Is this place really nearer to God?

Is the wall thin between our whispers

And His listening? I only know

The world grows less and less–

Here what matters is conquering the wind,

Coming home dryshod, getting the fire lit.

I am not sure whether there is no time here

Or more time, whether the light is stronger

Or just easier to see. That is why

I keep returning, thirsty, to this place

That is older than my understanding,

Younger than my broken spirit.

–Kenneth Stevens, “Iona” (Iona, a Celtic island, has been home to a monastery for thousands of years and currently functions as a spiritual retreat center)

In just a few days, I won’t be in Arkansas anymore.

Instead, I’ll be in a very special place.  A fierce stark wilderness of an untamed country where the air smells like courage and the sun shines freedom.  A haven where I am completely at ease—a rare sensation for someone like me who so often feels like an awkward spectator at a game whose rules I cannot understand.  I’ll be surrounded by a whole world full of towering mountains, glistening snow, bugling elk, warbling birds, endless trails, and enough beauty to burst my heart.  This place is my adopted home—Estes Park, Colorado.

I’ve been blessed with the opportunity to visit Estes several times prior to this most recent visit, but it never loses its appeal for me.  I keep coming, over and over, like a bird flying home to its nest.  And no matter how glowing my memories of it are, each time I return, I am in awe once more of its sheer glory. 

There are many reasons I love Estes so much.  First of all, there’s the town itself—a quaint western village nestled in a valley, accessible only by a narrow mountain road and full of friendly people, interesting shops, beautiful recreation areas, and a festival for every occasion.  Also, there’s the scenery.  Towering mountains roll their enormous shoulders against the sky, featuring bristly evergreen forests, vistas that stretch to the world’s end, and lakes of a particular shade of blue found nowhere else on earth.  And let’s not forget the opportunities to explore the wilderness.  In Colorado, everyone is on the move, and nature is prioritized.  Whether you prefer fishing, boating, hiking, running, rock-climbing, skiing, or bicycling, Estes is an outdoor paradise.

Yes, there are many reasons that I love Estes Park, many excuses I can find for making my way back, year after year.  But the best part of the town isn’t the Western hospitality, or the weekend block parties in Bond Park, or the way the High Peaks glow scarlet in the sunrise.  It isn’t even the sight of locals obligingly sidestepping a herd of elk strolling down the main street or the whirling whiteness of a surprise September blizzard.  Instead, it’s the peace—the gentle embrace of God…the glory of His grace.

A journey to Estes isn’t a vacation, where I don a tourist persona and stroll the countryside snapping photos.  Nor is it an escape, where I insulate myself from practicalities and try to drown out my worries by pure willpower.  No, a journey to Estes, for me, is a homecoming—a return to the hearthstone of my spirit and the temple of my God.

We all want such a place, don’t we?  We all search for moments of respite, when we feel as though God draws us into His loving arms and holds us so close we can feel His strong heartbeat.  Some people, like me, might have a special place that brings them peace—the beach, maybe, or their childhood home, or even a busy street in a well-loved metropolis.  Others, however, might find that peace when they pursue a God-given passion, using their talents and gifts for the glory of their Creator.  Still others might experience something similar when they gaze into the eyes of their spouse, or hold their newborn child, or admire a beautiful sunset.  Wherever and however we find them, though, those moments are priceless beyond words. 

We know when we’ve found one, because time slows ever so slightly.  The voices in our head cease.  The soul aches of living each day in so crazy a world throb a little less.  We catch our breath and feel a shiver of relief—and our hearts remind us all over again that we are seen, we are known, we are loved. 

In the beautifully simple theology of medieval Celtic Christians (the same believers who created the Wild Goose analogy), these moments had a special name—Thin Places.  Thin Places were widely discussed among the Celts even before Christianity arrived in Ireland.  Tracy Balzer, a scholar of Celtic Christianity (and Director of Christian Formation at John Brown University in my home state), explains that in their original form, Thin Places were “where the line between the spirit world and the physical world was ’tissue-paper thin.'” After Christian missionaries introduced the Celts to Jesus, the concept of Thin Places wasn’t abandoned; instead, it gained even greater power as an indication of the presence of God, and the Thin Places, in the words of Balzer, were now “recognized as sacred sites where the Holy Spirit of God seemed as near as one’s breath.”

If the idea of a Thin Place sounds fictitious or far-fetched or even downright heretical, consider the story of Jacob from the Bible.  When Genesis 28 opens, Jacob has been leading the life of a top-notch con man.  He’s claimed to be his brother Esau, thus earning himself the dubious notoriety of becoming the world’s first recorded identity thief.  He’s allowed himself to be used as a pawn in a favoritism game by his conniving mother and hoodwinked his situationally unaware father.  Finally, he’s nabbed his brother’s rightful inheritance—along with the paternal blessing.  And like any con man, Jacob finds himself forced to leave the area quickly before justice, in the form of a murderously angry Esau, can catch up with him.  After traveling all day, he comes to the basically unknown town of Luz and decides to camp out overnight.

But as Jacob’s body sleeps, his spirit awakes.  In an amazing dream, he receives a vision of angels traveling between Heaven and earth, as well as the breathtaking promise that God is with him, has created great plans for him, and will protect him. 

Is this a Thin Place?  Absolutely.  Awaking from his dream, Jacob immediately names the site “Beth-el,” meaning literally “House of God.”  He’s been in a Thin Place and watched that veil between worlds flutter aside.  It’s not a magic moment of complete repentance; for years, he’ll continue to struggle with his stubborn fleshly tendencies.  But God has made the first dent in this man’s sinful soul.  Jacob can still choose to disobey God, but he can’t choose any longer to completely ignore Him. 

