Bill Harkins
In one of my favorites of his songs, Van Morrison sings:
I’m a dweller on the threshold
And I’m waiting at the door
And I’m standing in the darkness
I don’t want to wait no more
I’m a dweller on the threshold
And I cross some burning ground
And I’ll go down to the water
Let the great illusion drown
This song speaks to those liminal spaces we find on the journey and the invitation to explore them implicit in Morrison’s “I don’t want to wait no more.” The etymology of “threshold” is from the Latin, “Limen.” It describes states, times, spaces, etc., that exist at a point of transition or change—a metaphorical threshold—as in “the liminal zone between sleep and wakefulness.”
When we walk through that doorway, as Morrison’s song suggests, something addresses us, prompts us, calls us, pushes us, pulls us into a relationship with itself. Transitional, liminal space is where we experience life in a lively way that feels real to us and where we discover and create ourselves as fully alive. I would suggest that this includes those aspects of our lives that are dissonant and where we are in conflict. It is from and within this space that we encounter each other, in our common finitude, and we bring forth a sense of wonder about and meanings in relation to our encounters with all of those who inhabit that space with us.
We may not always agree with one another, but a sense of wonder amid our commitments to Holy Family is among the gifts of our participation in the sacraments. For the psychiatrist Donald Winnicott this “liminal” space is co-created, in the context of relationships. “You may cure your patient,” he wrote, “and still not know what makes her or him go on living.” The best indicator of a return to wholeness was the capacity for imagination and creativity. Indeed, liminal space in this sense is given meaning through the broader community, such as therapeutic spaces, and yes, communities of faith! We have indeed been “dwellers on the threshold” in this season of transition at Holy Family. I am so very grateful for our Nominating Committee, and our vestry, for steadfast, faithful work as we seek our new rector in this transitional season! Thank you to Stephen Franzen, Martha Power, Jeanine Krenson, Scott Armentrout, Allan DeNiro, Cammie Cox, and Richard Smith for their devoted commitment to this process! Thanks to our vestry, who will soon take the baton in the next stage of our process. I am so grateful to our outgoing vestry members Terry Nicholson, Andy Edwards, and Howell Kiser. A deep bow of gratitude as well to our new vestry members, Mary Sue Zercher, Wayne Crawford, and Belinda Humphrey, who join Ginger Griffith, Jim Braley, Loran Davis, Amy Dickson, John Kirk, our faithful scribe Rosemary Lovelace, and Sr. Warden Phil Anderson for this next stage of the journey.
Indeed, perhaps the word “liminal” is instructive. In anthropology, for example, liminality is the quality of ambiguity or disorientation that occurs in the middle stage of a rite of passage, when we have not yet begun the transition to the new normal. We ask what sustains us as we journey together, what do we hold on to; and what do we leave behind. We are on a journey less Odyssean than Abrahamic. We do not know where this will lead us, yet hope, and this beloved Holy Family community of grace and hospitality, sustains us.
ring any liminal stage, participants “stand at the threshold” between their previous way of structuring their identity, time, or community, and a new way, which remains open. I am so grateful for the good work I have been called to do at Holy Family, even as my time among you slowly ends. Freud referred to counseling as “a cure through love” and this includes ordained ministry. Perhaps this is what another author meant, when he wrote this during an “in between” time like ours:
“Age has no reality except in the physical world. The essence of a human being is resistant to the passage of time. ..Think of love as a state of grace, not the means to anything, but the alpha and omega…An end in itself.” ~ Gabriel Garcia Marquez (Love in the Time of Cholera)
Each summer, I gather with dear friends from graduate school for a week of conversation, laughter, reading, trail running, wiffle ball, and other outdoor activities. For the past few years we’ve gathered in northern Colorado, near Pingree Park, the Colorado State University Mountain campus, on the border of Rocky Mountain National Park and the Roosevelt National Forest. Often, we meet new friends in their native habitat:
And, we sometimes find ourselves in new, uncertain, liminal terrain. This photo is of Comanche Peak and the cirque to Fall Mountain, in the Mummy Range. Just over the mountain range is Wyoming and points north.
Last year, my friend Bob, who teaches philosophy and religion in Minneapolis, and I hiked up to Comanche Peak, along the cirque to Fall Mountain, down into Mummy Pass, and thence back to our cabin in the valley. It was a 10-hour trip and challenging both physically and mentally. Leaving the summit of Comanche Peak, we could see clouds building to the north and west. Despite our very early “alpine” start, we remained concerned about lightning from afternoon thunderstorms. With so much exposure above the tree line, we would need to seek lower ground. Much of the day was spent above 12,000’, along the rim of the cirque. Keeping a close eye on the storms building to the west…
…we decided to drop down into the sub-alpine forest beyond Fall Mountain. This required that we leave the trail and make use of our map and compass, to connect with the Mummy Pass trail at a point south of our original path. We were in unfamiliar terrain, cutting across country, and using our best judgment considering new, developing information. There were a few moments of harrowing uncertainty as we sought the trail, we knew we should intersect—and eventually we did. In the relative safety of the lower altitude, we made our way back down toward the Pingree Park valley, past Cirque Meadow…
…and back to the cabin, as the chilling rains began. The day had indeed been harrowing in both the culturally familiar, pejorative sense—to vex; to cause distress—and in the agricultural sense of the term, as in to harrow the soil, turning over the detritus of last year’s crop for planting, new growth, and eventual harvest. In fact, the root of harrow comes from word harve, from which we get our word harvest. As I write, I am harvesting some of the seeds that were planted that day. I have a sense of wonder about this. It is often the case that I am not sure what was planted, or what the harvest will be!
Richard Rohr, in one of his meditations says this:
At some point in time, we may need to embark on a risky journey. It’s a necessary adventure that takes us into uncertainty, and it almost always involves some form of difficulty or failure. On this journey the man learns to trust God more than he trusts a sense of right and wrong or his own sense of self-worth.”
~Richard Rohr, “On The Threshold of Transformation.”
That evening, safe and warm by the fire (at 10,000’ evening temperatures are often in the 30’s, even in August!) we shared stories of our adventure. Relationships, often the psychological equivalent of our external adventures, also have the power to participate in our well-being and healing. And I was filled with gratitude for those harrowing journeys and adventures that are often occasions for transcendence, and new perspectives. For adventures, that is, which nurture, heal, sustain, challenge, and provide moments of freedom, perspective, and grace. Now back home, in my study, it feels almost like—I would say it feels exactly like, coming into the presence of still water, where my soul, too, is at rest.
I give a deep bow of gratitude to each of you, and for the good work we have shared on our journey into liminality. It has been an honor and privilege to serve among you. In our “Walk in Love” adult education class, we will begin the next section of the book entitled “Marking Time.” There, we will emphasize the importance of the Daily Offices and the liturgical calendar as ways of ordering our disciplines and practices, especially during times of change and transition. This is among the prayers we pray:
Almighty and eternal God, ruler of all things in heaven and earth: Mercifully accept the prayers of your people and strengthen us to do your will; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
I am so grateful to be a “dweller on the threshold” with each of you at Holy Family. I pray that we will find ourselves at home, strengthened and renewed together, in the new chapter of our parish. I’ll catch you later down the trail and see you in church! Bill+