Thin Places, Tūrangawaewae, and the Search for the Sacred

I have learned a lot over the past year, but one of the most surprising lessons is that we can find God / the Divine / the Sacred in the most unsuspecting places.

This has led me on a journey of exploring what the Celtic tradition calls 'thin places'.

Thin Places

Thin places aren't nicely labelled on Google Maps. They are the geographical places that become special to us — often in a collective sense — because of mysterious Divine encounter.

You can call this whatever you want: heaven and earth, this world and the world to come, the ordinary and the sacred, the natural and supernatural. The Celts suggested these are not far from each other, separated only by a veil. But in thin places, the veil is even more porous.

Thin places have been identified all over the islands of Ireland and Iona, and in Scotland. Thin places aren't strictly exclusive to the Celtic areas though. Many people walk the Camino de Santiago to encounter the Divine, for example. There are thin places to be found in Aotearoa New Zealand.

When we visit these locations and do so attentive to the Divine, we may have an experience that straddles both worlds. We may have a transformative Divine encounter that is beyond our comprehension.

It is also suggested that having the privilege to be present at the time of birth or death can be a thin place. These sorts of moments invite us into a sense of great mystery, where there is an ease of movement between the world that we know well and that which is beyond us. We don't have the language to describe this with much technicality or eloquence.

At birth, something arrives that did not exist in this form before. We witness the entrance of new life.

At death, something departs a person while their body remains. We witness a life leave in our vicinity.

Birth and death are perhaps the most sacred threshold experiences.

They are often prayerful, raw, and very honest.

Last year, I sat with my dear old friend Edwin for quite a few nights while he was on the cusp of death. He was diagnosed with cancer shortly after me. That space in the middle of the night felt very thin, very sacred, very beautiful.

I felt like I was witnessing something holy unfolding. I will remember it forever.

Tūrangawaewae

Te Ao Māori have a concept called tūrangawaewae — 'the place where one has the right to stand'.

You don't really choose your tūrangawaewae, or declare it yours upon discovery. It's not about property rights or boundary lines drawn on a map. It's runs even deeper than a Pākehā understanding of 'home'.

Tūrangawaewae is your place of belonging and true knownness. The place where your feet know the ground beneath them. The place that holds your whakapapa, memory, identity, and story.

Thin Places and Tūrangawaewae

I have wondered whether maybe much of healing is the slow search for both thin places and tūrangawaewae.

Thin places remind us that we are not alone. Tūrangawaewae reminds us that we belong.

The older I get, the less I think belonging is something we achieve, but is rather something we uncover — through relationship, experience, authenticity, memory, and wonder.

In a world that is loud and busy, perhaps the holiest places we can find are the ones where we can simply stand and listen. And maybe there we might find our tribe, those on a similar journey, and our fellow pilgrims as we journey through life.

“mo sheasamh ort lá no choise tinne”

"You are the place where I stand on the day when my feet are sore."

— Pádraig Ó Tuama

The island of Iona, a prominent example of a thin place. Photo by Caroline Hall on Unsplash.