I have been somewhat disturbed about the fact that since I finished my doctorate, I haven’t been much good as a teacher. It didn’t make sense to me that after 30 years studying theology, I would spend two years in an intensive doctoral program and come out with nothing to say. A few folks were even generous enough to invite me to teach, based on my brand new degree, but the classes were not anything like my old teaching style. There was nothing witty or charming or provocative about my words as I sought to impart my wisdom. In fact, in a job interview earlier this summer, a prospective employer challenged me with the question, “Why aren’t you teaching?” I didn’t really have an answer except to say, “I just don’t want to. Maybe I’m tired of it.”
Enlightenment, as author Nevada Barr says, comes hat by hat. In my case, I think enlightenment is coming because I’ve taken off all my hats. I’m nothing definable right now, beyond wife, mother, friend. That’s not to diminish the importance of those hats, but simply to say that all those other hurry-scurry-worry hats I’ve been wearing have been discarded. I’m not a pastor, I’m not a pastor’s wife, I’m not an employee, I’m not an employer, and most significant of all, apparently I’m no longer a teacher. It’s lonely not having a hat when everyone else seems to.

September 15 I was invited by a good friend to join her and some other women in walking a labyrinth in Yorktown, VA. The labyrinth, pictured above, was made stone by stone (hat by hat?) by the owner of the property and her husband. For 35 years, they have carried river rocks from their native home in western VA to create this extraordinary labyrinth on the banks of the Poquoson River. While we walked the labyrinth, a young violinist played Celtic music. The weather was perfect, and even nature seemed to wish us well as two white herons lifted into the sky and flew over the labyrinth just as we were gathering to begin.

I made my way to the center of the labyrinth and sat on a small stone bench. I had to pick up a book to sit down. The book was Jon J Muth’s Zen Ties. As I read the story of Stillwater the Panda and his cousin Koo (“Hi, Koo” everyone says, and Koo answers in a haiku), I couldn’t suppress the giggles that came up. According to Muth, “Zen Tie” sounds like the Japanese word which means “we are all one.”
A few days later, I read this: “Words cannot describe everything. The heart’s message cannot be delivered in words. If one receives words literally, she will be lost. If she tries to explain with words, she will not attain enlightenment in this life.” -Mu-mon 1228
Maybe not teaching is just another step on the path to enlightenment . . . just another hat to be taken off. When walking the labyrinth by the river, I removed my hat and was surprised as the freshness of the river breeze which ruffled my hair, the warmth of the sun beating down. Maybe what I’m feeling in my hatless state isn’t loneliness but freedom.