Fourth Sunday of Lent
Receive: Waiting at the Heart of God
"Wait
and see what comes
to fill
the gaping hole
in your chest.
Wait with your hands open
to receive what could never come
except to what is empty
and hollow."
— Jan Richardson
Jan Richardson, artist and author, wrote these words following her husband's death. She knows what it means to wait in emptiness and what can come when we do.
To arrive at the center of the labyrinth is to walk a single path to the heart of God. It's a journey of laying aside all that distracts you from a deeper relationship with the Holy, putting down burdens that were never yours to carry in the first place, and choosing to draw closer to the sacred with openness and vulnerability. That may seem like a lot to heap onto this metaphor of the labyrinth, but like any spiritual practice, over time, you experience the truth and the power of transformation in these rituals.
Last week, we considered what it means—what it would feel like—to be open to illumination, to experience silence as Barbara Holmes described it: not absence but presence. This week, I want to challenge you to wait for it. To sit in silence longer than feels comfortable. To be still long enough for something new to happen. To be honest enough about the barriers and excuses you have put up not to hear Wisdom and Truth for your life.
Before our last centering prayer retreat, the staff experimented with just three minutes of silence to generate empathy and awe for what the retreatants would be doing for hours over an eight-day retreat. As the chime sounded at three minutes, one staff member exclaimed, "People pay for this?!" Another said, "No one should spend that much time in your heads." It was light-hearted and a genuine reaction to a new experience of silence and stillness. And spot on! It is profoundly difficult to choose to wait and be vulnerable in the silence.
Jan Richardson experienced the heart-wrenching reality of being empty and hollow after her husband's death. And somehow she found the vulnerability and the trust to wait. "Wait," as Jan Richardson says, "to receive what could never come except to what is empty and hollow."
If you walk or trace the labyrinth today, or imagine doing so, and arrive at the heart of God at the center, how do you wait? How long can you be open to what arises in your own soul? Can you wait for that divine word that could never come when you were busy, distracted, too full of the world?
I invite you to be honest about any gaping wounds in your chest. Not to fix them, not to fill them with your own frantic activity, but to wait a little longer than feels comfortable and see what God places in that empty space.
Practice: Waiting to Receive
This week, you find yourself at the center of the labyrinth, at the heart of God, waiting.
Choose a comfortable position, seated or standing, with feet firmly on the ground. If you are standing, adjust your body until your hips are directly over your feet, steady. In any position, rock a bit forward and back until your shoulders are over your hips. Nod or draw slow circles with your head until it rests, perched directly over your shoulders. Breathe in deeply to your belly, maintaining this aligned posture, and exhale completely.
Next, imagine strings from the ceiling/sky attached to your elbows. On the next inhale, imagine those strings pulling your elbows up slightly, and your arms rise a few inches away from your body. On the exhale, allow them to return to your side. Repeat this movement five or six more times, each time your arms rise a little higher before you exhale. Until the final time, your arms raise all the way overhead. And a long exhale back to resting.
You may imagine receiving trust, strength, patience, and love with each inhale. And releasing anxiety, skepticism, worry, and anger with each exhale.
Finally, wait. Wait with your hands open for a word, an assurance, an insight, or a question that you could not have received if you rushed out of the silence. How long can you wait? Longer than three minutes. Longer than feels comfortable. Long enough to discover what Jan Richardson knew: that fullness comes to emptiness.
Take this week’s reflection and video slowly. Don't rush; let God work through your stillness.
