“There’s lots of liminal space in this room.”

That was how Joe Stabile summed up our sharing time on the first afternoon of cohort #2 this past April. Hunter Mobley had asked us each to talk about where we’ve all been at. Since January, we’d all read the same book and practiced the same two spiritual disciplines of keeping Sabbath and Fixed-Hour prayer. I was curious how it had all landed for others. How was everyone doing?

Over the next hour and a half, there were stories on the spectrum from desolation to consolation. People were vulnerable and open about the ebbs and flows of their lives. One cohort member admitted that he felt “armored”, and I saw myself in his brave confession.

Richard Rohr teaches that liminal space is the ultimate teachable space — in some sense, it’s the only teachable space. “It is when we are betwixt and between, have left one room but not yet entered the next room.” 

“Betwixt and between” aptly described where I was at. The challenges of 2022 had indeed been like leaving a room, and I was still in transition in the hallway, feeling vulnerable. It was what had led me to join the cohort, and I’m sure I wasn’t the only one.

Liminal space is always holy space, says Rohr, but it is not an easy place. Staying there without answers feels like Job sitting on his dung heap, picking at his sores. God teaches us how to go there, trust the emptiness and stay till we’re led back out, like Jesus in the desert. It has the power to transform us when we are attentive to the presence of God.

I am grateful for our wise teachers Joe and Hunter who are helping us become attentive to God in the hallway. Over the three days, Joe taught us about Centering Prayer and the Welcoming Prayer, and Hunter taught new Enneagram insights that dovetailed well with Joe’s teaching. It was deeply relaxing to soak in wisdom. 

On Saturday, we ended our time together in the beautiful chapel at the Micah Center, where Joe led us in a celebration of Eucharist (communion). The word Eucharist means “thanksgiving”, and we were first invited to offer words or phrases of what we were grateful for and the energy in the room felt sacred. My words summed up the gratitude I was feeling: “Hope for transformation rekindled”. Perhaps no one understood or even heard my mumbled prayer, but I knew that God knew. 

It’s difficult to put in writing how sacred this time seemed to me, certainly one of the most meaningful communion celebrations in my life. When you’re in a liminal place, receiving sustenance changes everything. It was like some of the unresolved, open wounds in me got stitched up as we shared the bread and wine that seemed like medicine. Later, I asked my cohort friend how his armor was doing, and his grin assured me it was no longer an issue. I felt the same. All of us all said good-byes until August, and just like that cohort #2 was over.

The effects of our time stayed with me for days. Sitting down for my daily centering prayer, I felt a big inner yes. To be honest though, coming home was not as easy (though I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised). My anxieties got amped up again and Centering Prayer became crowded with monkey mind, all tempting me to think the rekindled hope I’d felt was not real. Good thing we’d been taught that the only way to fail at Centering Prayer was not to do it, so I continue to stay here in what Father Greg Boyle calls the “no-matter-what-ness of God”.

Sharing all this with my friend Bev one day, she suggested maybe I’m still in the hallway. Still betwixt and between. I knew she was right and admitting it was helpful. Perhaps what I’d glimpsed in the chapel was more like peeking into the next room from the hallway. Already/not yet, as the theologians put it. As if underscoring this insight, the next day my other friend named Bev emailed me in her own season of trial, “I assume that we are always walking through miracles in the midst of hardships,” she wrote. “Sometimes God draws the curtain a bit and we can see backstage. Most times it has to be faith alone.” 

I have desired so deeply to be transformed this year but perhaps my idea of “transformation” is itself being transformed. Did I imagine 2022 would be replaced by a blaze of glory? Maybe I’ll simply begin to see myself as unshakably beloved, even in the hallway; even betwixt and between. All I have to do is pay attention to the activity of God who knows no boundaries. As Joe said, it’s simple but not easy. God grant me faith.

In the meantime, spring is finally arriving in Winnipeg, and the migrating birds are belting out their songs in their own liminal space.