Where Did All the Thin Places Go?

thoughts on longing for connection

I struggle with depression, but at this moment in time, I don’t feel depressed. It’s been some time since I’ve seen a counselor, and I don’t feel as if I need to right now.

No, this time something else is going on, and I’m going to try to put it into words so that you can identify with it.

You see, our culture is saturated with self-help books, podcasts, and seminars. And I think this gives us the idea that if we just read the right books, follow the right steps, and adopt the right spiritual practices, we will arrive. We’ll no longer feel sad or anxious, lonely or depressed.

But this simply isn’t true.

As my friend Brian McLaren described in Faith After Doubt, the spiritual life looks much more like the rings of a tree than a staircase or ladder. Or as Ken Wilbur says, it is more like a spiral or the seasons in a year than a linear journey with a clear starting place and destination.

We go through the seasons of joy, of contentment, of peace, but we also go through seasons of despair, of darkness, of a greater awareness of our unknowing.

This last description is how the famous, but anonymous, author of The Cloud of Unknowing describes the spiritual life. There is a cloud that sits between God and ourselves, and this cloud is symbolic of our inability to know God in the sense that we might know the process of photosynthesis or know how to make pancakes. In other words, there is always more to learn about God. We can always grow closer to the Divine. This is why the Bible uses the word “mystery” to describe God and the ways of God.

In Celtic Christianity, there is a concept known as “thin places.” I was reminded of this concept in three different books I read recently: Replenish by Lance Witt, Christ of the Celts by John Phillip Newell, and The Heart of Christianity by Marcus Borg.¹

A thin place is a geographical place, isolated moment in time, experience, or even a person that makes you feel as if the veil between heaven and earth is at its thinnest. It’s the place were you feel as if the cloud of unknowing is all but gone.

I have a few thin places in my life that I can access regularly: the state park near my house, any of my running routes, my mandolin or one of my other instruments, and a few people whom I love dearly: my wife Laura, a family I’m very close to at church, and several friends who are aware of the cost of ministry.

But the most consistent thin place for me by far has been around a campfire or tucked into a secluded corner of a campground singing familiar songs with a small group of people immersed in the Spirit.

The large worship gatherings and scheduled devotionals are great, but singing spontaneously with a small group of people late at night, preferably outdoors, remains the most consistent, the most powerful, the most intense thin place I have in my life.

Last week, I got to experience this once again, and it made me realize that I haven’t had many, if any, thin experiences in quite sometime.

My relationships have suffered, my corporate worship has been lackluster, and my personal devotion has even felt stale.

Nobody is at fault for this. There is no one to blame, especially not myself. No combination of songs, prayers, or external changes could possibly assist in changing this for me at this time.

Instead, this is a sign of an all too familiar friend: the dark night of the soul.

God is here. I feel the Presence of the Divine. I know that Jesus is beside me. I know the Spirit dwells within me. But at the same time, I am immensely aware of my own humanity. I stumble over my words to express my gratitude, but all that seems to come out are the faint cries of a newborn, an infant in the faith.

My usual thin places are no longer that thin. They’ve been thickened, not by their ineffectiveness, but by my being too aware of things below.

On one hand, it is summer time. I’m able to do all of the things I enjoy: camp, play outside, swim, kayak, etc. But on the other hand, my joy has made me realize my despair. My proximity to the Divine has made me realize how far away I actually am.

I’m in a strange paradox of emotional and physical well-being while also realizing that something within me must change. My work/ life balance is great, but my spirit is gasping for air. My soul hungers and thirsts after righteousness, but the refrain of the famous beatitude has yet to be sung.

There is a simultaneous enlightenment and disillusionment, or as John the Baptist said, there is the Spirit but there is also fire.

What is the answer to this?

Well, what I have learned is that there is no answer. Trying to “fix” it (as if something is broken) only leads to an unhealthy kind of despair. Instead, I must embrace that this is natural part of life, trust in the Spirit’s work within me, and boldly engage the purification God intends one experiences through this process. Then, once the cloud of forgetting thickens beneath me, the cloud of unknowing will once again become thin, and Ill be ready to, with the Sprit’s help, walk through whatever door is about to be opened in my life.

I appreciate you reading this, and I don’t want you to read this as a cry for help. I don’t need to be released from this feeling; instead, the only way through is through. If the process is escaped or abandoned, then its glorious purpose is ruined.

Instead, I hope to put language to this experience so that you can recognize it in your life, learn to love it, and patiently endure it as a time of growth.

May the thin places in your life be numerous. May the cloud of forgetting beneath you thicken. And may you go wherever the Spirit leads.

Now I sit around a different kind of campfire, and instead of my friends flanking me on my left and right, the Father, Son, and Spirit patiently wait for me to glimpse their faces through the flame and smoke and once more enter into a deepened awareness of their Presence.

1. If you are in ministry of any kind (teaching, counseling, pastoral work, parenthood, spiritual friendship), then Replenish is a great book for you. If you’re interested in alternative orthodoxy and discussions about atonement theory, original sin, and the state of the world, then Christ of the Celts is a great book to read. If you are interested in progressive Christianity (either as an opponent or an interested student), then Borg’s book might be a good place to start. All of these should be read with a spirit of wisdom and discernment. Depending on where you are in your walk with Christ, it may not be time for you to read any of these works.