Thin Places

Around this time of year, we hear of the Celtic (or Neo-Celtic) tradition of Thin Places. This concept focuses on sacred moments and places where the veil between this world and the next feels to be thin – moreso than in other places.

This time of year was especially considered thin, as we hear accounts of Samhain, of

Some entrepreneurial companies find ways to monetise on ‘thin places’ – selling artifacts and excursions and books and any number of items or experiences to remind people of their encounter with a ‘thin place’.

I appreciate anyone whose spiritual journey takes them to a place where they feel they are on hallowed ground in a thin place (and I am one of those people that has widely traveled, and recognised the spirituality of location!). But for those who *do* have authentic experiences, they know that it is not limited to one location of geography or one day on the calendar.

A “thin place” experience can happen any time, and anywhere. It is a celebration of when we open our hearts to the presence of God. Perhaps our experience ‘there’ or ‘then’ has been realised because we are more aware of the possibility, we are more conscious of seeking the divine. When we decide that one place or time is special, it becomes special; we make it distinct from just any tuesday when we’re doing laundry, or the friday morning commute to the office.

Yet, we know that God is not limited to when we are waiting; God will be where and when God will be.

So perhaps we can use this time, when folks are comfortable speaking about thin places, to consider the presence of the holy in our lives, and of our own thickening of the veil that hangs between this world and the next.

Happy UN Day!

"Friend of Peace" by Vasko Taskovski
hangs at UN Headquarters in New York

Today is the 76th anniversary of the formal United Nations Charter entering into action, and the ongoing commitment to the purposes and principles of the United Nations. Across the world, across ages, we are connected through a common agenda of peace, dignity, and well-being; both now and for the future.

This year, as the world continues in the pandemic (with hope that the end is near!) the theme has been “Building Back Together for Peace and Prosperity,” celebrated with an annual concert, art exhibit, speeches, and more. Around the world people are participating in events and celebrations that are designed to foster unity, collaboration, and hope. A hashtag was developed #TheWorldWeWant to encourage people to explore and share their experiences of this!

The Anglican Communion has a long history of involvement at the United Nations; we have representatives that support education, advocacy, and action at both the New York and Geneva offices. As Anglicans are a global faith presence, these UN folks carry the message of our faithful commitment and collaboration to the common agenda. We, as Anglicans, are well-served with their work!

But the movement of making this world, God’s world, as the ‘world we want’ is not merely done by other people, somewhere else, on a grand scale. The reality is that changing the world for the better is also about us examining our own world - our homes, our neighbourhoods, our communities – and seeking ways to make these spaces the world we want.

We, as the baptised, have vowed to work for peace, to celebrate human dignity, to sustain all life on earth.

We, as Gospel-bearers, are privileged to carry Christ’s message of love for all, and of the promises of salvation.

We, as the faithful, are committed to community, seeing our neighbours as ourselves, as desiring the very best for everyone (in thought, word, and deed).

The World We Want is possible: when we come together and make the effort. So what is the world we want – and how will we be intentional (this week and beyond) to bring that dream to a reality?

Church as a PogoBal?

  When I was a child, I received as a gift a PogoBal – this was a torturous device sold as a toy: with a figure-8 rubber ball bisected by a thick round disk. You were meant to balance your weight on the disk while squeezing your feet into the spherical ball on opposite sides, and bounce (like a pogo stick). It required a feat of balance, coordination, spatial awareness, and some athleticism: it didn’t take long to get tired on these things.

This was the device that really confirmed that I was not blessed with great balance! However, I was determined to figure it out. Many hours were spent trying to master the correct way to start bouncing, and the best way to get off, and how to avoid obstacles… Some of my friends could bounce up and down the street on these things, and connect in groups for tricks: I merely tried to minimise the number of times I fell.

I was thinking about these things recently, as it feels like we, as a society, have been on a COVID PogoBal for some time. And while we’re trying to bounce along, life has not been too easy! For many of us, our daily routine has had to change – drastically. As rules and restrictions change and are imposed, people are not all responding calmly; as fear increases, people are not all acting kindly; as insecurity and “the great unknown” continue, people are not all people are exuding the confident community spirit we aimed for 18 months ago.

Yet: we’re still bouncing. Studies show that people of faith tend to mitigate life’s storms better, and that those who held social connections in their faith community coped best of all. So despite the months of instability, we have done all we can to keep one another up: we as the church have worked to be a stabilising and consistent support.

And though we are all weary of this, we do not have to be alone in it. We can continue to reach out to one another, to encourage one another, to pray with one another, to journey with one another. Like children on PogoBals, we are all experiencing life with different levels of difficulty. Our challenge, despite being tired, is to retain a faithful hope of a positive near future, and to continue the good work of bouncing along together.

Market Harvest

I went to a local market yesterday – buying some local produce. I enjoy this time of year, when the abundance of the season is upon us – in our kitchens, in our pantries, in our bellies…

And I was delighting in the harvest. For so many reasons! Our local harvest is an embarrassment of riches, as they say. It’s a cornucopia of opportunity to be grateful.

And it’s a reflection of intentionality of BEING within the community:

As the produce is local, I’m supporting a local family and their business – which is good for our shared economy.

The freshness of not needing to be transported great distances means the food is at its tastiest right now – and that the environmental footprint is minimised.

