Thin Places

From Wellington Cathedral of St Paul

Thin places: 21st November 2010: pm: The Very Revd Frank Nelson

• Psalm 72: 1 - 11
• 1 Samuel 8: 4 - 20
• John 18: 33 - 37

Among the close to a thousand people who filled the Cathedral yesterday afternoon were two priests who drove down from Pahiatua and Eketahuna. I am quite proud of the way those two words trip off my tongue – Pahiatua and Eketahuna! Having only a vague idea of where they are, I asked whether they had stopped on the way to Wellington. “Oh yes,” came the reply, “we stopped at several thin places.” Clearly my blank look suggested more conversation, as they went on to explain that they had intentionally broken their journey for times of prayer at certain special places – one of them being the war memorial in Featherstone. Thin places, it was explained to me, are places where you feel close to God, where you might encounter the holy.

Then the penny dropped and I remembered a course I took some years ago on Celtic Spirituality. There we learned about “liminal places”. To the Celts water, streams, springs, were particularly liminal – those places where, in the ancient pre-Christian religions that were practiced, it seemed that the divide between this world and the other was very thin, or liminal – literally on the threshold between one world and the next.

Having preached last Sunday morning on the concept of “mutual space” it seems natural to extend our thinking into that of “thin places” too. In the context of Remembrance Sunday, peace-keeping and worship in a Cathedral, I talked last week about St Ethelburger’s Church in the City of London. Having stood for centuries and survived both the Great Fire of London and the Blitz of the 2nd World War, St Ethelburger’s was destroyed in 1993 by an IRA bomb. Now rebuilt, it is intentionally used as “mutual space” to bring together people who normally never meet, except on either side of usually violent confrontation.

So “mutual space” makes itself available for people to find each other through the bigotry, racism, hatred, prejudice and any of the other myriad things that keep human beings divided, at war, and killing each other. “Thin” or “liminal” places are those where human beings and the spirit world meet to share a common boundary.

What then about “sacred space”? For the past few years we have talked about this Cathedral as a “sacred space”. It’s there at the bottom of the front page of the pew leaflet: Wellington Cathedral of St Paul – a sacred space of worship, hospitality and education. What makes this Cathedral “sacred space”, as opposed to any other kind of space?

Those three concepts of worship, hospitality and education give some clues. This place, this Cathedral, is set apart intentionally as a place of worship. It is here that Sunday by Sunday, indeed day by day, God is worshipped and adored. Cathedrals, perhaps more so than parish churches, are places where the daily round of worship continues regardless of whether there are a thousand people or just one or two present. This is a place of worship. In an age when we do things for reward, and seem to have to justify everything we do by counting heads, it is often very hard for our choristers to grasp the concept of making beautiful music for God; and not primarily for the benefit of those who happen to be in the congregation that day. Of course it helps when there is an appreciative audience, and I hope that you, members of the congregation, express that appreciation to our musicians – they too, are only human and need regular “stroking” just as we all do.

And for those of us who often spend long hours in this building, such as our vergers and clergy have done in the past week, it is sometimes hard to remember that the rehearsals on Saturday afternoons to make sure flags are placed in the right place, and that people know when and where to read the lessons, all make for better worship of God.

Hospitality comes into its own too in the big services that we have hosted here both yesterday and last Sunday, and will again over the next few weeks. From the first welcome as a person walks in through the door, to another cup of tea served wearily in the noisy and crowded Loaves and Fishes hall following an ordination, the face of Christ is ours to offer. Just before I left the Cathedral last evening, I found myself thinking again of R S Thomas (some of his words are quoted on the front page of today’s leaflet). In another of his poems he talks about a country church settling down again after a service – when the hustle and bustle, the noise and presence of people, has all gone, and the stillness returns to the church.

We do some extra-ordinary hospitality in this sacred space. Last Sunday it was filled with uniforms, military bands and parading colours. Three days later the bouquet of chardonnay and merlot mingled with the sounds of Taverner’s Orthodox-influenced Christmas Carol as the new CD Tidings was launched. The crash of a dropped crate of glasses on Thursday afternoon, shortly before Evensong, offered a reminder that human frailty and weakness is a constant theme in the proclamation of the Gospel from this pulpit. Yesterday, this space was resplendent with dozens of white-robed, red-stoled priests and deacons here to witness the ordination vows of their newest colleagues; while families, whanau and parishioners from far and wide, craned to catch a glimpse of hands laid on heads.

While all that is happening the work of education goes quietly on – choristers gather for Christian training at the end of a long hour’s singing; a guide explains to excited school children the significance of the pictures in the windows or the symbols on the dossal hanging; adult students clutching bibles, study guides and note books discuss the latest readings, or share their struggles to understand the significance of the incarnation of Christ; four young men approach the dean, asking him to explain what happens to the military colours hanging above the gallery – and nod in approval when told they are allowed to crumble to dust.

All this is part of our “sacred space” – where worship, hospitality and education is practiced and offered as the norm.

Is this a “thin place”, a “liminal place”, a “mutual space”? I like to think so. And it’s good to be here.

But of course, it is also only one place, one space. At the end of the day, we too have to go down the mountain, out of the doors, back into the “world” – which is the real liminal place, and make it both mutual and sacred space.