…but [Jesus] holds his priesthood permanently, because he continues forever. Consequently, he is able to save to the uttermost those who draw near to God through him, since he always lives to make intercession for them. — Hebrews 7:24–25

Liminal is from the Latin word limen, which means threshold.  A liminal space is the time between ‘what was’ and ‘next.’  We see and experience liminal spaces in all sorts of ways, some more obvious than others.  Examples of liminal spaces include turning the calendar to a new month or year, the solstices and equinoxes, sunsets and sunrises, the shore (being the threshold between sea and land).  The picture above captures several liminal spaces at once — the beach at the transition from low to high tide at sunset.  Many religions, such as the druidic religions of medieval England, make a big deal about these liminal spaces, believing that they are places and times where the veil between heaven and earth is particularly thin, thus allowing better access to the gods and the afterlife.

The idea of liminal spaces is something that we recognize intuitively, if not consciously.  We are drawn to liminal spaces like the beach, because something about it makes us feel closer to God.  We make new years resolutions each year because we see the start of the year as an opportunity for a “new beginning.”  We try to take advantage of these times and spaces because we hope they will enable us to reconnect with, draw near to, or simply grow deeper in our relationship with God.  But what we learn from Jesus Christ and Scripture takes the idea of liminal spaces and simultaneously transforms it and deconstructs it.

Jesus Christ has transformed liminal spaces by making our entire faith, at least at this time, a prolonged spiritual liminal space.  When Christ died on the cross and rose from the dead, He inaugurated the Kingdom of God.  However, the Kingdom of God will not be fully consummated until Christ returns at the end of the age.  Until then, we live on the “threshold” of the Kingdom of God.  The Kingdom of God is already here, but it is not yet here.  Martin Luther speaks of our walk with God as a liminal space when he says that we are at once justified and yet still sinful; we are both sinner and saint.  Paul describes this tension so well in Romans 7:7-25.  The life of faith itself is a liminal space, between what was and what is next.

However, Jesus Christ has also deconstructed liminal spaces and times.  We don’t need to find liminal spaces and times in order to draw near to God.  When Jesus died on the cross, “the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom. And the earth shook, and the rocks were split.” (Matt. 27:51)  The curtain in the temple separated the Holy of Holies, the place where heaven touched earth and the high priest would commune with God.  It was a liminal space.  Because of Jesus Christ, the barrier between us and God has been removed.  Thanks to the presence of the Holy Spirit, we don’t need liminal spaces or times in order to draw near to God because God is always near to us and with us.  That is the promise of Emmanuel, “God with us.” 

This year is a little bit unique.  On January 1, we not only start a new year and a new month, but also a new week.  It’s quite natural to want to take advantage of this particular liminal time to commit to some changes. There’s certainly nothing wrong with making new years resolutions.  However, don’t forget that, as our Scripture above reminds us, we do not need liminal times and spaces in order to draw near to God, because Jesus Christ has already done everything needed for us to do so.  We are able to draw near to God any time, any where, because He has already drawn near to us.

Submit yourselves therefore to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you. Draw near to God, and he will draw near to you. Cleanse your hands, you sinners, and purify your hearts, you double-minded. — James 4:7–8

Blessings,

Rev. David Garrison

 “In this world nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes.” — Ben Franklin

“Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.” — Hebrews 13:8

The past several years has taught us how quickly things can change, and change drastically.  Some of these changes have been good, many of them have been difficult, if not very hard.  Just about every area of our lives has been shaken and challenged.  Most of these changes have been as unexpected as they were unprecedented; some of them we could see coming.

I’ve been reflecting on change a lot lately.  Part of that has been stirred by the cultural changes we’re seeing around us, but closer to home it’s been triggered by my son’s graduation from high school and preparation for college.  Our family is moving into a season of change we’ve not experienced since my son was born.  Many of you have experienced that transition yourselves, some of you have a few more years.  When facing changes like these, it’s easy to begin to feel “unmoored.”  But, as my (great x6) uncle Ben Franklin said above, everything changes, except death and taxes.

There’s a lot of wisdom and a lot of truth in my uncle’s observation…but he missed something crucial.  As the author of Hebrews reminds us, Jesus Christ never changes either.  As part of the Holy Trinity, God the Son has always existed.  God the Son is as much the same before the incarnation as after it, as before his death and resurrection as after it, as before his ascension into heaven as after it, as before his ultimate return as after it.  His nature, his mission, his work, his hesed (steadfast lovingkindness — see the sermons on Ruth) is all exactly the same yesterday, today and forever.

We depend on consistency and stability to keep us anchored in our lives.  But if we anchor ourselves to something that will move or change, we can’t rely on that mooring.  Everything moves and changes — relationships, jobs, people, family, the stock market, politics, the weather, even church.  The only true certainty in life is Jesus Christ.  When we anchor ourselves to Christ, we can weather whatever storm may whip up around us, whatever change and transition might come our way.  How do we anchor ourselves to Jesus Christ?  He tells us that himself:

“Everyone then who hears these words of mine and does them will be like a wise man who built his house on the rock. And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat on that house, but it did not fall, because it had been founded on the rock.” (Matt. 7:24–25)

Knowing the Word of God through Christ in Scripture and doing what He says is how we secure ourselves to Jesus Christ.  We “hear these words” of His by spending time reading the Bible and in prayer every day, by going to Sunday school and Bible studies each week, and by worshipping with the body of Christ each Sunday morning.  We “do what it says” when we put what we hear into practice each and every day.  

If there is any particular way we can help you work through the changes and challenges you are navigating by helping you hear His word and doing it, please don’t hesitate to reach out and let us know.