And this is the essence of a Thin Place.  A true Thin Place won’t just turn your head; it will turn your heart.  It won’t only comfort; it may also convict.  And it doesn’t necessarily bring God closer to you, but it always brings you closer to God. 

This is why visiting Estes Park is a transformative experience for me.  It’s a journey of healing, when old wounds finally close and stale fears are soothed.  It’s full of moments of breathless wonder, when I fall to my knees at the sight of the Lord.  And it’s been the backdrop for some of the most life-changing words I have ever received from the Holy Spirit.  After a Thin Place, you aren’t the same.  It’s not something you can shrug off or chalk up or walk away from unscathed.  It’s something that changes you—dangerous, but delirious; risky, but rewarding. 

In addition, a true Thin Place won’t depend on your behavior.  It’s nothing you can control, manipulate, or earn.  You won’t miss it because of past failure or merit it because of good deeds.  For proof, picture Jacob’s Thin Place experience again.  At the time of his arrival at Beth-el, Jacob is far from the straight-laced saint or the clean-handed kid.  He’s been living his life according to one simple policy:  get whatever he wants, however he can, no matter the cost.  A simple examination of his life reveals that honoring God with his choices is probably not a priority for him.  But God, the Lover of sinful souls, the Master of surprising plot twists, the pursuing One, has a surprise.  He is going to reveal Himself to Jacob in an amazing way—a way that is gratuitously generous and overwhelmingly kind.  He doesn’t visit this scheming man in a dark cloud of judgment or a lightning bolt of fury.  He doesn’t force Jacob into submission; He woos him tenderly. 

Likewise, we never deserve to stand in a Thin Place.  And ironically, one of the first emotions associated with a Thin Place experience is usually an awareness of our own inadequacy, our own unworthiness—similar to Simon Peter, who after watching Jesus work an incredible miracle cried out, “Depart from me, for I am a sinful man, O Lord” (Luke 5:8 KJV).  However, that’s part of the beauty of a Thin Place.  We serve a God Who wants to draw near to us, Who wants to make His voice heard and breathe truth into our lives–even when we are at our lowest point. 

And that brings us to the most amazing truth about a Thin Place.  In the boundless grace of our Lord, a Thin Place can, and is, found anywhere and everywhere. 

Certainly there are particular sites—like Estes Park!—where the voice of God is louder and the truth is clearer.  It’s easy to laud these as Thin Places, and they are.  But just because we feel God more strongly in a particular place does not preclude His presence in another area where His leading seems less certain. 

My friends, our God is the God of Thin Places and Thick Places and all places in between.  He’s the God of the mountains and the God of the valleys, the God of the whirlwind and the God of the calm, the God of the raincloud and the God of the snow.  When I stand on the spine of the High Peaks and look across a fathomless abyss to the Never Summer Mountains, God is there.  When I perch on a glacial boulder in a field brimming with violet dusk and listen to the eerie screams of bugling elk, God is there.  When I walk the streets of Estes Park, plunge through snow at Lake Haiyaha, and skip stones across the pristine waters of Mills Lake, God is there.  But God is also there when I drive east out of Estes Park—out of Colorado.  When I drop ten thousand feet in elevation and return to a world that harasses me with worries and regrets and uncertainties, God is there. 

And He’s there for you too. 

He was there for Jacob.  Did you notice Jacob’s remark in verse 16?  Don’t miss it.  “Surely the Lord is in this place; and I knew it not.”

You would think it would be impossible to be side-by-side with the Lord of the universe and be completely unaware of His presence.  But sadly, it’s far more common than we realize.  We can muddle our way through difficult situations without ever looking up, without ever noticing that God is in the mess with us, helping us. 

And Beth-el can be anywhere, my friends.  Usually where we don’t feel God and never expect to experience His presence.  But frequently, the most powerful and life-changing Thin Places are found in the most painful and heart-crushing places.  The night when you cry yourself to sleep—the day you learn you didn’t pass the course—the moment you receive the terrible phone call—even the afternoon filled with wearying mundanity—all of these are possible Beth-el moments.  Yet in the midst of pain, or grief, or fear, or boredom, sometimes you see the glimmer of Jacob’s ladder, and you realize the Lord is still moving.  And you cry out with Jacob, “Surely the Lord was in this place…and I knew it not.”

So today, find your Thin Places.  Seek them out.  Bask in their comfort, absorb their joy, and praise the Lord for them.  Refresh your spirit in their hidden springs.  But when you find yourself in a very Thick Place, where the air grows heavy and dark and fears lurk like rapacious birds of prey, don’t forget that Jacob’s ladder can always touch earth, and Beth-el is found in the most unusual places. 

Yes, I’ll enjoy my sojourn in Estes Park.  I’m beyond thrilled to be returning to my mountains, where I’ll connect with my Creator in a special way unique to my journeys there.  But when the time comes for me to return home, I will not be leaving the Lord behind as well.  And whether I can see His dear face through the crystal air of a Thin Place, or whether the sorrow of a Thick Place hides Him from my view, it doesn’t change the truth—He is with me always.

If you like this article, please leave me a comment, and don’t forget to subscribe! Also, Tracy Balzer’s quotes in this post are drawn from her profound book, Thin Places. You can find more about Tracy here.