The seasonal nature of the food means that this was grown with smaller amounts of chemicals or other interventions, which helps maintain the soil and avoid predatory pests – good for everyone!

The smallness of the market meant I was able to chat with the farmers and the staff, with other shoppers and foodies, and we shared conversations: about big things and little things, just being present in a comfortable communal space.

And, as I spent quite a bit of time in food preservation yesterday (some freezing, some dehydrating, some cold storage, and a big pot of stock), I was able to buy more of this food – as it will sustain me for weeks and months to come. This just amplifies the whole cycle of goodness.

It’s lovely. It’s responding to the world around us in ways that encourage the goodness to continue – and to grow – and to be enjoyed.

I went to the market to celebrate some of the earth’s harvest: and celebrated that this encompasses so much more than just food.

Sorry!

"Sorry Graphic" CC BY-NC by Crystal Coleman 

I had a conversation last week about saying sorry: it was in the context of a prayerful framework comparing the differences between saying sorry and forgiveness. While we all agreed that the act of saying we are sorry is important, we also recognised that words alone aren’t enough.

One parent shared that their children do have to apologise when they have done wrong; but not just with words. After an “I‘m Sorry” has been accepted by the wronged person, the follow up question addresses reconciliation – “How Can I Make it Right?”

This expectation is a way to teach accountability and responsibility – the consequences of action on other people. It reminded me of the meme “Apologies will no longer be accepted in words, only by changed behaviour”

How true for all of us, when we come to God with our confession: in meditative silence in our daily prayers, and during the service of corporate worship, we come to God to say sorry; assured of God’s forgiveness even before the priest confers absolution.

I wonder what might happen if our daily practice of confession were to include a desire for restitution? Because if we do not change our sinful behaviour, we are destined to repeat it; and thus deny ourselves the beautiful benefit of the promise of God. The gift of divine forgiveness is not to be taken lightly; as one colleague said “We don’t want to cheapen the grace of forgiveness.”

Perhaps in our spiritual journey this week we can consider not just the gift of forgiveness, but be intentional about seeking out restorative acts to embrace the grace as it is so freely offered.

Playing with Words

I am a wordsmith; I enjoy reading and writing, and often enjoy finding just the right word to use in whatever context I’m in. An example, speaking with a colleague last week we discussed the differences in how words are translated in scripture, and how that can have distinct meanings.

Psalm 23, for example, in the BCP not only speaks of a cup that ‘shall be full’; but of waters of comfort; these same passages in the BAS indicate a cup ‘running over’ and waters that are ‘still.’ They are close, but the nuance provides distinction. (A full cup may be difficult to carry, but has not yet made the mess on the counter of a cup running over; the lack of movement of still waters does not necessarily mean they are waters of comfort.)

It can be good for us to recall, then, how our words matter; how our use of words can impact on others. Whether its words of a bygone era that jar our modern compassion (I completed a crossword puzzle today where one of the answers was a racial slur!), or whether our unintentional rigidity can be painful for an individual (careful and appropriate use of names and pronouns can show respect for someone), or whether our desire to fill an awkward silence brings out unintentionally inappropriate commentary (we’ve all seen someone, including ourselves, sticking the proverbial foot in one’s mouth): whatever it is, our words matter. What we say matters, what we write matters, what we convey matters.

Knowing how easy it can be to fumble and bumble over words in casual conversation, and recognising the way those can influence and impact conversation and relationship, it may be wise to be especially intentional about how we speak of faith and church and religion: in a society where everyone has some concept and context of the institutional church (and they may be negative or neutral), the use of words can make a big difference in the sharing of the faith.

The Word of God came down, and used words, and brought us truth and love and grace therein. Let’s aim to continue with the love of Christ in the words we use.

Unplugged

Last week I went off the grid. Now, for some, the notion of a backwoods cabin, with no electricity or plumbing (and no cell service!) is intimidating; for myself, it was bliss.

Part of that comes from a lot of experience camping, part from the careful prep before heading out, part from the sheer need to unplug from a vocation that is normally quite plugged in (even moreso during the pandemic!). So, for nearly a week, I had no clue what was happening in the world. (Of course, the lovely folks at the house up the road knew where I was, should contact be absolutely necessary!)

The joy of being unplugged, however, was ample. I walked the dogs and didn’t feel the need to rush back – no one could call. I sat at the campfire and didn’t worry about sending email responses – there was no service. I prayed when the mood struck, and wasn’t concerned about a looming meeting or deadline whooshing past – I was in the most important meeting of all.

In unplugging, I reconnected. Because in the act of unplugging, I gifted myself with the time to focus, to slow down, to be intentionally present. I could breathe deeply, and simply appreciate the moment for what it was.

It’s not to say I needed silence to hear the still, small voice of God: for the noise was constant: the crickets were the evening choir, the birds the morning alarm, the leaves rustled and flapped a staccato rhythm, the dropping acorns an unpredictable percussion throughout the days. But it’s a different type of noise when in the cathedral of nature.

Surely, I missed calls, and my inbox is inundated, and I can imagine a lengthy to-do list waiting for me at the office.

But in this 24/7 world, in these days of unrealistic expectations, I carry with me the small joys of spending time focusing on the real world.