An Unexpected Thin Place
How the hospital can hold its own with religious pilgrimages
There is Celtic term that describes certain locations as “thin places.” They are the sacred spots where this world and the next seem separated only by a thin veil. In those places we may feel especially attuned to the holy.
Writer Edwin Weiner describes thin places as “those rare locales where the distance between Heaven and Earth collapses and we’re able to catch glimpses of the divine or the transcendent.”
He further expounded on what makes a thin place thin (or not) in an essay for The New York Times,
So what exactly makes a place thin? It’s easier to say what a thin place is not. A thin place is not necessarily a tranquil place, or a fun one, or even a beautiful one, though it may be all of those things too. Disney World is not a thin place. Nor is Cancún. Thin places relax us, yes, but they also transform us — or, more accurately, unmask us. In thin places, we become our more essential selves.
Thin places feel set apart and people speak about encountering God with more ease than the everyday places of their lives. Many holy shrines and places of pilgrimage or retreat are often described by this term. People go there to seek a close connection with the divine.
When I visited a notable thin place, Iona, I was overwhelmed with beauty and simplicity. It was easy to feel God’s presence in that tiny island off the coast of Scotland. I wrote in my journal,
The island is breathtakingly beautiful. Everything is so remote and tranquil. Looking out over the cliffs and listening to the water was a balm to my soul. There is a stillness I haven’t felt in a while. A sense of peace washed over me in this serene place. I don’t think that Iona or any beautiful setting is any closer to God or inspires more devout religious revelations. I just think that in the calmness and the beauty you can appreciate everything more and maybe listen better to what is being said or given to you. There is a lovely un-hurriedness that allows you to sit and ponder and dwell with God.
For others a thin place might be a grand church like Westminster Abbey or home of incredible art like the Louvre. Others might find their thin place at national parks or anywhere in nature.
But I think we can also expand the idea of thin places beyond those with majestic views and historic locations – to places defined by how we are impacted by what happens there.
From this chaplain’s eyes, the hospital can be a thin place.
Not that anyone is scheduling surgery with the intent to grow their sense of divinity, but it happens, nonetheless. The sheer notion of being in a building where people are being born, healing from disease, learning how to care, saying goodbye and dying, makes it a place like no other.
While there is drama and high stakes situations day in and day out, another part of the hospital experience is the slow passage of time. It is amazing how much time the patients have.
Time spent waiting in between tests and procedures and the next visit from their doctor.
Time between their medications or next session of physical therapy.
Time to sleep (although sleep can be hard won in such a place of constant noise and busyness).
Time between the last bland meal and the next.
Time to watch daytime television talk shows.
Time to stare at the ceiling and contemplate one’s life.
In the hospital people are taken out of their everyday existence, sometimes abruptly and forced into a period of slowing down and waiting. They are often at the most vulnerable times of their lives and the most reflective.
I happened to meet Emmet as he was in the thin place of the hospital.
He was a patient undergoing a routine procedure. He was being monitored because his “numbers were high” but nothing too worrisome. I almost skipped his room altogether, but my scheduled patient was out for an MRI. I glanced at my list and noticed that Emmet had “No Religious Preference” listed. I try to prioritize these patients, to double-check if they would like their religion listed, as sometimes the question gets skipped over or entered incorrectly.
Emmet, as it turns out, considered himself a “spiritual mutt” with proclivities toward Buddhism, Christianity, Hinduism and Islam. Not knowing how to code this in our Electronic Medical Record, he joked, “is there a way to check all the buttons?” So “No Religious Preference” actually meant “All the Religious Preferences!” Emmet had traveled the world and visited many thin places. He had met with mystics, chanted with choirs and partied with priests. Suffice it to say, Emmet was a self-appointed student of religious experiences.
But his current religious experience brought him deeper reflection than the others, especially since he was least expecting it.
When I asked him what it was like for him to be in the hospital, he told me how hard it had been. He said he’d been praying more than ever before. Confused by this, as his condition was not that serious, I probed some more.
He told me the last time he was in a hospital he was saying goodbye to his mother as she died. And being in this hospital, in a completely different country, those memories came flooding back. We talked about his mother and his grief. He admitted that he missed his brother. They had a falling out after his mother’s death, over the dissolution of her estate.
At one point, as I listened, he declared: “It’s time to make amends. Life is too short. I’ll be outta this hospital soon, but what about the next time? This could have been worse and we used to be so close. This is stupid, this is not how I want to live.”
He asked me to pray that he might find the words to heal that rift.
Emmet entered a hospital to heal a minor wound but left this thin place with the potential to heal a greater one.
Thresholds
One quiet eve, when memories dance,
The veil grows thin, a fleeting chance.
Where earth and sky begin to blend,
In tears and whispers, souls transcend.
A mountain peak, a wild expanse,
A silent chapel, a mystic trance.
Remove your shoes on hallowed ground,
Assuredness of God abounds.
So let us seek, with open eyes,
These thresholds where the spirit flies.
In every moment, every breath,
The thin place beckons, life and death.
For here we find, some transient grace,
A glimpse of truth, a sacred space.
In each new hope and fervent prayer,
Thin places linger, everywhere.
I have to say that I worked in the health care industry for years but never quite heard it put this away (in terms of being a thin place) but I love that. It fits.
By the way, you wrote a lovely poem. You’re a poet, even if you don’t know it 😉.