

4. We change our lives, and do something good

5. Then, we receive forgiveness and grace

Such is the description of a journey towards goodness that hinges entirely on us, and our doing, our initiative. This spiritual journey then cycles back to the beginning and round and round it goes. Essentially, we force God’s hand. Karma is not a belief alien even to Christians, it seems!

The problem with karma is that because it ultimately relies on our good works, we will never achieve the goal. After winning two lop-sided games, the Senators have now lost three in a row. Where does that leave Lazar? Does he have to give $100 next time to poor people he meets?

In recalling the great acts of God in bringing the Israelites to the Promised Land, Moses confesses it is God’s mighty arm that started the ball rolling towards freedom; verses 8-9 of Deuteronomy 26:

8The Lord brought us out of Egypt with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm, with a terrifying display of power, and with signs and wonders; 9and he brought us into this place and gave us this land, a land flowing with milk and honey.

Like the Israelites wandering in the desert for 40 years, Jesus walks with us in a completely opposite direction from karma. His is not the spirituality of addition, but of subtraction. He goes into the desert.

Try to imagine Jesus’ first moments, entering into the wilderness he would occupy for forty days: The sound of any footsteps is absorbed by sand and rock, lost in the wind or in silence. It is in this barren place that Jesus chooses to retreat, far from what he knows.

Christ chose to retrace the path of his ancestors — in the desert: Abraham. Moses. Ruth. Some of them were responding to God’s call. Some were fleeing persecution. Some were simply looking for a place to call home.

There may very well be value, to our growth as Christians, in embarking on spiritual journeys and earth-bound pilgrimages with some expectations at the destination in mind.

At the same time, we can be assured that Jesus not only waits for us at the ‘end of the line’. Jesus is right there with us, each step of the way. His journey into the desert of testing and suffering shows that there is no place of suffering, pain and loss on earth, to which Jesus is unaccustomed. No place of want that Jesus doesn’t know, intimately. This is more the point.

I like one of the sayings, attributed to Albert Camus, on a Valentine’s Day card I saw: It’s a message of love from one to another: “Don’t walk in front of me, I may not follow; don’t walk behind me, I may not lead. Just walk beside me, and be my friend.”

The message of Christianity is that God is not out there, or back there. God is ‘in our skin’, with us. And goes where we go in our journeys of faith and life, through the good and the bad. Jesus is not only the God of our eternal salvation, Jesus is our friend for life, and no matter what.

Jesus resides in the deepest places of our heart and activates our truest most authentic selves no matter where we are at.

Long before Jesus came, the Psalmist knew this gracious truth in his heart: There is no place on earth where God’s presence of grace, love and mercy cannot reach. In Psalm 139 —

7 Where can I go from your spirit? Or where can I flee from your presence? 
8 If I ascend to heaven, you are there; if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there. 9 If I take the wings of the morning and settle at the farthest limits of the sea, 10 even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me fast. 

Contrary to karma, this journey of faith begins with God’s grace and forgiveness, as it always does. It is in the desert of our lives where we experience this grace because life happens regardless of how hard we try. And because we are already forgiven, already blessed, we can live confident, transformed lives, even in the desert of our lives. As we live out of our freedom in Christ, we can then confess, “Jesus is Lord!”

As God is with us in our deepest darkness and light, we look to those on the move today. Refugees. Migrants. More than the places of the journey, it is the people we must engage. 

While the desert wilderness was a time of solitary retreat for Jesus, migrants and refugees live in communities: their solace is in the comfort of companionship and common history and identity with those whom they live alongside. In the Lenten days to come, in our own solitary places, let us pray for those for whom solitude is a luxury. And welcome them into our hearts and minds. (1)

(1) Lutherans Connect, “Welcoming the Stranger” blogpost Lenten devotions, Day 1 (lc2016lentdevotional.blogspot.ca)

Prayer sustains acts of love

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It wasn’t until the tables were cleared that I noticed the large labyrinth painted on the floor.

For three hours the basement of St Luke’s Anglican Church located in the middle of Chinatown in downtown Ottawa was bustling with activity.

The daily soup kitchen and drop-in centre was the venue for three Anglican/Lutheran youth preparing for their Confirmation in the Christian faith. They serve their neighbor who is for whatever reason destitute.

And yet for several hours each weekday the large church basement becomes a safe place for companionship, laughter and support. We are learning the importance of relationship-building in the way of Christ. For “God so loved the world that he sent his Son Jesus…”(John 3:16).

I also was affirmed in my faith when the labyrinth was revealed to me on the floor. Because the Christian tradition of prayer undergirded, literally, all the outward acts of love, service and relationship-building going on above it.

I explained to the youth this ancient Christian form of walking prayer centering on Jesus — a path that one undertakes in faith, and which leads to loving union with God. One need only stay on the path and move forward.

We return to St Luke’s twice more this week. Only next time I will remember that in the faces of the people I serve is Christ himself.

Together we journey in the way of Christ. Though often fraught with danger, fear and want, the journey undertaken in the prayer of Jesus is one where the love and grace of God is experienced along the way.

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