December 18, 2008

Celtic lore describes “thin places” as those nooks and crannies of the world where the membrane between the seen and unseen world is thin.  In such places, we earthly creatures have a heightened sense of the reality of that other, eternal world.  I certainly don’t make any theological claims regarding that notion, but I can’t deny the reality of my thin place.  It’s where my desk sits in front of a window in my upstairs office at home.  When I look out the window into the branches of trees—as I am now—life always seems less complicated and prayer comes more easily.  Here, an awareness of eternity overshadows the temporal concerns that so often consume me.   

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In recent months, when I’ve been home so seldom, I’ve had to work hard to nurture an awareness of the unseen realm.   I can recall specific moments of rich spiritual connection—on the train between Manchester and London, in the home of friends in South Africa, in the Basilique Sacre-Coeur in Paris—and I am grateful for those respites during a busy era.  But for me, spiritually, there is no place like this little corner in my home.  God, thank you for the gift of this thin place.  Thank you for the comfort of eternity you offer to me here.  May all your children find such places of rest and renewal.  Amen.