Looking is not the same as seeing. When you are prepared to see, even ancient things can spark new insights. I’m going to tell you a story about a journey, and I’m hoping that you will see even though you may not have been there to look.
There is a famous labyrinth in the cathedral in Chartres, France. I’m sure you’ve seen an image of it even if you didn’t know it was from that cathedral. It is quite common. 
Beginning the journey to see the Labyrinth
A couple of weeks ago, I had the pleasure of being in Chartres for a meeting. It was my first visit to that little city about an hour’s train ride south of Paris. I was looking forward to the meeting as I was going to present with a colleague a new idea called Appreciative Listening. I was also looking forward to seeing the famous labyrinth of the Chartres Cathedral. A tour of the cathedral was arranged and had just begun when I arrived. I quickly parked my suitcase and joined the group. I really couldn’t wait to see the labyrinth.
The guide spent a goodly amount of time introducing us to the cathedral and the remarkable sculptures around the main entrance. I remained calm as I knew shortly we would enter the cathedral, and I would be able to see the labyrinth. I was right. After about 15 or 20 minutes of talking, we slowly entered the interior through double doors – that is two doors one after the other.
It was dim inside after the bright afternoon sun, but our eyes adjusted quickly. The interior of the cathedral is enormous, and sounds were bouncing off every surface creating a cacophony of voices and footfalls. We were given devices that allowed the guide to talk in a normal voice, and we could hear her in our earphones. It was impressive to see how such simple technology made the difference between catching a word or two of shouted explanations and hearing it calmly delivered in a normal tone of voice. With this, we began to explore the interior.
Where was the labyrinth? I knew it was a pattern in the floor, but was it on the main level? I saw no opening large enough to embrace the size the labyrinth could be. Was it in a lower level that we would walk to? There was no sign that we were going to be invited into the crypt.
Then, as we walked up the center aisle, we learned that we were walking through the entrance of the labyrinth. I looked at my feet, and there was a distinct pattern in the floor stones that distinguished itself from the rest of the floor. The labyrinth was covered with chairs!
Turning disappointment to action
I tried to be resigned as I realized that I would not see the whole extent of the labyrinth. And the amount I would see was not sufficient to appreciate it at all. My disappointment was reflected in comments from others.The group eventually decided to seek permission to see the labyrinth. Two days later, on our last day of meetings, we were given the news. We would be permitted to view the labyrinth if we would assist in removing and then replacing the chairs that normally stood there. We all agreed with enthusiasm and walked over to the cathedral at the appointed hour.
Entering the cathedral, we dutifully waited until the time, and began to remove the chairs. This was not as simple as I thought it would be. The chairs were wooden and attached together in rows of 6 to 8 chairs. It took 2 or 3 people to move each set. We were a group of about 30, and we began the task of removing the chairs and placing them on the borders of the area, thus, exposing the labyrinth. And slowly, slowly, the pattern on the floor emerged.
Seeing the labyrinth and finding the unexpected
When it was fully clear, the enormity of the labyrinth was exposed. Without even stepping onto it, the labyrinth took my breath away. I could not immediately begin walking the path outlined by the labyrinth. I had to spend time with the whole image, with the image of the stones that were so well worn after centuries of traffic, with the colors of the stones, and finally with the strength that seemed to pour out of those stones. 
For anyone who has visited cathedrals in Europe, you know that each has its distinctions. When I visited the cathedral in Milan, Italy, my attention was immediately drawn to the floor made of different colored marbles set in distinctive patterns. It was precise and magnificently beautiful. (Notice, how I am drawn to the stones on which I walk. I’ve always been that way.
But the stones of the cathedral in Chartres were not magnificently beautiful. They were magnificently strong. They spoke of the weight they carried, of the cathedral, of those who walked on them and of the weight they carried of themselves. They didn’t speak of beauty. They didn’t speak of adornment. They spoke of supporting. They spoke of giving foundation. They spoke of safety.
As I remember this moment of discovery, I am still touched by the sacrifice of those stones to stand securely under my feet, silently offering a path of discovery. Can you feel it?
Who has been a foundation stone in your career? What made them so?
When have you had an experience where discovering a lesson required being there? Have you ever tried to pass the lesson on to someone else? How did it go?
I see my job as creating learning moments for the students. That’s why when someone asks a question, I relish the opportunity to explore the answer with the class. It is a learning moment. In fact, I often tell the class, “Thanks for the learning moment. It means that my time and yours is not being wasted.” When curiosity sparks a question, it does indeed mean that the mind is engaged and ready to discover something new.
