I turned 45 yesterday.
Assuming I live to 90 like my grandfather did, I’m halfway there. I seem to have reached the middle of my life, or maybe I’m past it. Only time will tell. But if I wasn’t middle-aged before, I certainly am now. And so, I am keeping company with Dante, whose opening lines keep ringing in my ears:
When half way through the journey of our life
I found that I was in a gloomy wood,
because the path which led aright was lost.
Not that I’m in a gloomy wood or have lost my way, just that I find myself halfway through the journey and on the cusp of what seems like a pilgrimage. Dante has his wood and I keep returning to my labyrinth. Life as I know it seems increasingly a circuitous wandering, ever circling, ever leading to the One who is the center.
I spent the majority of my birthday in quiet contemplation, beginning with Sacred Saturday followed by walking the labyrinth. I revisited and revised my rule of life (as I try to do every year on my birthday) and spent time working on an art and poetry collection I’m compiling. (In all honesty, I had hoped to have it done by my birthday, but this summer had its own twists and turns.) In between those pastimes, I talked with my favorite people on the phone and read a little before heading to an evening concert. (Top House, in case you were curious.) It was about as perfect a day as I could have hoped for.
I don’t remember if I’ve mentioned it here before, but one of the central images for my life is a garden at the center of a labyrinth / wilderness. It comes out in my art, and it’s a metaphor that winds its way into my poetry quite often. The image originally presented itself to me during an Ignatian meditation on Psalm 23, but it’s an idea that echoes throughout scripture, from Genesis to Isaiah to the gospels to Revelation. As I stand in the middle of this life, even with the circuitous path stretching out before me, I see more garden than wilderness where I am. It feels like a gift, this pause in the middle of the journey, and I am thankful for it.
I’m entering the second half of my life like the leaf I picked up on the labyrinth yesterday: vibrant, and only a little worse for wear.
Currently Reading: On labyrinths and gardens
Given the garden-in-the-wilderness theme my life has encompassed the last few years, did you really think I could pass up a book titled The Labyrinth of the World and the Paradise of the Heart? I don’t remember where I stumbled across the title, but between that and the fact that it was written by John Amos Comenius, I had to read it. Until this I have only been familiar with Comenius’ Orbus Pictus, the first children’s picture book, intended to teach Latin through the natural world. It was a precursor to Pilgrim’s Progress and is, like Dante’s Commedia and Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress (and the much more recent Hind’s Feet on High Places), an allegorical pilgrimage of spiritual transformation. I’m still in Part I of the book, but am surprised by its relevance. Though it was written in the early 17th century, Comenius’ observations about human nature and society are astute. As it turns out, Solomon’s wisdom still stands: there is nothing new under the sun.
Around the Corner: Michaelmas
We have entered the portion of Ordinary Time that gains speed, pulled by the gravity of Advent as the new year approaches. In a week we celebrate Michaelmas, a feast day to celebrate the triumph of good over evil. It’s a bit of a harvest festival joined with stories of dragon slaying, which makes it a delightful feast for fall. I hope to share a bit more next week, but mention it now to invite you to join in the festivities! Here are some ideas:
Invite some friends over for a potluck feast - especially if people can share what they’ve made themselves or grown in the garden.
Read a dragon slaying story. You can do this individually (I’m revisiting Sir Gawain and the Green Knight this year) or as a read-aloud with others. Read whole stories or just the good parts excepted.
Read about the battle between Michael the Archangel and the Dragon in Revelation.
Spend some time looking at art depicting Michael and all angels and the battle. Bruegel has one painting that particularly invites a close look at all the details.
Spend some time reflecting on the ways in which you are being invited to slay your own dragons, standing up for what is good and true and right even when the odds seem stacked against you.