Text: Matthew 3:13-17

Speaker: Marty Troyer

The boundary between heaven and earth is thin.

Charles H. Spurgeon once said, “I am convinced that there is no great distance between heaven and earth, that the distance lies in our finite minds…”

As a hospice chaplain, I’ve become very comfortable in spiritual spaces. I can’t fully explain the mystery of it, but I witness it often—people near the end of life interacting with a world we cannot see.

Take Donna, for example. She was a former nun and a well-known psychologist. By the time I visited her, she hadn’t spoken, eaten, or had a drink in days. I sat quietly with her and her two cats, reading scripture and singing softly. Suddenly, Donna sat up. She reached her hands toward the ceiling, her eyes wide with wonder.

I asked, “Who do you see?”

With a huge smile, she said, “I see Jesus.” A few moments later, she lay back down. Within the hour, she was gone.

I see moments like this regularly. People reach out to hold invisible hands, wave goodbye, or speak with loved ones who passed years ago. To them, these visitors are as real as you or I. I don’t need to understand it to know this—it brings them deep comfort.

The boundary between heaven and earth is thin.

In Celtic Christianity, this idea is called “thin places.” These are moments when the spiritual and physical seem to overlap. They describe it as “a place in time where the space between heaven and earth grows thin and the Sacred and the secular seem to meet.” Or as the saying goes, “Heaven and earth are only three feet apart, but in thin places that distance is even shorter.”

Many of us experience this in nature—in mountains and rivers, in the sound of wind through trees. Or sometimes, through a cuddly dog curled up beside us.

We see thin places throughout scripture as well. Think of the nativity: angels and animals, heaven and earth mingled together. And we see it clearly in Matthew 3, at the baptism of Jesus.

Barbara Brown Taylor writes, “The thin place is where the veil between this world and the next is so sheer that it is easy to step through.”

In Matthew 3:13–17, God speaks over Jesus: “This is my son whom I dearly love. I find happiness in him.” Mark’s version is even more direct: “You are my son whom I dearly love, in you I find happiness.”

Thomas Merton, in New Seeds of Contemplation, reminds us, “The love of God seeks us in every situation, and seeks our good.”

At Jesus’ baptism, notice who begins the moment. Jesus steps into the water in simple obedience, and God comes near. The heavens open, the Spirit descends, and a voice speaks love before Jesus has preached a sermon or healed anyone. This is a thin place—where heaven leans toward earth and God says, “You are mine, and you make me happy.” It is not a reward for doing things right, but a gift freely given. Baptism shows us what prayer and spiritual practice do again and again: they place us where God is already seeking us, ready to meet us with love.

The boundary between heaven and earth is thin.

So what helps us notice that closeness? This is where spiritual disciplines come in.

Prayer is not only something we do—it is a way God forms us. Through prayer, we receive God’s love, bring our grief honestly before Him, and are slowly shaped into people who love like Christ and delight in God’s presence.

Spiritual disciplines are small, human things we practice today so that tomorrow we might become more Christlike. They are intentional ways of placing ourselves where we can become more aware of God—at specific times, in specific places, often with specific people.

Like any practice, they are repeated actions that build familiarity over time.

Abba Poeman the Shepherd offers an image that has stayed with me for decades:

“The nature of water is soft,
that of stone is hard;
but if a bottle
is hung above the stone,
allowing the water
to fall drop by drop,
it wears away the stone…
So it is with the word of God.”

Prayer gently shapes us. Slowly. Faithfully.

Spiritual disciplines—your own unique ways of connecting with God—are our response to the love of God seeking us in every situation.

Let me name just a few places where prayer helps close the gap between heaven and earth.

Grief. Jesus did not avoid grief in prayer. He wept at Lazarus’ tomb. He poured out anguish in Gethsemane. Prayer did not remove sorrow—but it held Him in it. Prayer does not rush us past grief. It gives us space to tell the truth. Grief isolates us. Prayer gently reconnects us—to God, to hope, and eventually to one another.

Peacemaking. In Strength to Love, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. describes a midnight prayer when fear overwhelmed him. He writes, “At that moment, I experienced the presence of the Divine as I had never before… ‘Stand up for righteousness, stand up for truth. God will be at your side forever.’ … I was ready to face anything.”

Parenting. Pray the everyday moments. Pray bored. Pray exhausted. Pray frustrated. Roberta Bondi says, “Learning to pray means finding a way of prayer that suits us in a particular way.” When the soup spills, the dishes pile up, and rides to practice are needed—remember this too is holy ground.

So what if this is true? What if heaven and earth really are close? How might that change the way we pray, think, and live?

Imagine waking up believing—without question—that you are deeply loved and accepted. What would you dare? What fear might loosen its grip? How might your relationships grow stronger?

Abba Poeman said that when we work in God’s presence, “our fingers are ablaze.” Or as Thomas Merton put it, we are “walking around shining like the sun.”

What would you do, right here, right now, if you really believed that The love of God seeks us? Would you change careers, leave a toxic relationship, march at the statehouse, attend that grief support group, say yes to volunteering? 

This brings us back to baptism.

Baptism is an outward sign of an inward reality. It says, “I belong to God. I follow Jesus. I want more—more spiritual love.” John the Baptist said Jesus would baptize “with the Holy Spirit and with fire.” Baptism is our yes to that Spirit and fire—to the cleansing, restoring water of life.

It is also a form of prayer. A way generations of believers have stepped into a thin place and invited God to shape their lives.

There are two main ways we baptize.

Pouring symbolizes the Holy Spirit being poured into us. Romans 5:5 says, “God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit.” What might that feel like for you today—comfort, courage, healing?

Immersion symbolizes death and resurrection—being held under and raised to new life. Romans 6:4 says, “we were buried together with him through baptism into his death, so that just as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, we too can walk in newness of life.” Perhaps today you’re longing for forgiveness? For the past to be in the past? A new life?

Either way, baptism is where heaven and earth meet. Where the boundary is thin.

Friends, the veil feels thin today.

It still amazes me—not just that I am loved, but that God finds me lovable. When we truly receive that truth, it brings delight. Jesus heard God’s delight twice—at his baptism and on the mountaintop: “This is my son whom I dearly love, I find happiness in him.”

That same delight is spoken over us. Psalm 36 says, “They feast on the abundance of your house; you give them drink from your river of delights.” Zephaniah tells us God dances over us with singing and calms us with love. And from the very beginning, scripture declares that you are made in God’s image—and that you are very good.

Prayer is not only about need. It is also about joy. God offers Himself as nourishment, light, and delight. And that delight sustains us, even when answers come slowly.

In prayer, we remember: we are safe, we are held, and life is still flowing—even in sorrow.

If you hear nothing else today, hear this: You are God’s child, deeply and dearly loved. You bring God joy. My friends, the love of God seeks us. The love of God is seeking you.

Closing Prayer:
God of love, meet us where we are. Hold our grief, shape our hearts, and baptize us into Your delight. Teach us to pray—not as a task, but as a way of living in Your love. Amen. 

May the gap between heaven and earth be thin for you today.