Winding Toward Renewal

Labyrinth Walks for a Distracted Age

Over thirty years ago, I built my first labyrinth out of hay in a wide Vermont field. I was there for a workshop led by a well-known labyrinth builder who spoke with reverence about the metaphysical nature of this ancient design. He was not as a Christian, but in the universal Christ Consciousness. and knew that our bodies and spirits are changed by the simple act of walking this path. That was when I first learned the quiet power the labyrinth holds in a world that was already brimming with distractions.

Today, the distractions have only multiplied. The constant pings and buzzes of the devices we carry in our pockets, strap to our wrists, and hold in our hands pull us away from ourselves and from the portals of connection within us—the doorways that open us to the world, the universe, and the divine.

A labyrinth is not a maze. There are no dead ends, no tricks, no puzzles to solve. Instead, there is one winding path that leads inward to a center, then guides you outward again. It is a universal symbol of pilgrimage, prayer, and transformation. In Christian history, labyrinths were carved into the floors of great cathedrals like Chartres, where pilgrims traced their way to the center as if walking to Jerusalem itself.

Before Christianity, labyrinths appeared across cultures as symbols of life’s journey, as sacred geometry, and embodied meditation. Did you know that the seven-path labyrinth was being used in meso-American, Mediterranean, and Nordic cultures simultaneously over four thousand years ago? Today, you’ll find them in churches, hospitals, retreat centers, public gardens, and community spaces—many open to all who seek grounding, healing, or renewal.

To walk the labyrinth during the new moon adds another layer of meaning. The new moon is a threshold moment, the dark phase of the lunar cycle, a time of emptiness and possibility, when the slate is cleared and the seeds of new beginnings can be planted. Across traditions, this lunar darkness has been honored as a time for letting go and for setting intentions that can grow in the weeks ahead. When the labyrinth and the new moon meet, the walk becomes a ritual of release, of pausing in stillness, and of returning with renewed direction.

Modern research helps explain why this ancient practice feels so powerful. Studies in mindfulness show that even short daily practices sharpen attention, improve reaction times, and reduce susceptibility to distraction. Other studies focused on labyrinth walking itself describe how the rhythm of the path calms anxiety, quiets agitation, and brings scattered thoughts into focus. To walk the labyrinth, then, is to practice a moving meditation—one that gathers our attention and makes us more fully present to ourselves, to one another, and to the divine.

This is why the labyrinth is such a gift for our time. For Christians, it can be a prayer in motion, a pilgrimage traced with the body. For those outside the church, it can be meditation, mindfulness, and renewal. In both cases, it offers an ancient yet accessible way to step out of the chaos of daily life and into a shared circle of silence and intention. On a new moon night, this simple walk becomes a bridge—between believers and skeptics, between tradition and experiment, between body and spirit.

I offer these words as a centering prayer if you plan to join our New Moon Labyrinth Walk (or trace a finger labyrinth at home).

As I walk inward, I let go of what no longer serves.

In the center, I pause to listen for wisdom and peace.

As I walk outward, I carry with me a clear intention for the days ahead. 

May each step draw you closer to clarity, grounding, and new beginnings.

Peace,

Pastor Robin