Lingering in Liminality

by Lisa Meier

If I had to pick one topic to write about for the rest of my days it would be about the moments that occur between “what is” and “what is next”- the space of liminality. Do I like this space? Well, yes AND no. It fascinates me as a human experience AND it is deeply uncomfortable when I am in it. There is something deeply mysterious about this space—it is potent with transformative power - AND it can be tremendously difficult to linger in the land of liminality.

Liminality is most easily observed in the transitions between nature’s seasons and it is no surprise that many cultures and religions celebrate the spiritual activity that occurs during these Solstice moments. In Celtic spirituality, “thin places” denote geographical places with a felt permeability between heaven and earth. They are often destinations for pilgrims seeking connections with the spiritual world. The term “limen” comes from the Latin for threshold, and images of doorways, gates, and arches are often used to metaphorically give meaning to this “in-between” experience. The threshold image suggests that there is an obvious or distinct moment of moving from one thing into the next. In my experience, the “in-between” of liminality is much more vague. In contrast to walking through a doorway into the next thing, it often feels likes stepping into an empty room or a long hallway where everything feels a little topsy-turvy and you aren’t quite sure where you are and don’t know where to go next. Liminality is disorientating!

This space between the known and unknown brings with it many emotions: excitement and fear; curiosity and worry, grief and anticipation. The ambiguity and tension is uncomfortable.  Moving away from knowing towards unknowing can feel like diving into murky waters, where even with your eyes wide open, you can see nothing but your hand in front of you. Questions and doubts are often the only companions and it is disconcerting to recognize that this threshold must be crossed alone.

It would be helpful if there was a warning sign on the door as we are about to enter, though it would likely read: “Welcome to the Liminal Space. Special Rate on Disorientation, Murky Vision, and a Sense of Aloneness. Enjoy and Good Luck!” Rarely do any of us run towards the opportunity of liminality. Or, excited at the opportunity for something new - as my enthusiasm-filled self tends to (thank you enneagram “7” wing) - we stumble over a threshold only to find ourselves in an unknown place, alone, unable to see, with a host of emotions and questions and think, “What have I done?”

Ten years ago we moved our family to Kathmandu, Nepal for a short season while my husband completed an internship for his Master’s degree. At the base of the Himalayas - the site of many spiritual and physical expeditions - Kathamandu is likely one of those geographically “thin (liminal) places.”  All that I know is that very early into our time there, I unwittingly crossed a threshold and was thrust into a season of liminality.  

I can only describe what began as a time of emptying. One by one, my defining qualities, my capabilities, my strengths, and my achievements were stripped, and I felt very alone, untethered, and afraid. I was full of questions, both existential and pragmatic. It felt like being lost, but even more confusing because I wasn’t able to name where or what I was “lost” from nor did I know where I was intending to go, so being “lost” didn’t quite define it. I remember the murky ambiguity of it all.

By grace, I had a mystical encounter with the Divine. Searching for anything that would help me understand what I was experiencing, I learned about liminal spaces and was directed to consider Holy Saturday as Jesus’s experience in a liminal space. During a time of imaginative prayer, I pictured Jesus in the tomb, lying dead; alone in the darkness and the cold. I envisioned myself there with him, and though initially I remember feeling so sad and afraid about Jesus’s death (and my own bleak sense of being emptied), there was a comforting quiet and calm in his presence. He was experiencing what I was experiencing.

Then I realized that it was only Holy Saturday. The story wasn’t over. If it wasn’t the end of the story for Jesus, perhaps it wasn’t the end of the story for me. Yet, whether or not Jesus knew or didn’t know if or when or how his resurrection was to come, he remained still and silent in this dark place of death; waiting and trusting his Divine Father with the entire arc of his story. If Jesus could wait and trust his Divine Father, perhaps I could too.

Being with Jesus in this way, leaning into his strength and trust was profound. I had entered into my own experience of death (our threshold moments are often little deaths of ego, self-preservation, masks, fears, etc.), and shared it with Christ. I remember feeling that it was enough. It was enough to know that I could enter the tomb, and be with Jesus in stillness and silence in death. It wasn’t only about answers or resolution, it wasn’t only about the resurrection. The sense of solidarity I felt with Jesus was powerful. I found comfort, peace, hope, and trust and distinctly remember thinking, “I never will be afraid of this again.” What a powerfully transformative moment!

My mind wanders to these liminal days in Kathamandu a lot lately because once again I am entering into a season of transition and I am starting to feel the vague, ambiguity of liminality. After homeschooling our four children for the last 13 years, my oldest starts university in the Fall and the younger three have decided to try in-person school. What has been my primary role and identity for many years will be no more. I am stepping away from what is known into the unknown. It is a threshold moment. I am looking forward to so many things AND so uncertain about what is to come. I am aware that there will some letting go AND new things to take hold of. It is unnerving to not have a plan or a sense of what my days will look and feel like. I am sitting in the uncomfortable tension of having many questions without a lot of answers.

Do I like this space? Well, yes AND no, AND I am no longer afraid of it. I have lingered in the land of liminality many times before and can confidently say that the growth and transformation that occurs in this topsy-turvy space is lasting, and dare I say worth it.

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Lisa Meier currently lives with her family in Ottawa, Ontario. She completed her MA in Theology and Culture through SSU in 2022. Lisa works as a spiritual director and enjoys providing a welcoming and listening presence, particulary for those who find themselves lingering in the land of liminality. She has a passion for writing, dance, cooking, laughing at a good joke and exploring new places. She is often found outdoors and on adventures with family, friends or anyone else who wants to join in! 

Find out more at - www.spiritualdirectioncollective.com