Thin Places: Where the veil between the physical and spiritual worlds is almost transparent

The Celtic Spiritual tradition believes in thin places, where the spiritual world almost pushes in on our physical world. Where we can see through the transparent veil of our world to the just-as-real, invisible supernatural world, which is charged with the glory of God, whose hills might be ringed with angels in chariots of fire, if we have beseeched their protection. I used to be sceptical of the notion that God was more present in one place than in another, until I experienced thin places.                                            * * * Thin places, in fact, are often places where people have worshipped and sought God for decades or centuries. I myself do not like being in, and would not buy a house in which people have deeply sinned, and been desperately unhappy. I sense the atmosphere as soon as I enter, and feel oppressed. Similarly, I would not wear the jewellery of someone who has been very unhappy in her life or marriage (and jewellery is a big deal in Indian culture. I daily wear the jewellery of my mother, grandmother and great grandmother). I sense that sin and sorrow attract dark spirits who might linger. (Not a theology here, just a personal sense!) Thin places are the opposite. It is fanciful to suppose that places in which thousands have prayed would attract the spirit of God—and angelic presences? Or perhaps what happens in a pilgrimage spot is not that God descends to earth in a shower of radiance and the earth ever after exudes his fragrance. Perhaps it is we sanctify spots of earth when we bring our weary spirits, our thwarted hopes, the whole human freight of grief, and pray—our eyes grown wide and trusting; our being, a concentrated yearning. Perhaps that yearning, that glimpse of better things, so attracts the spirit of God that it makes the spot sacred and lingers in the earth and air and water so that future pilgrims say, "God is here."                                                   * * * I felt that when we visited Ffald-y-Brenin. There was a peace and holiness in the air that was beyond rationality. I could vividly sense the presence of God in the peace, and especially in the high cross, placed on the highest hill towering over the countryside. I gave up deconstructing it after a while. I surrendered to the peace. As Eliot says in Little Gidding, You are not here to verify, Instruct yourself, or inform curiosity Or carry report. You are here to kneel Where prayer has been valid. I was stunned by the peace I could not rationalize, a sudden clarity of thinking and creativity. I guess I could call it the spirit of God. Healing hangs in the air. Looking back at my post written there, I see I was praying for healing from self-induced adrenal fatigue. Well, seven months later, it is completely gone, and I am gulping down books again, and writing a lot. ·      * * We have all experienced thin places, surely. For me, just being by the ocean, listening to the roar of the waves quietens me, helps me remember God, opens me up to his spirit. I suddenly find myself praying in tongues, and I pick up God’s guidance and directives most clearly on my beach walks. And, as all cultures at all times have noticed, mountains are specially charged with the presence of God. There is a freedom, serenity and peace in the mountains, and one’s thoughts instinctively gravitate to God.                                           * * * And, of course, in our own homes and lives, there are places which have been worn thin by the fact that we often pray there. I pray face down in my bedroom, soaking prayer, and the accustomed place and posture probably more quickly tunes my spirit to peace. I also enjoy walking and praying in the fields around my house for I live in the country. Again the accustomed routine of walking and praying more quickly makes me feel happy and exhilarated and within a short time, I find myself praying in tongues. Memory and associations are powerful. As we can feel stressed and uneasy by unconscious memories of past trauma in associated places or situations or physical positions, so too our spirits can be swiftly be tuned to peace in a place in which we have often experienced God’s spirit. For instance, in a particular church. Working in my own garden in a thin place for me. Sooner or later, joy returns. Sooner or later, I find myself praying, often in tongues. And this is an unfeminist observation, and I hesitate making it, (since I have a semi-early-retired husband who works from home, and a cleaner, so don’t do it much)—but a thin place for me is tidying up. My body works, and feel happy working, but my mind is fallow. Clarity comes as I work, ideas for blog posts or how to work out points in the blog on which I am stuck on. Peace returns, and I find myself praying. How about you? Which are the thin places in which you most powerfully experience God’s spirit?