I will probably never visit Mount Sinai, the tomb of Jesus in Jerusalem, or Iona. But as I read Jim Forest’s chapter on “Thin Places” in The Road to Emmaus, I began remembering places where I have felt deeply aware of God’s presence.
Forest describes a thin place as somewhere ordinary matter seems charged with God’s presence. That understanding speaks to me. God can meet us close to home.
I have felt that presence at spots along the Trail of Tears, at Vicksburg National Military Park, at Gettysburg, and at Wilson’s Creek. There is sorrow in those places. I become quiet as I consider the lives lost, the suffering endured, and our human capacity to wound one another.
Calling them thin places does not make the violence sacred. In remembering what happened there, I become more aware of how precious human life is—and how much we need compassion, forgiveness, and restoration. Sometimes my response to God’s presence is lament.
I have also felt that presence at Sequiota Park. And the elm tree in my front yard reminds me of God. I can pause beside something familiar and find myself grateful simply to be alive and paying attention.
The seminary I attended was another thin place. In classes, in music, and among people from 37 different denominations, I encountered God in ways I had never experienced before.
Ethics, United Methodist History, the history of the Black Church, and Church History helped open my eyes. Study became part of my spiritual life. Questions mattered. Other people’s experiences mattered. Learning could challenge me and deepen my faith at the same time.
People spend considerable money traveling to places recognized as holy. I understand why those journeys matter to them. But I find comfort in knowing that an encounter with God is available to those of us who may never make those trips.
Age, health, income, and responsibilities may limit our travel. God’s presence reaches us where we are.
Perhaps this is part of what it means to pray without ceasing: to keep turning our attention toward God throughout the day. We can pray while walking, studying, washing dishes, listening to someone, or sitting quietly beneath a tree.
We will not always feel something extraordinary. Some days will feel ordinary from beginning to end. Still, we can practice being present, remaining open to the grace we might otherwise hurry past.
A thin place can be anywhere.
Even here.
Lord Jesus Christ, teach me to notice your presence. Open my eyes to beauty, my heart to suffering, and my hands to the work of love. Wherever I am, help me be present with you. Amen.
—The Curious Pilgrim
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