The concept of thin places takes root in the ancient tradition of faith. It is the place where heaven and earth draw so near it is as if they are almost one. It is the place where we catch glimpses of the divine in the midst of the broken world.
I'm currently reading a book by a daughter who lost both of her parents in the span of a few months. She writes about the places that were thin in those times. Admittedly I'm not as far as I would like to be in the book to actually be writing about it here, but I can look back over the past year and recognize those thin places in my life.
When your child dies in the midst of Holy Week, it is only natural to find divine moments, at least it was for me. Cara was delivered on Tuesday and buried on Holy Saturday. Tim and I are headed to her grave here shortly to remember the significance of the day that we forever said good-bye to our little girl.
As I sat reflecting on Holy Saturday reading a book called Iona Dawn, today's reflection reached out to me.
Today is a day of death.
Today we are given permission to mourn, to cry, to wonder.
Today we are encouraged to be still.
To let God us in the silence.
So let's do it.
Let's take time out
from anticipating the resurrection,
to be with Jesus,
wherever he is.
The suggestion for prayer included:
Spend time today in a cemetery or graveyard. Tend to the grave of a family member, a friend, or a stranger. Give yourself time and permission to grieve: for someone you love, for lost opportunities, for unfulfilled dreams.
Our plans already included the above. It's just nice to have those feelings affirmed.
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