Finding Holy Places

Romans 12:9-21

Exodus 3:1-15

A recent CNN article received lots of attention.  It was titled, “More Teens Becoming Fake Christians.”

Lots of teenagers are going to church, of course.  But the faith they’re embracing is a watered down version.  They relate to God as someone who wants them to be nice, to do good and be good.  They imagine that God is primarily interested in boosting people’s self-esteem.  It’s a pretty measly, meager, selfish kind of religious life they’re embracing.

 

A large survey of this past summer revealed that most Christian teens are indifferent and inarticulate about their faith.  They don’t have much passion.  And they can’t talk very clearly about what it is they believe.  They’re full of passion and articulate about all sorts of things – fashion, music, money, sex, relationships, and technology.  But when it comes to their faith, they tend to shrug and mumble.

What’s wrong with kids these days?  We’re going to hell in a handbasket!

Guess who’s to blame for all this?  . . . Adults.  Churches and families.  Pastors like me and parents like you.  Ouch!  They’re not seeing much in their churches and families to inspire them. 

Teenagers generally see in the adults around the a “gospel of niceness.”  They see people doing good things and not ruffling any feathers.  What they don’t see much of is the Christian call to take risks, to bear witness to the good news, and to sacrifice for others.  And when we adults DO engage in faithful action, we rarely explain to our young people that this is the difference that faith makes.  We don’t connect the dots between what we do and WHY we’re doing it.

Religion that makes you comfortable is like cotton candy, appealing but not very good for you.  Not very satisfying.  And our teenagers’ bellies have turned sour.  They’ve eaten enough.

What teenagers crave is what we all crave: an encounter with something holy.  Something that stops us and says, “Come no closer.”  Something that demands we remove our shoes.  We don’t want more familiarity and comfort.  We want strangeness, otherness. 

The Bible is filled with holy places, places full of fear and mystery.  For most of history, there have been holy places: enchanted forests, magic wells, shrines of devotion, dream lands accessed through secret doors.  The Celtic term for a holy place is a “thin place.” 

Let me read from a travel article by Eric Weiner (NYT), about this Celtic term, “thin places”:

It is, admittedly, an odd term. One could be forgiven for thinking that thin places describe skinny nations (see Chile) or perhaps cities populated by thin people (see Los Angeles). No, thin places are much deeper than that. They are locales where the distance between heaven and earth collapses and we’re able to catch glimpses of the divine, or the transcendent or, as I like to think of it, the Infinite Whatever.

Travel to thin places does not necessarily lead to anything as grandiose as a “spiritual breakthrough,” whatever that means, but it does disorient. It confuses. We lose our bearings, and find new ones. Or not. Either way, we are jolted out of old ways of seeing the world. . . .

It’s not clear who first uttered the term “thin places,” but they almost certainly spoke with an Irish brogue. The ancient pagan Celts, and later, Christians, used the term to describe mesmerizing places like the wind-swept isle of Iona (now part of Scotland) or the rocky peaks of [St. Patrick’s Mountain in Ireland]. Heaven and earth, the Celtic saying goes, are only three feet apart, but in thin places that distance is even shorter.

Maybe some of you have had some kind of experience of a “thin place” – a place where you felt especially close to God; a place where you’ve experienced God’s transforming love and holy power.  But that kind of thing seems less and less likely.

In our digital world, all places become less important.  Technology enables me to be anywhere.  Often it’s not important where I am physically.  I can be connected to others via technology.  I can and often do text, talk, and skype with people all over the United States.  So do you.  In that kind of world, what happens to holy places?

Holy places were once common.  Enchanted places.  Special places.  But those have been swept away in our culture.  No place can be special. 

In our story, Moses finds himself in a holy place.  Not much about the region of Midian appeared holy.  He was tending sheep.  Not much about Moses seemed holy.  He was a hothead who had intervened in a fight between an Egyptian and an Israelite and killed the Egyptian.  That’s why he had to flee the country.  So he’s a long way from home.  And he’s a long way from anywhere that looks important.  But that’s where he meets God.

Notice how Moses moves through this story:

•      He pays attention.  (He “sees” and notices the bush).
•          He exhibits curiosity.  (He asks, “Why isn’t the bush burning up?).
•          He makes himself available to the experience (“Here am I, Lord.”)
•          He models humility.  (“Who am I?”).
•          He encounters God on holy ground.  (Yet notice the encounter doesn’t keep him there for long).

I suppose the story invites us into these same kinds of practices.  People who live this way are more likely to find holy places.

Actually, the text does NOT invite us into a preoccupation or fascination with special, holy places.  God encountered Moses at a holy place.  But God didn’t ask Moses to stay there.  God asked Moses to become a leader in a larger project that aimed at freedom.  That’s what happens in holy places.  God meets you and sweeps you into something larger than yourself.  You are not fixed to a holy place.  You share in holy work.   Your own life begins to smell holy.

Jesus himself did not seem overly concerned with seeking out holy places.  He sought out places to share the good news of God’s new kingdom.  He did it primarily in small villages, full of working class people, in an economically unimportant place called Galilee.

He traveled to the Holy Temple in Jerusalem for special seasons like Passover.  And he made a habit of attending synagogue for worship, prayer, and Scripture reading.  So it’s not like he avoided places traditionally associated with holiness.  But he wasn’t preoccupied with those holy places.  He traveled among the crowds.  He went to their job sites.  He taught in their marketplaces.  He ate meals, offered forgiveness, and healed people in their own homes.  He made places holy by being there.

You and I make places holy by being there.  Any place can be holy.  Any place can be full of God.  Any place where we struggle for our own freedom and the freedom of others is a holy place.  Wherever the Holy Spirit is at work is a holy place.  The Holy Spirit blows like a mysterious wind where it wills, here and there, disobedient to any rules and boundaries we might imagine.

I would guess that the problem is not that there are too few holy places.  But that we are often not as fully awake, not as curious, as Moses at the bush on Mount Horeb. 

I would guess that the problem is that we have not yet come to see ourselves, and our immediate surroundings, our daily lives, as holy places.  Did you know that when others look at you, they see a bush that’s burning but not being consumed?