*** DEBUG END ***

Meeting in love’s circle

28 July 2017

Marie-Elsa Bragg reflects further on the importance of ritual

Prisma by Dukas Presseagentur GmbH/Alamy Prisma by Dukas Presseagentur GmbH / Alamy Prisma by Dukas Presseagentur GmbH / Alamy Prisma by Dukas Presseagentur GmbH / Alamy Prisma by Dukas Presseagentur GmbH / Alamy

“Surrender to the choreography”: depiction of a Sufi ritual dance, with spoons

“Surrender to the choreography”: depiction of a Sufi ritual dance, with spoons

A MAN was jogging in small circles in a field — the same circle, again and again. He was in his thirties, bearded, shirt open; left arm stretched to the skyline, right arm straight, almost pinned to his side. The circle he ran was only about 20 metres wide. His left arm, held out to the side, made the occasional small dip as if he were looping some­thing around his wrist, or circl­ing a small point in the distance.

“He’s in the field,” his wife had said, from amid the chaos of three children. “You can wait till he comes back if you like, but it might be a while.”

“I’d like to go to the field, if that’s OK.”

“Of course,” she’d replied, look­ing down in what seemed like shame and sadness.


IT HAD taken me a while to visit because I needed a day out of London. His wife had phoned me. “You’re a priest and spiritual director — may­be he’ll listen to you,” she said. “We’re desperate.”

There was a history of recrea­tional drugs: mostly pot, ecstasy, mush­rooms, and acid; and about three years of intensive study of “Indian mysticism”, although which branch I couldn’t find out. And for the past four years he had joined a dance-based community for spirit­ual re­­­treats in the mountains. He had stopped all drugs, but become distant, obsessed with fasting and meditation, waking to pray with the dawn, chant­ing under his breath when he was around the house, washing up, dres­sing, in bed.

I watched for a while. He had been running before I arrived, and was still at a constant pace; the re­­peti­tion reminded me of rosary beads. Then I watched his right arm, almost strapped to his side as if broken — the flat, spatulate stretch of his fingers gave the impression of a mast. I wondered whether his hand was somehow, in his mind, grounding him.

I left my coat and bag outside the field and, having seen a bowl of earth in what his wife had called his shrine, I took a handful of earth in my left hand and opened the gate to stand quietly. I held the earth out in front, eyes focused on the ground beyond. I was entering ritual space. My walking needed to be slow and respectful, my actions sens­itive to the environment; and I had to track him closely because he was the one who knew the choreo­graphy.

I walked forwards, counting ten steps; then looked up. He was still running, and had not looked around. I could feel that, for me, internally, I was now in a church, and he was straight ahead at the foot of the altar. “Lord, I offer you myself and this man in all that we are. May we lay ourselves at your feet.”

When I got closer, I sat down, earth still held. My focus was now strongly on the centre of the circle; from peripheral vision, I could see him looking towards me and then away.

When I think about it now, spatially, if the centre of the circle was where my internal altar would have been, I naturally sat where my internal altar rail was. In church I always kneel there, even if genuflect­ing for a moment.


AFTER a while, I looked up to meet his gaze. It was as if he was looking through mist — a dilated, ecstatic state. Was he in addiction, and finding the high in a “natural” way? Was he having a breakdown? Was he having “a real spiritual experi­ence”? Was it a bit of all three? I knew from years of work that people who had taken a lot of drugs could have profound experiences, but that sometimes, in bypassing their psyche, they were not yet ready to handle or integrate it.

They may want the experience of “God is everywhere” to last, or they do not have the tools to put in the therapeutic work that often follows experiencing so much love: the work on our shadows; the growth. “And the light shone into the darkness.”

Sometimes, people get lost in a cultural myth that they have not been brought up to navigate. I re­­­member working with one woman whose “shamanic” journey had taken her to a particular animal; instead of being guided by it, she felt haunted. What I could see in this situation was that this man was holding to a very rigid ritual pattern, which takes skill.


A WHILE later, our occasional gaze suddenly turned into quiet recogni­tion; a few rounds after that, eyes meeting again, we beamed a greet­ing smile. But he did not stop; it was another 20 minutes or more before he slowed down and then stood in the centre. I joined him, both of us kneeling on my arrival; silent. I noticed that he had string on his wrists and around his waist, tied in knot upon knot. There was some­thing he wanted to do with them, but was stopping himself because I was there. I offered the earth, warm in my cupped hand, which he took as someone would take a pinch of salt, and sprinkled it on the rope around his thin, loose-skinned stomach.


WE TALKED, in the end. I had walked to that place with everything I knew. He had done the same. We were equals in front of God, search­­ing for grace. “I think God created this world, and us in it, out of love,” I said. He nodded. “I don’t know, but I think we are not meant to leave our families behind but to leave the old family ways behind and love our new family in daily life, renewed life.” He looked like he was thinking. “You might be in danger of leaving the daily world and people you love behind.”

If he had then said, emotionally, “But it’s all love — can’t you see?” or, heartbroken, “I can’t do this with them, but I can’t reject them,” I would have had a different situation on my hands. What he actually said was “I’m binding them in, binding them in.” And there our conversa­­tion began.


THE physical aspect of ritual has its own language: symbolic movement of the body and objects; an intuitive atmosphere. It is often the place where we begin our meetings, even in the smallest ways: a handshake, a cup of tea, water in a stoop. If we allow ourselves to surrender to the physical choreography of it, and its wordless interaction, we may find ourselves — or others — in the most unlikely places to begin a new con­versation with God.


The Revd Marie-Elsa Bragg is an author and spiritual director.

Browse Church and Charity jobs on the Church Times jobsite

The Church Times Archive

Read reports from issues stretching back to 1863, search for your parish or see if any of the clergy you know get a mention.

FREE for Church Times subscribers.

Explore the archive

Forthcoming Events

Green Church Awards

Closing date: 30 June 2024

Read more details about the awards


Festival of Preaching

15-17 September 2024

The festival moves to Cambridge along with a sparkling selection of expert speakers

tickets available



Festival of Faith and Literature

28 February - 2 March 2025

The festival programme is soon to be announced sign up to our newsletter to stay informed about all festival news.

Festival website


ViSIt our Events page for upcoming and past events 

Welcome to the Church Times


To explore the Church Times website fully, please sign in or subscribe.

Non-subscribers can read four articles for free each month. (You will need to register.)