Nearly every student is aware of the stone labyrinth set in the lawn outside Burns Library. You might know a fact or two about it—for example, that it’s a memorial to the victims of the 9/11 attacks. It seems, however, that few people are sure what to do with it. The temptation is to let it continue to sit there like the stranger on your morning commute: you don’t look at it, it doesn’t look at you. But what if you knew this sort of labyrinth is actually a centuries-old tradition invested with deep significance? What if you imagined that in past times, people used to walk it on their knees?
Like all the most fascinating things, the labyrinths came about in medieval Europe. The most famous is in the Chartres Cathedral in France, and it was built into the floor of the church in around A.D. 1200. Eleven concentric circles loop together in a path that leads towards the center. The labyrinth remains there today—between Lent and All Saints’ Day, visitors have the opportunity to walk it.
There are so many fascinating reasons for its installation that it’s hard to know which one to talk about first, but let’s start with the most concrete: the labyrinth was meant to represent a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. In a time when many Christians lacked the ability to travel to the Holy Land, they would instead visit a cathedral with a labyrinth (so they would go to Chartres instead of Jerusalem—and you can go to Burns instead of Chartres). There, they would walk the maze, often on their knees as an act of penance.
This should remind us how important place has always been to Catholics, and to people of faith generally. For centuries, Christians have so longed for the sacrifice and grace of pilgrimage that they would forge their way however they could. The notion of the journey is central to our faith as “pilgrims on earth.”
That journey is never simply one to Jerusalem, but also to the Heavenly City. It will come as no surprise, then, that the labyrinth was also meant to be a condensed portrayal of mortal life. The beginning of the maze symbolizes birth; the folds and twists of the path represent the turns of life; the beautiful, flowered center stands for death. But death is only the halfway point—you have to get out of the labyrinth, and to do that, you can only go back the way you came. This part of the walk, according to tradition, mimics the cleansing of Purgatory and the glory of the Resurrection.
To put death as only the middle of the journey creates a striking visual symbol. It makes the labyrinth—which partly attests to the long, arduous path of life—a testament to hope. Perhaps it’s all the more fitting, then, that Boston College chose this medieval pattern as its memorial to the 9/11 victims, whose names are inscribed along the stones. The labyrinth gives death its due weight, but not total weight; it reminds us both of the trials and triumphs the Lord has promised.
The Chartres Cathedral website puts it in these terms: “Along the course [of the maze], which evokes human existence—long, rough, demanding—[the pilgrim] advances with confidence towards his reconciliation. He discovers what is the sense of his existence—that the Other waits for him, finally.”
When BC’s memorial was installed on Burns Lawn in 2003, Fr. Leahy gave the dedicating remarks, saying, “May [the labyrinth’s] presence on the Boston College campus call us to understand that even in darkness, there is a path on which we can walk. Even in confusion there is grace to guide our journey. And even when we seem to stand most distant from where we began, we can turn yet again toward home, moving according to the sure compass of God’s enduring love.”
You can read the full remarks on BC’s website, where you’ll also find plenty of information on labyrinths in general and BC’s in particular. The suggestion that you should consider walking the maze sometime appears frequently as well. It’s a good opportunity to be silent, to pray—but also to remember, through a striking physical symbol, that whoever trusts in God will find Him, even if the journey is full of perplexing turns.
Feature image courtesy of Lorianne DiSabatao via Flickr
- Whatever You May Do - May 7, 2020
- Stashed Classics: The Scarlet and the Black - May 7, 2020
- Pilgrim’s Progress: Virtual Mass - April 1, 2020