Blessings,

Rev. David Garrison

 “So I find it to be a law that when I want to do right, evil lies close at hand. For I delight in the law of God, in my inner being, but I see in my members another law waging war against the law of my mind and making me captive to the law of sin that dwells in my members. Wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death?” (Rom. 7:21–24)

We are deep in the throes of pollen season.  You can’t really miss it, since we’re all driving greenish-yellow cars right now.  It is arguably the most singularly irritating season of the entire year.  If you suffer from allergies, it’s torture.  If you don’t, it’s irritating.  The pollen gets everywhere and covers everything.  Occasionally you can even see clouds of the stuff blowing out of the trees, but even when you can’t, you can taste it every time you step outside.  Constant sneezing, runny noses, and itchy eyes are part and parcel these days.  Considering how small pollen particles are, it’s pretty impressive how much trouble they cause.

The only relief we can look forward to is the next rain shower.  For a brief moment, perhaps a few hours or even a day if we’re lucky, the rain will wash the pollen away.  Our cars return to their usual colors, our decks and homes are washed clean, and the air doesn’t attack our nasal passages.  For a little while, at least.  Of course, that very rain triggers even more pollen to come, but I’m working on an analogy here so let’s not push things farther than they’re meant to go.

We focus a lot of our time and energy on avoiding the “big” sins (such as sexual immorality, rage, jealousy, envy, drunkenness and the others listed in Galatians 5:19-21), which we should.  But sometimes I think we forget about the “small” sins, or we think they’re not that big of a deal.  As long as we’re not “too bad” then we should be ok, right?  However, kind of like pollen, those small sins can become big irritants.  If we don’t attend to the small sins in addition to the big ones, they can irritate our faith and our walk with the Lord.  The simple truth is that sin is sin, regardless of its size.

Just like we yearn for rain to wash the pollen away, we can rest assured that, through the sacrifice and resurrection of Jesus Christ, we can “draw near with a true heart in full assurance of faith, with our hearts sprinkled clean from an evil conscience and our bodies washed with pure water.” (Heb. 10:22)  Jesus didn’t just cleanse us of the “big” sins, but the “small” ones too.  The pure water of the Holy Spirit and the Word of God wash us clean.  May we take all of our sins to the cleansing waters of the Holy Spirit so that we can be refreshed, renewed and restored.

“Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her, that he might sanctify her, having cleansed her by the washing of water with the word, so that he might present the church to himself in splendor, without spot or wrinkle or any such thing, that she might be holy and without blemish.” (Eph. 5:25–27)

 ¹Yahweh, my heart is not haughty, I do not set my sights too high. I have taken no part in great affairs, in wonders beyond my scope. ² No, I hold myself in quiet and silence, like a little child in its mother’s arms, like a little child, so I keep myself. ³ Let Israel hope in Yahweh henceforth and for ever. (Psalm 131, New Jerusalem Bible)

Every once in a while you happen across a passage of scripture that catches you off guard.  At first, you think, “that’s a nice Psalm.”  But then you keep thinking about it.  A few hours later, it becomes, “man, I can’t get that Psalm out of my mind.”  As the hours turn to days, you start to think, “Yeah, there’s something going on here.  Why is this Psalm continuing to rattle around in my head?”  If you haven’t already, this is the point when our thinking should turn into praying.  We ask the Holy Spirit to open our eyes and soften our hearts in order to hear what He is trying to tell us.

That’s what happened to me just a few weeks ago.  I came across this Psalm in preparation for last month’s Session meeting.  It made a very nice opening devotion for our meeting.  But then I couldn’t stop thinking about the Psalm.  I love the imagery it uses — the idea of resting contentedly in God’s arms the way a little child rests in his mother’s arms speaks to the deep longing of my soul.  But that’s not the part that stuck with me.  It was the first verse that wouldn’t leave me alone.  The hard truth of the matter that I’d prefer not to admit is that my heart is inclined toward haughtiness.  I do tend to set my sights too high.  I am prone to thinking that I’m the one who has to solve all of life’s problems, in great affairs and wonders beyond my scope.  It’s not that I’m terribly arrogant or boastful, rather more that I often think it’s my responsibility to figure everything out and know what the right course or solution should be.  I am often discontent with my lot, and think it’s up to me to change it.

But that isn’t what God wants from me, or from us.  Rather, we’re invited and encouraged to be still and quiet, to rest contentedly in His arms.  That’s the image of verse 2.  A child, whose every need has been met and trusts fully in her mother, peacefully at sleep, without a fear or worry.  That is the kind of relationship God yearns to have with us.  God yearns to provide for our every need, to keep us safe and secure, to hold us warmly and tenderly so we can rest in Him without fear or worry.  What keeps us from experiencing that kind of love is our discontent, our constant striving for more… in other words, the haughtiness of our hearts and the setting of our sights too high.

The Holy Spirit is still convicting me through this Psalm.  My soul yearns for this peace and rest, but my heart resists.  I find myself praying through this Psalm and also Paul’s words in Romans 7: “I do not understand my own behaviour; I do not act as I mean to, but I do things that I hate.” (Rom. 7:15)  Maybe that’s something you find happening in your heart and soul as well.  That’s ok, it’s part of the journey.  As soon as we learn to trust God a little bit, He invites us to take the next step and trust Him even more deeply.  To steadily and steadfastly rest in Him more and more; to become progressively more content with His provision.  It’s easier said than done, but the rewards are well worth it.

Not that I am speaking of being in need, for I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content. I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound. In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need. I can do all things through him who strengthens me. (Phil. 4:11–13)

Blessings,

Rev. David Garrison

Oh, taste and see that the LORD is good!
Blessed is the man who takes refuge in him! — Psalm 34:8