Thin Places. 

“The needle in the Spirit’s compass that directs us to where God is always points south. Downward. We descend into his presence. Where the lowly are, there he is. Where the common duties of life are performed, he is at work. If you want to discover the presence of God, don’t leave your wife behind for a week of deep meditation in the Rocky Mountains. Go help her do the dishes. If you want to be where Jesus really is, there’s no need to kneel before the Grotto of the Nativity. Go change your child’s dirty diaper. Where God is most acutely present he will seem most profoundly absent. He doesn’t play by our rules. He doesn’t conform to our expectations. Rather he transforms our minds and enlightens our eyes so that we might see him where he is unseeable. In thin places thick with suffering, sweat, tears, and common duties like washing dishes and changing diapers, he will be present. He is most at home where he is most hidden.” Chad Bird, Your God is too Glorious: Finding God in the Most Unexpected Places (Irvine, CA, 1517 Publishing, Second Edition, 2023). 

Yesterday we were honored to be invited to a ministry in Tijuana MX, called Faro de Luz—the Lighthouse. This is a thin place, a place where the work of God can be seen in every corner, on each plate of food, with each invitation to meet Jesus. Our host, Amada, seems to be tireless. Her children work with joy in this place. We had the opportunity to teach some self-defense skills, remind people that they are priceless creations of the Creator of everything, and to enjoy some good Spanish-language practice.  About forty people came to learn, to listen, and to be lifted up. Before the class, we walked through the neighborhood, enjoying the experience of meeting, inviting, conversing with, and praying for several people who received Bibles and smiles. Some actually came to the class. The class went well. We’re thankful for good interpreters, strong  moms with “Latin passion running in their blood” to wrangle the little guys, and the presence of the Holy Spirit. It made this dusty landscape with ramshackle homes a thin place. It’s a place where heaven meets earth and where the “least of these” are gathered.  

During our walk we had the opportunity to talk to two Mexican gentlemen. Both came to the class—a bit late, but both arrived. We had some good interaction. I showed them an interesting skill, shared a smile, a bit of laughter, and intermingled with the chaos of a class that had mostly ten-year-old boys in it. It didn’t seem like much, but the guys were receptive, and I enjoyed the interaction. Beret told me that they were leaving—I was in another room—and I was able to catch them and say, “Adios.” We had a couple of minutes of conversation using phone interpretation on a dusty trail outside the ministry building. They asked if I would be back. I told them I would, in November, and they were pleased. They both said Tijuana is a dangerous place, and I was teaching good things. We shook hands, and they headed down the cliff on a goat path trail. I watched as they went, a bit in awe of their resilience, their strong but quiet personas, and their gentle smiles. A dusty trail in the hot sun was a thin place, where heaven was mirrored in the smile of a couple of seventy-year-old men.

Since 2018, we have been coming once or twice a year to Tijuana, Mexico, to a YWAM base called San Diego/Baja. The base is an oasis—a beautiful, peaceful place that offers a place of rest to the missionaries who work here full time, to the teams of home builders, and to people like us who work in the short-term missions. It sits above the ocean with a view that’s never lost on me, as my view at home is nearly as far away from an ocean as you can get. 

The sunset over the ocean doesn’t linger like a prairie sunset. Its beautiful, with the sun’s rays brilliantly displayed on the ocean’s surface. Colors pop in and out of the clouds and reflect on the water, painting everything around in orange and gold, pink and purple, and then…darkness.  Watching the sunsets feel like my conversations on the goat path with my new friends. Joy sparkles in eyes and smiles; warm handshakes feel like the warmth of the sun. And then it’s over. You’re left with the memories of twinkling eyes and the fading warmth of hugs and handshakes. But each memory is good. Each opportunity to share the love of Christ, to love my neighbor, to be reminded of the work of God’s Kingdom, just to be a little part of it increases my faith, my joy, my hope. And I pray it does the same for the ones we meet on the dusty paths. 

I always wonder if the conversations that I find such joy in—where I feel the Holy Spirit’s presence—feel the same on the other side. I wonder if they know how much God loves them, how much God has allowed me to love them. When I am communicating in a language that is not native to me and which I have not yet developed to a conversational level, it’s hard to share what is in my heart. It always seems to be a joyful interaction. Sometimes they have a little English to go along with my little Spanish, and sometimes the phone translation app helps convey the longer sentences. But I don’t always know if they can feel the love or the compassion. 

Back to the sunset. I have been reading a book with my friends in our Friday morning group that talks about people who have had near-death experiences. The book, Imagine the God of Heaven, describes how people perceive God. “He is light…his love was healing my heart.” “I know it was like God or something. It was like you see the face in the light, but you can’t see it really…and it’s a different light. It’s not like light on earth or sunlight. It’s like white light, but like golden-white light. And it moves, it shimmers. It’s not like any light in the world. It’s warm. It’s like God in the light. Nothing on earth is like it.”  

