The word liminal derives from the Latin limen, meaning "threshold." It refers to doorways and entrances, boundaries and blurred lines, and spaces in between.

The Irish concept of a thin place is similar. Thin places are entries and exits, blended spaces with spiritual meaning, where one reality starts and another ends.

Like a shoreline between sand and sea, a liminal spiritual path is a space between traditional and nontraditional practices and thinking. It is a space between theologies, interpretations, and standard customs and stances.

A liminal Catholicism finds meaning on Catholic shores, but with one foot in the sand of tradition and one foot in the waters of a Catholicism yet to be.

A liminal Catholicism is theologically nuanced, deeply sacramental, ecologically aware, merciful, non-legalistic, open to the truth wherever it is found, committed to unity beyond theological conformity, and inclusive of all people of good will.

Too often, Catholicism is associated with judgmentalism, magical thinking, moralism, and stale traditions. A liminal spirituality isn't about any of that.

It's not heaven-focused or sin-obsessed. It doesn’t believe in simplistic, Santa-like versions of God, or the idea that anyone had to die for someone else to be whole.

It’s a Catholicism about humility, not superiority. It's a call to love and serve, not judge. It's about compassion, kindness, and human dignity—a path of meaning, not magic.

It focuses on a Jesus who cared about people flourishing, especially the lowly and the marginalized, and creating a world based on love.

A liminal Catholicism is simple, practical, open, and inclusive, deeply rooted in Christian humanistic traditions, practices, and insights.

It rejects legalistic and fundamentalist approaches to Christian living and theology.

It rejects biblical idolatry, legalism, and fundamentalism as repugnant.

Instead, it strives for spiritual realism, focusing on love and simplicity. Its touchstones are silence, contemplation, the Eucharist, love of neighbor, and simple rituals.

A liminal Catholicism values simplicity as a defining characteristic across all aspects of life, including liturgy, spiritual practice, theology, ritual, and church architecture.

This simplicity is not mere minimalism but an intentional focus on essentials, allowing space for authenticity, contemplation, and deep connection with God.

In liturgy and ritual, simplicity fosters accessibility and participation, inviting believers into an embodied experience of the sacred rather than elaborate ceremony.

Simple spiritual practices embrace everyday moments as opportunities for prayer and encounter with God, integrating faith organically with daily routines.

A liminal Catholicism gravitates toward modest, functional church architecture harmonized with the natural environment, providing space for communal worship without excess.

Theologically, a liminal Catholicism seeks clarity without reducing mystery, favoring a holistic vision that honors both intellect and heart.

This simplicity aligns with a commitment to balance—between activity and stillness, solitude and community, earth and heaven. It cultivates a spirituality rooted in humility, presence, and attentiveness to the “thin places” where divine and earthly realms meet.

A liminal Catholic spirituality fosters openness and inclusivity, welcoming diverse expressions of faith without demanding rigid uniformity.

This approach values personal and communal encounters with God rather than centralized or dogmatic control.

Such a spirit fosters hospitality and a welcoming stance toward different theological viewpoints and experiences within the broad communion of the Church.

This openness does not seek to enforce strict conformity but instead embraces a rich tapestry of spiritual insights, inviting dialogue and mutual respect.

It acknowledges the dignity of each person and the variety of ways grace may manifest in individual and communal life.

Emphasizing unity without uniformity, this perspective encourages a collaborative journey of faith where differences are honored rather than excluded.

Who hasn’t encountered Catholics who presume to tell others exactly what true Catholicism teaches and then require obedience to and conformity with such?

Such attitudes tend to be accompanied by efforts to exclude and harass those who don’t align with the perceived correct theology or set of practices.

The problem with those who make up the theology police is that they are often fixated on limited explanations of mysteries. There is a fetishization of certain teachings, thinkers, particular periods of church history, styles of worship, and manners of explication.

Reading a few magazine articles, watching EWTN, belonging to a prayer group, and occasionally picking up the Bible or the Catechism do not make one a theologian.

Exclusion, rejection, and a lack of charity are not a Christian response to those with whom we disagree.

I don’t begrudge anyone expressing their style of Christianity, but I resist anyone claiming their style to be required and attempting to thrust it onto others.

Those who position themselves as the enforcers of religious and spiritual purity would do well to revisit the gospels. In the narratives, their counterparts are not the beloved disciples but the Pharisees.

Moral legalism, often mistaken for fidelity to truth, distorts truth and love.

Legalism is defined as overemphasizing conformity to rules at the expense of context or compassion. It reduces moral truth to a sterile code and love to mere compliance.

Legalism is neither truth’s fullness nor love’s transformative power—it’s simply a hollow rigor.

Mercy, by contrast, holds truth and love together, neither relativistically lax nor legalistically cruel. It judges sin but redeems sinners —a balance that legalism cannot strike.

Truth and love, thus inseparable, frame mercy as their synthesis. Truth without love ossifies; love without truth drifts. Together, they ensure that mercy upholds reality while extending grace —a balance that relativism cannot claim.

Mercy, then, is an aspect of truth’s telos—its end and perfection. It neither bends reality nor bows to whim but crowns truth with grace, fulfilling its promise of life (John 10:10).