Genesis 28:10-19a
Psalm 139:1-12, 23-24
Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43
“Thin Places”
Are any of you old enough to remember the Sunday School song, “We are climbing Jacob’s ladder”? It’s a little before my time, but I looked it up out of curiosity the other day. It picks up on the imagery from the text about a ladder (or stairway) set up between earth and heaven. In Jacob’s dream, he sees angels going up and down the stairway; while in the song, Christians become the ones climbing up the ladder, perhaps with Jesus’ help, to find our way to heaven one day.
I found it odd because Jacob doesn’t climb the ladder in the story. Nor does he get told that he should climb a ladder or strive in some way to make it to heaven. I don’t think it’s a story about the afterlife at all, but rather it’s a moment in time when Jacob suddenly becomes aware of the presence of God on earth. God is no longer a distant Creator who is not involved in human life.
The staircase or ladder seems to represent the connection between God and humanity, and when Jacob (in his dream) sees God standing beside him and hears God’s voice speaking, he is amazed and astounded. While he already knew about God’s promises to his father Isaac and to his grandfather Abraham, now God is speaking directly to Jacob, promising him many offspring, blessing, and land.
Interestingly, Jacob gives credit for the vision to the place where he was sleeping for the night, in Haran. He wakes up from the dream and he exclaims, “Surely the Lord is in this place – and I did not know it!” He’s not just amazed, but he’s also a little scared as he realizes what he has experienced: “How awesome is this place!” Jacob announces, “This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven.”
In the morning, he sets up a kind of altar – a stone onto which he pours oil – a place to honour the God that he has met here. And he calls the place “Bethel,” which means “House of God.”
Jacob was neither the first nor the last human being to have a special encounter with God that he associated with a very special location. I wonder if you have any places that mean something similar to you.
I can’t claim any spectacular dreams like Jacob had, but one of the special places for me is the Chapel Rock at the camp where I grew up on Quebec. It’s special because when I was in my late teens, we had a lot of spiritual and theological conversations while sitting on that rock and looking up at God’s handiwork in the stars above us. I’d also name the Chapel at Knox College, where I heard God’s voice in the words of a simple song, confirming my sense of call to ministry.
I’ve also visited a few places that other Christians have named as special places for encountering God. Nick and I visited the Taizé community in France back in 2003. We enjoyed the liturgy and the music and meeting pilgrims from around the world, but for me at least, it didn’t come with a special encounter with God.
In 2010, we went on a retreat to the Isle of Iona on the West coast of Scotland, and we had a wonderful time. Iona is widely described as the birthplace of Christianity in Scotland. Its significance comes from the monastery founded by St. Columba in AD 563, which became one of the most important religious and cultural centres in the British Isles.
Iona’s history is a tapestry of Celtic mission, artistic brilliance, Viking violence, medieval monasticism, royal power, Reformation change, and modern spiritual renewal. Its influence on Scottish Christianity is unmatched, and its quiet landscape continues to draw pilgrims seeking the “thin place” where heaven and earth feel close.
In a devotional book from the community, one reflection tries to explain why Iona is so special: “God is present everywhere, and can be sought and encountered even, and perhaps especially vividly, in places of greatest need. But there are also some places which in their clarity and peace render people particularly open to experience God, where the veil that separates the earth and the Kingdom seems tissue-thin. Iona has been such a place for countless generations of pilgrims.”
Throughout Christian history, disciples of Jesus have chosen to participate in pilgrimages to holy places, often walking long journeys to destinations like Canterbury, Rome, Santiago de Compostela, along the routes of St. Paul’s missionary journeys, or to some of the many special sites in the Holy Land.
I know that some of you have participated in some of these pilgrimages, and I hope that along your journey or at your destination you did have an encounter with the Holy One in one of these “thin places.”
But one of the things I noticed about Jacob’s story in Genesis was that he wasn’t expecting or looking for God in Haran. He was just running away from his brother Esau, who had threatened to kill him.
