The In-Between Light

Most mornings lately I start my walk with the dogs in the dark. Their paws pound out a steady rhythm of excitement and purpose, as we make our nearly 2-mile trek together. For most of the walk, the whole world feels like it hasn’t quite made up its mind yet–to either move forward or go back. But by the time we’re on our way back home, the sky has decided–slowly pulling its colors forward—the pinks and oranges of dawn. It is a sacred, albeit short, window of the in-between—proof that transition itself can be holy.

This Sunday is technically the last Sunday in Ordinary Time. It’s also Christ the King Sunday—or Reign of Christ Sunday, depending on your tradition. Either way, it’s a hinge. A fulcrum. A moment where the church stands in the shifting light before Advent and asks, “What kind of world are we stepping into? And what kind of power do we trust as we step?”

We talk a lot about seasons in the church—Advent, Lent, Easter, Pentecost—but the truth is, life rarely fits neatly into one category. Most of us live in the blurred lines and unnamed spaces that dot the landscape of our human experiences. After something ends but before something else has found its shape. After the diagnosis, before the plan. After the loss, before the healing. After the dream, before the next brave step. The church calendar may try to give each week a title, but our actual lives are full of these transitional dawns where nothing is fully clear yet.

Rather than skip over them or deny their existence entirely, a better practice may be to assume these thresholds are always there–with or without our noticing–and then, give them the attention they deserve. Or as John O’Donohue suggests, “At any time, you can ask yourself: At which threshold am I now standing?”

Reign of Christ Sunday is our opportunity to engage in this practice. It is a moment to pause at the threshold–between this church calendar year and the next, and remember whose story we’re actually living in. Not the story of domination or fear or scarcity, but the story of a God whose power looks like mercy, tenderness, justice, and stubborn, surprising hope. It is a different kind of kingdom, filled with a different kind of light.

Advent waits just around the corner—with all its longing and courage and expectation. But maybe before it arrives, we stand in this holy pause we have been given, and we can try trusting the gifts of this slow turning. We can try to honor the sky before it brightens, and recognize that God is already here in the half-light, whispering us forward.

So this week, friends, try not to rush the in-between. Notice it. Let it slow you down. Let it tell you something true about your life and the God who walks with you—long before the clarity of the next thing, the next event, the next challenge, or the next day comes.

On the in-between journey with you,
Pr. Melissa

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