Dear People of Bethlehem,
We are journeying now in the space between Ash Wednesday and Easter. It is the holy walk between our fragile humanity and the promise of resurrection’s dawn. Can you feel it in your own Lenten journey? It is what the Celtic Christians would call a thin place. A place where the veil between this world and the eternal world is so thin, as to be able to stand in both places at the same time. There are places all over the world, like St. Peter’s Basilica and the Blue Mosque in Istanbul, that are considered thin places. Many are in Ireland and England, but it is less a place than a feeling. A thin place can be anywhere. It is the place where God is near.
There was a thin place in my life years ago and I had the privilege of returning to it again and again. When I was a young pastor and my children were young, I served on the board of directors for a small Lutheran college in Issaquah, WA. The college was housed in a former Convent with a chapel filled with breathtaking strained glass windows.
As members of the board, we flew in three times a year and were housed in what had been the nuns cells. Each room was very small, with space for a twin bed, a small desk, a sink and a small closet. A single window looked out on the pine forest. The first time I rolled my suitcase into the room and closed the door, I felt an overwhelming peace descend upon me. It was as if I was completely alone, while at the same time joined by the Holy Sprit as she sat near me on the bed. Time and space were suspended. I felt as if I was both small, in the grandeur of God, and infinitely valued at the same time. I did not want to leave the room, for fear I would lose the moment of grace. And yet, each time I returned to the room, the peace enveloped me. God was palpably there. I came back to Issaquah many times for those meetings and each time, the feeling was the same. God had drawn near.
Perhaps you have known such a thin place: holding your child for the first time, a sunrise over a mountain lake, sitting at the deathbed of one you love, or the sunset over the ocean. It is the moment when all else stops, when all else falls away, and you are left alone in the company of God. The space between heaven and earth collapses, until nothing but you and God remain.
Lent is such a time. The cross of Ash Wednesday can still be felt on our foreheads, while our frail humanity seems ever before us. This is an achingly honest place. We cannot hide, not even from ourselves. But that is not all that is true for us. Before us lies the waiting of the Easter Vigil so that, like Mary, we might find ourselves at a tomb in the early dawn, waiting for a miracle — and we will not be disappointed. Jesus will join us, and peace will envelope us, and joy will be the deepest feeling in the thin place. May you find your thin place in the coming weeks. May God find you and sit comfortably at your side. May the Spirit draw so near you can feel her wings at the edges of the room.
May the peace of the Lord, be with you always.
Blessed Easter, Pastor Laura