Sermon: "Thin Places"

Luke 9:28-36 - Intro

In this week's gospel reading, we encounter one of the most remarkable events in Jesus' life - the Transfiguration.

It is an experience that three out of the four gospel writers record,

with the details in each of their stories being nearly exactly the same.

Additionally, each of these gospel writers places the Transfiguration immediately after Jesus makes his first prediction of his impending death

and before he and the disciples begin winding their way to Jerusalem and the events that await them there during Holy Week.

But for all its drama and power, the transfiguration seems to play a very limited role in the rest of Jesus' ministry or in the disciples' immediate understanding of who Jesus is.

Even today, the church seems less comfortable talking about the miracle of the Transfiguration than it does other events in Jesus' life.

Perhaps this is because we, like Peter, James and John, have trouble comprehending the meaning of this event.

It’s confusing, it’s unexpected, and it has super natural overtones that we can’t easily explain or relate to an experience that we might have today.

If we place ourselves in the story, we might try to capture the moment that Jesus transforms before our eyes, just as Peter did.

Peter suggests they build dwelling places for the prophets – we might whip out our smart phone and record it all on video so we can relive the experience over and over again – so we might better understand it.

The gospel writers have done that for us – recording the events for posterity so we can read about it thousands of years after the fact.

But perhaps this is one of those experiences that we must have for ourselves.

A direct encounter with God – and with Christ –

that inspires us, strengthens us, and leaves us in awe –

so we’re better prepared to carry God’s presence into the world.

Luke 9:28-36

Now about eight days after these sayings Jesus took with him Peter and John and James, and went up on the mountain to pray.

And while he was praying, the appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became dazzling white.

Suddenly they saw two men, Moses and Elijah, talking to him.

They appeared in glory and were speaking of his departure, which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem.

Now Peter and his companions were weighed down with sleep; but since they had stayed awake, they saw his glory and the two men who stood with him.

Just as they were leaving him, Peter said to Jesus, “Master, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah” —not knowing what he said.

While he was saying this, a cloud came and overshadowed them; and they were terrified as they entered the cloud. Then from the cloud came a voice that said, “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!”

When the voice had spoken, Jesus was found alone. And they kept silent and in those days told no one any of the things they had seen. 

The Rev. Maureen R. Frescott

Congregational Church of Amherst, UCC

March 3, 2019 – Last Sunday of Epiphany – Transfiguration

Luke 9:28-36

“Thin Places”

If you wanted to be or feel closer to God, where would you go?

Would you seek out a church or a chapel –

where light trickles through stained glass windows,

the smell of burning candles or incense fills the air,

and a crucifix or a simple empty cross holds your attention,

helping you to focus on being in the presence of the Divine?

Would you hike out into the woods –

where sunlight filters down through a canopy of branches,

the sound of calling birds and buzzing insects fills the air,

and the smell of fresh pine needles and decaying leaves both grounds you and heightens your sense of connection to the earth and its Creator?

Or would you climb a mountain –

in much the same way that Moses, Elijah, and Jesus once did –

seeking to move closer to God by ascending upwards,

where the air is thinner, the trees huddle safely below the summit,

and nothing but the sound of the wind, the damp mist of the clouds, and a glorious view of the distant horizon, stands between you and the heavens?

These places where we encounter the Divine – or feel a sense of closeness to something greater than ourselves are often called THIN PLACES.

Thin places are described as geographical or physical locations where the veil between this world and the eternal world is thinner or more permeable.

They’re places where people may describe having a heightened sense of spiritual awareness, where the energy is palpable or even visible,

where the feeling that one is moving between or simultaneously occupying two worlds leads to a sense of awe, clarity, and connection that is difficult to duplicate or describe once the moment has passed.

Thin places are often described as being magical or mystical or sacred in nature. 

In June of 2017, when I was on sabbatical, I had the opportunity to travel to the island of Iona, which lies off the western coast of Scotland.

If any of you have ever traveled to Scotland or Ireland, then you may have visited some of these thin places.

Places that often have their roots in ancient spiritualities:

Pagan burial mounds that rise up from the earth,

Celtic crosses standing in the midst of ruined abbeys,

deliberate arrangements of primeval stones standing alone in grassy fields,

their original meaning and purpose having been lost to time.

The tiny Island of Iona has become a pilgrimage of sorts for those in search of thin places.

The island is only 3 miles long and 1 mile wide, and can only be reached by taking two ferries and enduring a sketchy drive across the Isle of Mull.

I say sketchy because the road between the ferry ports is essentially 35 miles of single-track.

Meaning its only wide enough to fit one car.

At varying points along the road there are passing places where one vehicle can pull over to allow another coming in the other direction to pass.

It’s a 50 mph dance that the natives have down pat –

but when you’re fresh off the plane, and still getting used to the steering wheel being on the other side of your rental car,

navigating the road to Iona can be an other worldly experience in itself.

There were several times where I was sure I would soon be in the literal presence of God.

Iona is a magical place.

It’s best known for its historic Abbey and monastery,

which stand upon the ruins of the original buildings built by the Christian monks who landed on the island in the year 563.

