Midnight Mass, thin places, and home

There are two services in the liturgical calendar that I look forward to the most: Easter Vigil and Midnight Christmas Mass. Each service celebrates the coming of light amidst darkness. Each service is a beautiful renewal: the resurrection and the birth. Each service features candlelight and incense. Each service becomes a thin place. Thin places, to me (admittedly stolen from a theologian) are moments and places where the divide between earthly and heavenly, between mortal and divine, are almost non-existent. There are a few places where I've felt the presence of the divine, and for those I am thankful.

Seeing the water and sitting on the rocks by the pier is my favorite thin place. Even in elementary school I would sit and just listen to the water hit the rocks. There was something so beautiful about those rocks that it deserved silence. It deserved reverence. I went back to those rocks this break. There is so much noise in life. These days the noise is deadlines and papers and the ups and downs of working with colleagues. These days the noise is so thick that I can't see the thin places. But then I come home. I see the sun shining on the water and the sand on the beach. I see the sunset over the bay, I drive over the marsh, and I'm greeted by my dogs. All of this reminds me where I'd like to see myself. At peace. Maybe not here on the coast, but somewhere where I can see enough beauty to remind me that I'm a part of a wild and beautiful world. 

I had a thin place in Sewanee. St. Mary's Convent had an amazing view of the plateau and at sunset, the colors would be so vivid, so warm, so perfect that I could almost see the brushstrokes of God. Whenever I felt overwhelmed I would go there. Knowing that generations of nuns and pilgrims and people seeking solace had viewed the sunset on that bluff was comforting. While I was at homecoming I regretfully did not make it to this thin place. But to be honest, all of Sewanee is a thin place for me. 

Christmas deserves to be a thin place. Amidst the hustle of last minute gift buying and grocery shopping, there are moments where things slow down. A fire in the fireplace, a family meal, decorating the Christmas tree… all of these moments remind me that one of the best gifts Christmas brings us is family. 

I hope you and yours have a holiday season of renewal and rebirth, of solace and laughter, and most of all, moments of peace.