Thin Places

Over the last few weeks, Tara and I got to go to our literary tour of Ireland and the UK. We walked in the footsteps of such literary greats as CS Lewis, Oscar Wilde, Seamus Heaney, Jane Austen, Mary Shelley, Andrew Arndt, and Daniel Grothe. It was a magical experience, as you well know.

Because I’m married to who I’m married to, our “rest day” involved getting up early and finding every single thing that we could. We were staying at the Chainbridge Hotel in Llangollen, Wales, and it could hardly have been more beautiful. We took an old-time steam train around to see the sights, and coming back into town at 5pm, we decided (well, Tara decided) that we still had time to hike to the castle: Castell Dinas Bran is a mere mile walk from the train station. How hard could it be?

Our trail took us through neighborhoods–pastures ranging with pet sheep and even the odd cow. It took us over muddy, sloppy steps and up a steep climb. The sun was going down; the mist was coming in. But, we crested the summit and stumbled upon a place unlike nowhere else I’ve been.

It was a ruined castle, all right. But there were no guard rails separating you from the walls. There were no tours listed, keeping you away from any component. It was free to be explored as we willed. You could see the cellars. You could identify what likely were bedrooms. It was fantastic. You could even see the way the walls sat apart from the Keep, and up there on top of that hill you could see how you could defend against invaders for an almost limitless time, given enough arrows and ammunition. We’d never been closer to a castle! Nothing separated us. We took some photos and stood in awe of the surroundings. And a good thing too: the fog was rolling in.

As that fog made it hard to see, some things became more clear. So clear and palpable was the closeness of the spiritual world. I could see, really see, why the Celts called these mountaintop places “the thin places,” where the curtain between heaven and earth was not very wide at all. I could feel it! There was nothing separating us from the castle, and there was nothing separating us from that spiritual world.

I had thought this would make me feel closer to God. I suppose in a way it did, but even more than that, I felt close to the malevolent spiritual powers that Paul tells us against whom we war. I wondered if that castle had seen sacrifices, perhaps even human ones, designed to incur the blessing of the gods against invaders climbing that hill. I began to wonder what sort of druid prayer had happened on that thin place, that mountaintop, maybe not even so very long ago. I began to wonder what sort of fear and paranoia and terror gripped the people of that land who did not yet have hope in Jesus Christ.

So I dug around in my Pentecostal drawer and pulled out some weapons of warfare: prayer. I took authority over those spirits in the name of Jesus. I prayed them out and I prayed the glory of God in. I prayed that Jesus would be just as the Scripture says: the name above every other name, at which every knee would bow and tongue confess his lordship, whether in heaven or on earth or under the earth.

It was a thin place. The line between nature and spirit was thin. The thin line of the front of spiritual warfare was apparent. And yet even in that battle, the outcome was clear: Jesus is Lord.

Pastoring is also a thin place, isn’t it? The line between job and calling is thin. The line between devotional time and work is thin. The boundary between church and home is thin. The line we build up in our soul against everything that buffets it wears thin. Protecting our heart against this battle we wage thins us out. The thin prayer line is all that holds back the tide of the enemy, or so it seems.

And so the Lord reminded me of His Word: His name is a strong tower. The righteous run into it, and are safe (Proverbs 18:10).

If Castell Dinas Bran is impenetrable, how much more is the Word of the Lord? If Castell Dinas Bran is a thin place, how much more near is the Lord in our battles? If Castell Dinas Bran is a mountaintop, how much more will the Lord transfigure Himself in our lives and in our ministries? If we can get close to Castell Dinas Bran, closer than we can to any other castle, how much more will the Lord draw near to us?

I’m not sure what battle you’re waging this month. I don’t know what sacrifices have been ill-made, what words have been ill-spoken, and what tide surges down against you. Maybe nothing! I’m not sure what apathy is in your camp, what neglect some fruitful trees have seen, or what weeds might be germinating under the surface. Maybe nothing! But I am confident of this: that He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.

I am confident that our life hidden with God is a thin place: that nothing, neither height nor depth or angels nor demons nor a mile hike on a rest day nor doubt nor despair nor spirit warfare nor anything else in all creation can separate us from the love of God.

That castle has completed its mission: it protected its people, and is now in disrepair as a reminder of times gone by. But you haven’t completed yours! Shore up the walls; dig the moat, sound the call. The battle belongs to the Lord; you need only to be still.

Standing still with you,

Buz