By the time you read this, I will be coming to the end of a week’s holiday on the Shetland Isles. For over 30 years I have had an annual trip to a Scottish island with a group of friends. When we started, we would think nothing of stopping off en-route to climb a Munro; the name given to a Scottish hill over 3000 feet. These days we have learnt to savour the delights of 500 feet elevations on the coast. The islands have a mystical quality; I enjoy visiting the numerous sacred sites on them, where Celts, Picts and Norse have worshipped God. Although there may be little left now other than a few stones, these places remain holy. They are often called “thin places”, where the barriers between earth and heaven break down. Except, for me, it is not quite as simple as that. When I visit these places, I am fascinated by the history; my brain is active trying to make sense of how the stones were once buildings. I have archaeological experiences at them, but usually not spiritual ones. I am not alone; I recently read an article by Dr Catherine Fox, a writer who has had the same experience as myself. To her, these are actually thick places; so much is going on in her head, she loses sight of God. But, like myself, she perseveres. I do this because I know that the memory of these places will return to me, when my mind is less busy. Then I will not be trying to work out the shape of the church; all I will remember is that on this site, God was present to people. And in that memory, God becomes present to me; it turns my living room into a thin place.
Rev David Poyner