Thin places . . .in Homewood

I think the Christmas season is a time when we are more likely to experience the "thin places," originally described in Celtic Christian tradition as places where curtain that separates the visible and invisible realm is lifted, or is so thin that the common becomes sacred and the sacred becomes common.

I believe it. And I think the reason is that there is an abundance of love floating around at this time of the year. I think when the light of love becomes bright enough, we get a glimpse of what lies beyond that curtain. Love is the Windex for the glass we look through darkly.

Today I spent most of the afternoon inside a jail. Fortunately I was just visiting, but it was still not a pleasant afternoon. This was not a prison ministry moment, but a time spent dealing with legal issues in a tragic situation. The afternoon went as well as it could, however, and as I was heading back through Birmingham I decided I deserved a break, so I stopped at my favorite coffee shop, O'Henry's in Homewood. I was on the phone with Benjamin at the time, and while I don't like talking on the cell inside businesses, he and Kate were driving across the frozen tundra of Kansas, and I really wanted to hear of their adventure. I like O'Henry's because they treat me like family. They treat everybody that way. So as I held up my hands about two feet apart and mouthed the word "latte," they had no problem interpreting my order. A large latte. That is all I ever get. While probably not truly a "thin place," I have often referred to coffee as "God's unmerited flavor " (copyright Bob Bentley 2002). Between the latte and the warm, friendly atmosphere of O'Henry's, I was feeling better. Then I walked onto the streets of Homewood, which looks like a city street should look at Christmas. The streets and stores are decorated with lights, and the sidewalks are full of shoppers or folks headed to the local eateries or watering holes. I was feeling even better. I dropped into a couple of stores, the kind of stores you don't find in the malls. The place was still not thin, but the curtain was at least transluscent.

Then I accidentally created a tradition. I don't have a real high standard for tradition. If I do something two years in a row, that's a tradition. I walked back through O'Henry's to my car, which was parked in the Soho parking lot. There is an art studio in Soho I visit occasionally, Jennifer Harwell's. In fact I was there about two weeks ago. Jennifer was creating some small paintings at the time, and I got to watch a bit of that, which is both wonderful and frustrating. Wonderful because she just does a few strokes and something wonderful comes into existence. Okay, I know it's not that easy, she just makes it look that way. Frustrating because that talent is so foreign to me and I am so jealous of people who have it. Sometime when I feel stronger emotionally I'll tell about my first grade experience of coloring a picture of Santa Claus. I'm just not there yet.

Anyway, I walked into the studio. Like O'Henry's, the folks in the studio are good at making you feel at home. But as it turned out it was the night of open house. Wine, hors d'oeurves, friendly people, and beautiful art. Still not a thin place, but, not a bad place to be. And I realized I had been in this place last year for open house right before Christmas. So, I've got a new tradition. Cool.

Then as I was leaving with my small painting, I stopped and talked to a person who had been in the studio when I was there two weeks ago. Someone I had talked to maybe four times in my whole life for a total of about thirty minutes. We talked a moment about my painting, and then she told me she had been thinking of me since the last time I was there. She sensed that my soul was sad. That she would continue to have me in her thoughts.

Thin place.