There’s a lot on my mind as I hurry through the final moments of breakfast on a stunningly beautiful Sunday morning. The sky is blue, and there is bright sunshine and enough cloud cover to make an interesting texture as I gaze upwards. The fall leaves have nearly “let go” of their trees, and the green from summer is still evident. I am eager to spend a good amount of time outdoors today simply enjoying nature.

I am at a monastery in northwestern Pennsylvania, an hour or so from my Pittsburgh home, on a 3-day directed, silent retreat. I decide to walk the outdoor labyrinth. But can I do that in thirty-degree weather without freezing my butt off? Labyrinths are generally walked very slowly, so hyperthermia was a real possibility that day.  Yet, slowing down was exactly what I desired to do, cold weather notwithstanding. There was a time in the not-so-distant past when I may have run away screaming from what I thought walking the labyrinth might be, or, indeed, what a silent retreat may or may not entail. Slowness and silence were not my friends.  But, in my current season of life as a new empty-nester and deep in the midst of writing my first book, I relish the opportunity for silence, slowing down, prayer, and stepping out of my usual routine.

Since I am a self-proclaimed extrovert, Type-A, first-born, over-achiever and serial entrepreneur, some people who know me are intrigued by my seemly new attraction to silence and other Christian contemplative practices. My twenty years of yoga teaching and practice have paved the way for a yearning and desire to be more contemplative.  As a soon-to-be-published author – a task that is rather solitary - I need quiet spaces to jumpstart the creative process of writing. One of my primary tasks these days is being busy not being busy. I have to guard my time and energy carefully. I have to say “no” to things I usually say “yes” to. Contemplation is part of how I do this.  Jesuit theologian, Walter Burghardt, says “contemplation is taking a long loving look at the real.” When I contemplate, I voluntarily enter silence. I have to “hold the space” for my thinking and for my writing and, for me, there’s a lot more thinking than writing going on. I have adjusted my schedule accordingly to support my mind, body, and spirit in this holy act of writing.

Coming away to Villa Maria has been one of those how-am-I-going-to-fit-this-into-my-schedule experiences, and I realize this is the time I need to create space.  So here I am on this chilly morning at Villa Maria. My spiritual director for this retreat, Sister Ardath, a saintly, compassionate nun in her seventies, suggested I look for God in the natural beauty all around me. She said, “Look for the chipmunks. They are flexible and joyful.” So, off I went looking for chipmunks, which is how I ended up at the labyrinth on day three of my silent retreat.  I could feel myself slowing down internally and externally. In the past, I have slowly walked and prayed a labyrinth. But today I wanted to make the most of being outdoors in this stunning setting. Since it was too chilly for slow walking, I decided to do a combination of walking and standing yoga postures with attention to the breath. I chose half-salutes as a way to “walk” the labyrinth and not freeze.  The simplicity of the half-salute is an elegant way to link breath to movement. 

In case you want to try this (even if it isn’t so cold), here are some instructions for how to practice a simple half-salute with the Jesus Prayer. It begins with inhaling the arms up to the sky, exhaling, hinging at the hips and reaching down, inhaling up half-way, exhaling down, inhaling all the way back up, pressing through the feet, sweeping the arms wide and bringing them back to the heart center.

Half-salute is a very handy practice, because it’s a standing practice and can be done without a yoga mat or prior knowledge of yoga. I decide to add the “Jesus Prayer” to my half-salute. It fits nicely with the movement and feels theologically solid as I sweep my arms to heaven and then bow down toward the earth. The Jesus Prayer is an ancient prayer practice of the Eastern Church. More recently, the Jesus Prayer has enjoyed some renewal and prominence from a Protestant audience. In its long form, it states, “Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.”  In its shortest form, it may be just “Jesus.” It is said silently and repetitively until it seems to happen by itself. This is called a “self-activating” prayer that allows one to follow the biblical mandate of praying without ceasing. I like its all encompassing nature and simplicity. 

Inhale   Jesus Christ

Exhale  Son of God

Inhale   have mercy on me

Exhale  a sinner

I enter the labyrinth. I have it all to myself – though this practice could easily be done with a group by staggering the start of each person. I decide to do a half-salute at each turn – though as I begin, I am not sure how much time it will take, so I walk quickly to the next turn. I keep going and start to settle into the rhythm of the movement and link it to my breath. Inhale, Lord Jesus Christ, exhale, Son of God, inhale, have mercy on me, exhale, a sinner, inhale up, exhale, hands to the heart center.

At every turn, I am facing a different direction. I continue to notice the beauty of the fall landscape in more glorious detail: the wind rustling the leaves, the way the sunlight hits the red leaves. My mind starts to get quiet. The only sound I hear is that of the wind and the occasional bird chirping.  I am far enough in the labyrinth that I see repeat scenery – but I am surprised that I see things I hadn’t noticed on the previous round. The movement, the air; the prayer is both calming my mind and energizing my body; my spirit soars – this is the true gift of yoga – an integration of mind, body, and spirit.

About three-quarters of the way around the labyrinth and my half-salute Jesus prayer practice, I pause to see if I am near the center, which I had decided would be the “end” of the labyrinth for my practice today.  I’m not even close. I keep going. My body knows what to do now. Later, when I notice I am getting closer to the center, I feel a rush of joy through my whole being. Is that the satisfaction of the-end-in-sight in less than twenty minutes?  Possibly. I am sure that experts on labyrinths have a lot to say about its qualities and the metaphors that the labyrinth evokes. For me, today, I feel like the elusive chipmunk – flexible and joyful (and still warm from movement) as I head back to my room for a hot cup of tea. Now I am walking more slowly, taking in the beauty all around me.  The glow of the prayer linked to my breath and movement stay with me throughout the rest of my day highlighting to me the importance of including my whole body to my prayers. For me, the combination brings together top-down (cognitive) and bottom-up (body-based) approaches to my inner spiritual life that feels just right.

The next time you are near an outdoor labyrinth, perhaps you’ll want to try this half-salute Jesus prayer practice too.