'Thin places'? Do such sites really exist?

'Thin places' is a Celtic Christian term that describes areas where people feel the distance between heaven and earth collapse. Poets, writers and travellers make grand claims about the power of such spaces to transform us.

This summer, I found the perfect candidate for such a place in the North West of Scotland at the isolated Sandaig Bay, otherwise known as Gavin Maxwell's 'Camusfearna' in his book The Ring of Bright Water.

Many years ago, I had to read Ring of Bright Water at school and was told it was about otters. I doubt it would be read in schools now as it comes with two trigger warnings on the website 'doesthedogdie.com', and it is not just the dog that dies! However, the book's primary focus is Sandaig and its magnetic hold on Maxwell. It was a place that intoxicated him with its beauty. When I read it as a young teenager, I struggled to understand it; my urban English existence did not have the categories to imagine it despite his vibrant writing.

Maxwell loved Sandaig. His words convey that love from the sounds of the burn to the cascade of the waterfall behind his cottage. He shows off the canvas of white sands, bright satin sea, heather and ochre mountain grasses, and the chain of islands fringed by plum-coloured distances of the Cuillins of Skye embroidered with threads and scrolls of snow. Being there I could sympathise with those who talk of 'thin places’. Surely the heavens declare God's glory, and the sky above proclaims His handiwork.

Yet even there, the groaning creation was evident for Maxwell in the 1960s and for me in 2024. Sandaig Bay is isolated, but while I was there, some others arrived. I imagined they were a grandfather, mother and teenage daughter. We were the only people around. The woman wore her wetsuit and braced swimming in the tranquil but cold sea. The older man sat on a rock watching, but the teenager meandered around, making strange dancing movements in the sand. After drying off from her swim, the disconnected group walked silently back up the hill, heading for the road. When I walked down to the beach, I saw what the girl had been doing - she had been making large, angry, obscene words in the sand visible from the trees above as you walked down to the bay. It was a heartbreaking sight.

There is nowhere we can travel where the fall does not invade; the fingers of darkness are there. There is no such thing as a 'thin' place which can draw us closer to God. We must never think perfection is achieved or spirituality found without the Lord Jesus Christ. This summer, many of us will get glimpses of beauty that point us to the glory of the Lord, His eternal power, and divine nature. I hope that many do. But it is through Christ alone that we are rescued from our foolish and darkened hearts and brought into the presence of God. Oh, how we need Him! The joy of joys: we do not need to travel to get close to God - we have a high priest who calls us to draw near with confidence because He has ascended into heaven.

Some of us will travel to magnificent places this summer, while others will remain in challenging and harsh environments. When we touch beauty now, we give thanks and rejoice. But we must not be deceived; however glorious nothing is as awe-inspiring and magnificent as the Lord's dwelling place - one day in His courts is better than a thousand elsewhere!

The apostle John had a glimpse of this glory in his vision: 'And the one who sat there had the appearance of jasper and ruby. A rainbow that shone like an emerald encircled the throne - and in front of the throne there was what looked like a sea of glass, clear as crystal' (Revelation 4:2-6). This is a place that we can't visualise. We may feel far from it. Its wonder is so beyond our experience, but be encouraged - this is our hope, this is our home.