If you were with us last Sunday, you may remember that Jacob tricked his older brother into giving up his birthright. What exactly is a birthright, you may be wondering.
In ancient Near Eastern culture, the birthright of the firstborn son included three major components:
A double portion of the inheritance: The firstborn received twice the share of the other sons. For Isaac’s household, this meant: more livestock, more servants, more land, and greater economic power. Esau gave up the largest share of the family’s wealth.
The birthright also meant leadership of the family clan. The firstborn became the patriarch after the father’s death. This included: authority over the extended family, responsibility for its welfare, decision‑making power, and custodianship of family traditions. Esau surrendered the future leadership of the entire household.
Finally, it included the spiritual covenant line. The birthright carried the Abrahamic covenant promises. The firstborn would inherit the role of covenant bearer— the one through whom God’s promises to Abraham and Isaac would continue. This meant: the family line through which God would work, the blessing of God’s presence, and the future promise of a great nation. Esau gave up his place in the covenant story.
All of this was relinquished because Esau was hungry for some stew and made a thoughtless trade with his younger brother. In chapter 27 (which the lectionary skips over) Rebekah schemes with Jacob to make sure that her favourite son actually gets the birthright. She encourages him to dress up in clothes like Esau (because he was a hairy man), and to trick his father Isaac (who was going blind) into officially giving Jacob the blessing that was meant for his brother.
Not surprisingly, Esau is furious when he finds out what has happened, and his threat to kill Jacob sends him running for his life – not looking for God per se, but perhaps looking for salvation.
And yet, God meets him there, shows him that heaven and earth are not so far apart, assures him that he will indeed be the one to carry the covenant with God forward, and prompts him to actually worship and honour God instead of just using schemes and tricks to get what he wants out of life.
Christian history is full of people who have experienced a “thin place” like that – not one that they travelled to intentionally, looking for an experience of the holy – but one where God came to them in the midst of their grief, regret, fear, anxiety, or the aftermath of their worst mistake, to show them mercy and a different way forward.
You might easily think of the Apostle Paul on the Road to Damascas. Paul is struck blind and hears the voice of Jesus calling him to stop persecuting Christians and to become a follower of his Way instead.
Another example comes from the 6th century when Columba was involved in a dispute that escalated into a battle in which many died — a burden of guilt he carried heavily. After this, Columba had visions and dreams in which God called him to mission in Scotland, promising forgiveness and future fruitfulness. His journey to Iona was understood as both penance and divine commissioning — God giving him a future despite his past.
In the 18th century, John Newton was deeply involved in the transatlantic slave trade — one of the most morally catastrophic systems in history. His “thin place” was out in the middle of the ocean during a storm. Newton had a powerful spiritual experience (not exactly a dream, but a vision-like moment) in which he believed God spoke to him and assured him of mercy. Newton later described it as the moment God “intervened” in his life despite his guilt. It eventually led him to renounce slavery and write the hymn we all know so well, Amazing Grace.
Perhaps most of our stories won’t be as dramatic as these, but I think that Jacob’s story should remind us that God comes to us where and when we need God to come. Certainly, we can go to special places with our eyes and hearts open to the possibility of encounter and of God speaking to us. Whether we are going on a special pilgrimage to a well-known “thin place” or simply getting in the car and driving to church on Sunday morning.
But God will also meet us where and when we least expect it, when we have done nothing to earn or to prepare for such an experience, but perhaps when we need it the most.
I don’t have time this morning to go deeply into Jesus’ parable of the weeds among the wheat. But I’ll just say that life as a child of God is messy. Our lives and histories are rarely pure and perfect, but God does not write us off because of our mistakes and wrongdoing. Indeed, God sees the wheat within us – the goodness, the possibility, and the potential that our lives hold. And God is ready to meet us where we are, to speak to us and guide us in the Way, and to make our lives fruitful for the Reign of God that is coming.