Thin Places
 

Jacob awoke out of his sleep, and said,

“Surely the Lord is in this place, but I did not know it.”

Genesis 28:16

 

In the 28th chapter of Genesis, Jacob is running away from the fury of the brother from whom he stole the family blessing by tricking their father. Jacob stops for a night where he dreams of a blessing, he neither deserves nor can comprehend. When he wakes up and looks around, he says, “Surely God was here, but I missed it.” I didn’t know.

 

What exactly is it that he didn’t know? One thought is that what he didn’t know was that God could be found in the “I” of his own self. If he can quench the anger, put aside his conniving ways and quell the fear, God can actually reside in the “place” that is Jacob. Another possibility is almost the polar opposite. Only when he (I) empty myself of ego driven excuses and break out of the isolating cocoons I’ve spun; can I really see where I am. In God’s presence. In a way both are true even if they are 180 degrees apart. Both are reminders that we are forever in the presence of our ever-present God. They also illustrate how easy it is to say, “But I didn’t know.”

 

What our “hero” is experiencing is what the ancient Celts called a “thin place.” Thin spaces are where the distance between heaven and earth is lessened. It’s a place where the distance between me and God has narrowed. I had the experience long before I had a name for it. For a time I just “didn’t know.” My most common and comforting thin place is the lake where I spent summers as a boy. It’s where I caught my first fish, learned how to dive and hold my breath, saw my first eagle. It holds memories of my grandparents and resurrects moments of day-long games with my brothers and sisters. It’s where my dog Ginger is buried. The sun and water there also nurtured the youth of the love of my life. Jeanie grew up on that lake. For me, it’s a VERY thin place.

 

Thin places are life’s niches or moments, set apart by the sunlight in them, or the shadows, or the silence, or the sounds. There are many variations. I usually know I’m in a thin place because it feels like the floor has dropped out from under my feet and somehow, I’m in a deeper place. Even the pandemic was a thin place when I remembered to experience it that way.   Thin places can open up just about anywhere, but for me the most reliable place is near running water – springs, waterfalls, lakes, even hot tubs. Living out here in Massachusetts less than a mile from the Atlantic Ocean has expanded that realization and experience quite a bit!

 

Thin places are when and where families gather. They are where children laugh, babies cry, memories are shared and re-shared, goals scored or home runs hit. In thin places hugs abound. But thin places aren’t always outdoors. Or idyllic experiences. The space between where we were just looking and what we are now seeing gets thin in hospital rooms and jail cells. They give you a quicker beat of your heart, a lump in your throat, a knot in your stomach.



For me, a thin place occurs any time I know I’m in the presence of the Really Real - the Most Real - God.

And that it isn’t me.