That particular community of monks has been credited with bringing Christianity to Scotland - and the Abbey at Iona, despite its remoteness,

was known to be a center of learning in its time, producing some of the worlds most beautiful and intricate illuminated manuscripts.

Today, thousands of people flock to the tiny island every year in search of a mystical experience – including Christians – both Catholic and Protestant - and those who might call themselves “spiritual but not religious” –

in particular, those who embrace a more new age interpretation of Celtic spirituality, where nature itself is the source of the divine.

But while Iona’s reputation as a divine and scared place has come to be romanticized – the story of its origin is decidedly more human.

The twelve missionaries who founded the monastery at Iona were led by St. Columba, an Irish monk, who it turns out had less than mystical motives for establishing such a remote community.

Columba fled his native Ireland after he was accused of copying the Gospels – which monks did all the time, in fact that was their job –

but Columba allegedly made a copy for his own personal use instead of sending it off to be kept in an official library or church. A huge no-no.

Rather than face punishment for this crime, Columba piled 12 of his closest colleagues into a round boat made of whicker and rawhide known as a coracle, and let the currents carry them across the sea to the coast of Scotland.   

According to historians, the first island the monks encountered was deemed unacceptable by Columba because he could still see Ireland in the distance.

So they set off again and landed on the much more remote Iona.

Columba’s uneasy relationship with his homeland is reflected in the name for first hill he climbed on Iona, which is called “The Hill with its Back to Ireland.”

As a monk, Columba displayed some other eccentric idiosyncrasies.

He banished women and cows from Iona,

claiming that “where there is a cow there is a woman, and where there is a woman there is mischief.”

He also reportedly banished snakes and frogs from the island.

How he accomplished this feat is not known.     (historic.uk.com)

Ultimately St. Columba chose Iona as the home for his monastery not because it was a place of mystical beauty, as we see it today,

but rather because it was a harsh and barren island –

windswept and rainy and frigidly cold for most of the year,

where even the sturdiest of seeds struggled to take root.

The howling gale force winds, the crashing sea, and the frequent lightening storms reportedly terrified Columba and his monks.

To them this was a thin place.

A place where the unpredictable and chaotic nature of God and God’s Creation had you quaking in your boots in fear and awe.

Peter, James, and John had a similar experience on top of the mountain where they witnessed Jesus’ transfiguration.

Just a few days before, they had listened to Jesus telling them that he was destined to suffer and die in service to God.

Everything they understood about the promised Messiah from their faith,

and everything they had hoped and dreamed would happen under the leadership of this master teacher and healer was in the process of crashing down around their feet.

Yet as they struggled to comprehend what Jesus had told them,

he unsettled their minds even further, by inviting them to come with him up the mountain, where they would see him transformed before their eyes.

The disciple’s first instinct was to claim this as a thin place – a sacred space – as Peter suggested building dwelling places for each of the prophets,

perhaps so they could hold onto this image of Jesus – alive and glowing –

and not descend down the mountain into the world where their teacher was destined to suffer and die.

But in this thin place they then had a very close encounter with God.

Who spoke to them saying, “This my son, my Chosen, Listen to him”.

After being jolted by this glimpse behind the Divine veil, they followed Jesus down the mountain, where he continued to teach and heal,

and continued to teach them how to do the same in his absence. 

When we come off the mountain, or leave the island,

or step out of the woods, or the sanctuary,

we leave the thin places behind, and move into the thicker places –

the places where it’s not as easy to see or hear or feel God’s presence. 

But hopefully the encounter we have with God – on the mountain, or in the woods, or in the sanctuary – is transformative enough to stay with us –

 to allow us to see and hear and feel God everywhere we go.

John Harvey, who served as the leader of the Iona Christian community from 1988-1995, ended up following in St. Columba’s footsteps,

in that he did not seek to reside permanently in the thin place where he encountered the closeness of God.

Just as Columba left the island to bring the Christian faith into the hills and valleys of Scotland, John Harvey left Iona and established Christian communal homes in some of the poorest communities in Scotland’s inner cities. 

Not to convert people but to serve them. 

Harvey says,  “Jesus didn’t come to set up a church when he said ‘Follow Me’. He didn’t say ‘Worship me.’ The point is you’re not supposed to stay in one place; you’re supposed to be on the move.”

In the same vein, UCC minister and theologian, Walter Brueggemann urges God in Christ to move off the mountain and move off the pages of scripture - and move through us, with the follow prayer:

“Listen up, you Majestic Sovereign, and move off the page to the trouble of the world, move to the peace negotiations, and cancer diagnoses, and burning churches, and lynched blacks, and abused children. Listen to the groans and moans, and see and hear and know and remember, and come down! Be your Friday self, so that your world may be Eastered.”

We may not fully comprehend the Transfiguration, 

but one way to make this story relevant is to move it off the page –

bring it down from the mountain - 

and take it with us into the world.

Look for the thin places, 

even in the thick places.

Look for signs of God in the world.

And where God is not easy to find,

be the presence of God that others desperately need to see.

Thanks be to God, and Amen. 

 

 

 John Harvey quote is from Love of Country: A Journey through the Hebrides by Madeleine Bunting. 

Walter Brueggemann quote is from Awed to Heaven, Rooted in Earth: Prayers of Walter Brueggemann