THIN PLACES

Copyright, © Thomas D. Wintle, 2005

A sermon delivered by the Rev. Dr. Thomas D. Wintle,

Senior Minister of the First Parish Church in Weston, Massachusetts,

on May 1, 2005. The scripture readings were: Exodus 3:1-15, Psalm 103, and John 14:15-21.

"Remove the sandals from your feet, for the place on which you are standing is holy ground" (Exodus 3:5)

I

In southwestern England, not too far from Oxford, there is a large hill in the ancient town of Glastonbury. Its distinctive shape is visible from many miles away, topped by the tower of a ruined 14th century church. The area is rich in history and legend.

King Arthur was said to be buried on the grounds of Glastonbury Abbey, sleeping until England needs him again. St. Patrick, of Ireland fame, ended his days as abbot of Glastonbury. Joseph of Arimathea, who provided the tomb for the burial of Jesus, is said to have visited Glastonbury at least twice: on one trip he brought the Holy Grail, the cup used at the Last Supper, which was hidden in the Chalice Well, which one can visit today; he planted his staff in the ground, which sprouted into the Glastonbury thorn tree, an English hawthorn tree found throughout the area, a tree which blossoms just about now, in May, and also, miraculously, at Christmas. If you don't believe me, I have an English postage stamp with a picture of it blooming.

It is also said, by those who have an understanding of such things, that Joseph came an earlier time. A tin merchant, he came to trade with Cornish miners, and brought with him his young nephew (the one for whom he later provided the tomb). It was that event which led William Blake to write, and all the English to sing, "And did those feet in ancient time Walk upon England's mountains green? And was the holy Lamb of God on England's pleasant pastures seen?"

Glastonbury has long been a major pilgrimage site. One can climb the hill, the Glastonbury Tor, by a short steep walk, or a long easier walk along the spine of the hill. I took the long easy walk. It is also higher than one first imagines. Just about the time I reached the top, an RAF jet, probably on a training flight, circled the hill, and I could see the face of the pilot, almost at eye level. The tour book says that "as one approaches one becomes aware of a peculiar change in the atmosphere: the light intensified and takes on a quality unique to Glastonbury. It can scarcely be described, but the experience is unforgettable" [Sacred England,

p. 128]. He is right, I can't describe it.

II

It is this "can't quite describe it" experience that is common to all pilgrimage sites. It is the sense of being in a place of importance, in the presence of not only history but of holiness.

The Celtic peoples of Ireland, Wales, Scotland and northern England had a term for it: "thin places." They believed there are places where the earth's crust is thin and when there, one can feel and receive earth's deeper meanings and blessings. Christians have usually imagined God as dwelling up there, in the heavens, but for Celtic Christianity "thin places" continued to describe those locales where encounters with God became especially acute. Or, as T. S. Eliot put it in "Little Gidding", places "where prayer has been valid."

As an historian, my historical imagination can be pretty lively. Looking down from Glastonbury Tor at the surrounding countryside, I can envision King Arthur leading his knights across the fields, or Joseph of Arimathea sailing a boat up a river from the sea. And I wonder: are thin places only in the imagination?

There was a time when I thought the idea of thin places to be a foolish notion. It was foolish to think that God would be more present in one place than another. It's just not theologically correct (and that's worse than not being politically correct!). One should say rather that ALL ground is holy.

I'm not so sure that the idea of thin places is so foolish anymore. It's not that God is more present in one place than another, but it is so very clear to me that WE can be more aware of God's presence, we can be more susceptible to the prodding of the divine, in some places rather than others. Maybe the light intensifies as one approaches Glastonbury Tor, or maybe we see more because we open our eyes.

Marcus Borg, in his book The Heart of Christianity (for which I am the Weston marketing agent), says that thin places help to open closed hearts. A "closed heart" is his metaphor for that in the human condition, which is hurting and needs salvation. Perhaps the result of a chaotic childhood or a difficult life, some hearts become hardened and closed: they become capable of violence, or its milder form of judgmentalism; of brutality, or its milder form of insensitivity; of arrogance, or its milder form of self-centeredness; of rapacious greed, or its milder form of ordinary self-interest (154). We all have known closed hearts. "When I stand in a supermarket checkout line and all the people I see look kind of ugly," Borg writes, "I know that my heart is closed" (154). A closed heart is a stranger to wonder and awe and gratitude: "If successful in life, a person with a closed heart often feels self-made and entitled; or if life has gone badly, [they feel] bitter and cheated" (152).

God operates through thin places to open closed hearts. Where are your thin places?

They might be world pilgrimage sites, or they might be our homes. My friend Brian goes off to the desert, alone for three weeks, watching beetles and clouds, and renews his soul. I have found the top of Rattlesnake Mountain above Squam Lake to be a thin place. Music and poetry and literature can become thin places. A thin place might be an experience, an event – has not your heart been opened by encounters with serious illness and suffering and grief? I heard a minister last week talk about a conversation with a woman who survived 9-11: a high-powered executive in Manhattan, known in his church for often being arrogant and critical, she wanted to talk to him. He was a little nervous, thinking she was coming to complain. "I haven't told anyone this," she said, "but that cloud came down the street, and I lay there, with the ash and debris falling, I thought I was going to die, I knew I was going to die." The minister asked why she was telling him all this, and mentioned his previous worry about her complaining. "I know, I know," she said, "I learned humility that day . . . and I need to work on it."

The point is that we need to find our thin places and go there often, especially when our hearts are closing.

III

Today is a very special time for First Parish Church in Weston: today we welcome new members, people who, I hope, have found this familiar spot of ground to be a thin place, and will help us continue to open hearts here.

If you think about it, my friends, the practices of church, the practices of a Christian life, are all about finding thin places and opening hearts: the prayers, the silence, the music, the appeals to go a service project, the groups who minister to one another and to the world, the words of scripture where Moses illustrates what it's like to stand on holy ground and where Jesus promises to not leave us orphans but sends the spirit of truth. That’s what church is all about.

"May you be strengthened in your inner being with power through God's Spirit, that Christ may dwell in your hearts" (Ephesians 3:16-17).