Thin Places

2 Cor 4:17-18: For this slight momentary affliction is preparing us for an eternal weight of glory beyond all measure, because we look not at what can be seen but at what cannot be seen; for what can be seen is temporary, but what cannot be seen is eternal.

One Autumn, I was biking in the darkness of the very early morning heading directly into a setting harvest moon at its fullest. As it approached the horizon, it was clothed in cold bluish white and silver gradually warming to creamy yellows and toasty golds. It seemed to grow larger and larger and come closer and closer as I cycled along quiet, deserted streets and bikeways. In its last moments, it exploded into fiery oranges and reds as the sun rose behind me and took its place as a new source of light in a crystalline dawn. I felt something that cannot be described but is a "hushed awe" experience I am sure is shared by many.

Transcendent beauty is so very difficult to describe. I am merely one of myriad past writers, poets, lyricists, and psalmists who have attempted to carve it into the shape of a paragraph and have come up wanting. But this experience was different, for I was drawn not as much to what was seen, but to what was unseen. I was drawn to the Eternal — to what the Welsh and Irish call the "thin places" between this world and the next.

I sit here again in hushed awe, as the setting sun shines through a maple tree resplendent with autumn color, the translucent leaves glowing as if made of the thinnest amber or golden topaz. I feel as though I could reach in, grab a bunch, and watch them drip with honey.

I sit here in awe of photos taken by dear friends capturing the luscious beauty of autumn completely unable to adorn it with a metaphor.

I love the way C. S. Lewis put it in "The Weight of Glory" which originated as a sermon he preached in 1942.

We are to shine as the sun, we are to be given the Morning Star. I think I begin to see what it means. In one way, of course, God has given us the Morning Star already. You can go and enjoy the gift on many fine mornings if you get up early enough. What more, you may ask, do we want? Ah, but we want so much more — something the books on aesthetics take little notice of. But the poets and the mythologies know all about it. We do not want merely to see beauty, though, God knows, even that is bounty enough. We want something else that can hardly be put into words — to be united with the beauty we see, to pass into it, to receive it into ourselves, to bathe in it, to become part of it.

I want with all my heart and soul to be united with that beauty, to become part of it.

I am not satisfied with the mere understanding that humans are in a unique relationship to appreciate these moments. I am not satisfied with my praise of God who created this splendor and created me to enjoy it. I am not satisfied with simply being an observer, a mere spectator. Yes, it is bounty enough, but my soul pants for more. With my physical body firmly locked in the gears of time, my spirit yearns to engage, to merge with something timeless in what my eyes are beholding. I want to become part of the unseen lying within what was seen.

There’s a beautiful concept within Celtic thought called the Thin Places. These are places where the veil between heaven and earth, human and divine, temporal and eternal, the now and the not yet is especially thin Where we experience that which is beyond linear time and the limits of our 5 senses. A thin place can be an actual place like the mountain tops and deserts of the biblical prophets or it can be an event like the birth of a child or the death of a loved one or for myself, the 4-part harmonic a capella singing of Amazing Grace. These are the moments when we who live this Earthly life catch a glimpse of God’s promised future which is actually already happening for those who have passed on. These are moments that feel as if we can actually taste the rich food and well aged wine of the prophet Isaiah’s vision. The feast of God which offers us not only a killer menu but the promise of having the shroud of tears and suffering lifted when God swallows up death forever. This is the kingdom of God which Jesus ushered in and while we are yet to experience it in it’s fullness, it’s breaking in all around us. [Nadia Bolz-Weber, All Saint's Day Sermon, House for All Sinners and Saints, Denver]

The Kingdom IS breaking in all around us. God is breaking in all around us.

But am I too focused on my self, my needs, my life, to notice?

As a Christian, my body is a temple where the Holy Spirit dwells. Jesus tabernacles within me. I am sitting here staring at a screen, drinking coffee, typing, with a Thin Place within me. Do I really get that?

Do I really see that within this ordinary self dwells the Eternal?

Do I even notice the Eternal dwelling within others?

How many burning bushes did I cruise right past ... glowing behind the eyes of the hundreds ordinary people I hardly glanced at today?

I am sitting here with unlimited access to a sacred space whenever I desire it. Jesus straddles both sides of the human and the divine, and that diaphanous veil separating the two is within me.

His beauty is within me.

His love is within me.

His power, his strength, is within me.

He is my Truth.

So what do I do with that?

Should I just sit here with the glory, the proof, the temple-smoke, the Shekinah of the Lord within me and, I don't know, maybe hang out, be nice to people and have a few glasses of wine waiting for him to come again? Did I become a Christian simply to inherit eternal life with a reserved spot in Heaven when I die? Is that all there is to this? Am I totally missing out on something several orders of magnitude greater than that?

What if ...

What if instead of searching for God out there somewhere, I open that Thin Place that lies within me and allow myself to become a conduit for what can flow through it?

What if I invite the Holy Spirit to emanate out from my body and my life and allow myself to become the proof of Jesus' resurrection, the proof of his Kingship, the proof that He is indeed alive ... and alive within all I do for Him on this side of the veil.

What if I allow a little bit of Heaven to come to Earth through me?

What if I pay more attention to the bits of Heaven dwelling within others?

Every time I say "yes" to God's will for me, I can play a part in the redemptive plan for us and the rest of Creation. Every time I hear my marching orders and faithfully execute them I can become part of this timeless work. Every time I act on God's desires discerned from a still-small-voice within me, I am working arm-in-arm with my Creator. Wouldn't I want to be driven to my knees in the presence of this power? Wouldn't I want to be humbled by these blessings? Wouldn't I also want to recognize that power within my friends and neighbors and knit my love in with theirs?

Doesn't it really all come down to this: As my life work, do I want to just finish up what is on my enormous 'todo' list -- and have all those accomplishments be quickly forgotten? Do I want to focus my energies on creating my own momentous occasions only to miss out on the God-moments that pass by me, unnoticed, each day?

Or do I want to help weave Heaven in a little tighter with Earth binding my heart a little tighter with those around me with strands spun from Love?

Would I rather create an entire forest of autumn beauty that dies with me? Or a be drawn toward and into a single leaf of gold on the forest floor that endures forever?