I wonder if this is why we are attracted to beautiful light: sunsets, rainbows, neon lights, shiny things. It’s like our souls know that the light is good. Faro de Luz, that lighthouse on the top of a mountain surrounded by the colonials—that is, the slums of Tijuana—where poverty and desperation seem to live and shine like a light from God. It reflects his love and as much of the light of God as possible. Each one of us who profess Christ Jesus as Lord, reflecting his light, is such a beautiful thing. The joy that shows in the twinkling eye, a smile from a weathered face which has experienced so much, the smile on a child’s fresh and innocent face—all reflections of heaven and of God’s love and light. 

What’s it take for this beautiful light to come through? It takes a thin place, a place where the light can go through the obstacles. It takes us getting out of the way of the light. Imagine that you, facing a problem or a neighbor, stand in the way of the light. Our bodies, despite some being thinner than others, are not very translucent. We make a shadow. We block the light. I think when we work in our own motives and our own goals instead of God’s goals for us, we make a shadow preventing God’s perfect light, his will, his power to come to bear on whatever the problems are, whoever is there to love. If, however, we become a conduit for God’s love, for his will, for his kingdom to come, we will allow the light and love of God to come through. If we are working in his will, without selfish motives, without ego and pride, and we allow the love of God to course through us, uninhibited, unrelenting, full of passion, of exquisite light, then his kingdom has come. God’s kingdom has love and justice, truth and kindness. It is full of the most unexpected people—those who were found on the highways and behind the hedges, filling God’s house. 

Today we walked through the streets of Tijuana’s Zona Norte. This place is filled with homeless folks, street vendors, prostitutes, and people trying to make a way in a hard place. We walked, shared candy with Bible verses attached, had conversations, and shared prayer and hope for better things in eternity. We made our way to a sketchy ally, to a long dark hallway with holes cut into the roof for light. Some in our group met with a lady who is very ill and struggling. The community that was built for hope had been ministering to her. We waited in the ally, watched the kids play on bikes and with fútbols, listened to the little dogs barking, and talked about the hands of God in this place. After a bit, we were invited back into the long dark hallway, and I stood in the doorway of a stifling hot 12’x12’ room with a stove, shelves, couch, and a bed. I listened and prayed as plans were made for care, medicine, and hydration. And I wondered if I could tolerate the situation that was in front of me: laying in a hot room hoping for eternity with no music, television, or hope. For comfort there was only the occasional loving hands of the missionaries, a few neighbors, and a community filled with beautiful followers of Christ. It made me think of all the people who question the need to support missionaries. I don’t know of many others who willingly leave the comfort of their homes to sit by the sick and disabled in a hot room, hidden in a dark ally, in a dangerous city, outside of anyone’s comfort zone besides those called to serve “the least of these.” God bless these men and women who give up their comfortable money-making lives to come and serve. 

All around the world, people respond to the call of Christ and leave their comfort for a world of goat trails, dark allies, and sickbeds. Some don’t have to go far to find the people behind the hedges, some are called further. Some find the thin places right in their homes, raising up beautiful children, hopefully guiding them to love Jesus and to walk with Him into the dark halls and onto the sketchy goat paths. Some are called to protect the community, serve as police, medics, pastors, nurses, doctors, and more. There are so many roles in God’s kingdom, hands and feet, eyes and ears, and more. We are all called to a ministry of reconciliation, to work tirelessly to bring people back to Jesus, back into the arms of our Creator. We are all called to serve “the least of these.” We need to care for those who are not capable of caring for themselves, to love God, to love our neighbor. Jesus said in John 14, “If you love me, you will keep my commandments.” Loving our neighbor is the fruit of loving God. We find God in the same places we find our neighbors—in the thin places where heaven almost touches earth. 

As I finish these thoughts, I leave you with part of Matthew 25. It’s pretty strong, but he is the King, the Creator of everything, and his unchanging Words are the only sure foundations. 

Matthew 25:31-46. “When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, then he will sit on his glorious throne. Before him will be gathered all the nations, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. And he will place the sheep on his right, but the goats on the left. Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you visited me, I was in prison and you came to me.’ Then the righteous will answer him, saying, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you drink? And when did we see you a stranger and welcome you, or naked and clothe you? And when did we see you sick or in prison and visit you?’ And the King will answer them, ‘Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.’ Then he will say to those on his left, ‘Depart from me, you cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. For I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me no drink, I was a stranger and you did not welcome me, naked and you did not clothe me, sick and in prison and you did not visit me.’ Then they also will answer, saying, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not minister to you?’ Then he will answer them, saying, ‘Truly, I say to you, as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.’ And these will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life.”