The word liminal means being on the threshold of something new or being in-between.
Many of us are navigating spirituality and faith, and what those mean to us, in such a time as this.
All of my work, my family life, and my personal life are very "liminal" right now.
My oldest son is now a freshman in college, living five hours away from us. He's having the time of his life, and I'm a little envious of his college experience thus far, but wow, do we miss him. And our middle son goes to college next year. We gotta do this all over again next year!? We are in this liminal season of parenthood, moving from a family of five under one roof to a family of five scattered. It's a strange combination of grief and excitement — if that kind of grief catching you off guard sounds familiar, I wrote more about it in When Grief Interrupts…
Along with that, our communal life has shifted dramatically in the past few months. Most of our social time was spent at sporting events with other parents who we really love and have grown close to, and now that season is over as our oldest, the sports player, is "retired" :). Karrie and I are openly asking, "Hmmm, what does community look like for us going forward?"
And professionally and pastorally, wow, this has been one of the most fascinating years of my life leading others. All of my pastoral care and coaching is spent with people in liminal seasons. It's exciting to lean in with others who are trying to figure out what comes next. I love walking with people in these seasons. I counted them last night, 92 new clients this year in my work. 92 liminal stories. It's been wonderful but it's also incredibly heavy because most of these people are grieving, recovering, striving, or struggling. I have to be particularly mindful of my own limitations emotionally and spiritually, and how much I can carry while walking with others through liminal seasons — staying steady in that is something I unpack more in A Non-Anxious Presence.
There's so much that is uncertain right now for those of us navigating faith and life in America. Even for those of us who love change…there's A LOT to handle right now.
One thing I've realized: liminality is disorienting.
Over the coming weeks, I'm going to be writing on this topic: Living, Loving, and Leading in a Liminal Season. I'll probably raise more questions than answers in this series, but my hope is that you'll lean in with me.
I remember hearing or reading this somewhere: "The only way out is through."
If you follow along with me and our work, one important thing you need to embrace is liminality. It's here. It's happening. There is no return to the good ol' days. Nostalgia is a potent drug that can numb you to what God is actually trying to do in you and your community.
We need to embrace liminality and discern what God is up to in the midst of it.
I read a great book a few years ago called Unlikely Nomads: In Search of the New Church by Terry Walling. He wrote, "Nomads have not abandoned faith or community, but they desire something far different."
And one of the keys to understanding our desires, and where God might be taking us, can be found in the ancient, simple, but deeply challenging Christian traditions of silence, stillness, and solitude — practices I've found refuge in before, as I wrote in Finding Refuge in Empty Places.
Dallas Willard stated that silence and solitude are among the most important spiritual disciplines for us to cultivate today:
"In our busy, noisy world we need to unhook and get away in order to be alone, and be ourselves with our Lord."
An easy way to begin is to create an appointment each day for 15 minutes to simply sit in silence, stillness, and solitude.
See what comes to mind and what emerges for you.
Journal it.
Pay attention to the themes that emerge over time as you build this into your daily or weekly life.
Here are some common questions and experiences to expect:
What negative emotions arise?
What are you afraid of?
Do any purposeful dreams or ideas come to mind?