This past week on Facebook

a former student posted a picture of herself with her husband.
They’ve been married almost two years,
and they were standing with their arms around each other
next to the “Sold” sign in front of their very first house.
She’s about five months pregnant
as they get ready to welcome their first child this coming December.

I imagine there are lots of families

moving into new homes this summer,
getting used to new cities, new neighborhoods,
children about to start the year in a new school.
Some of you are taking your children to college,
maybe for the first time living away from home.

Summer is a season of movement.

Each of those moves is an ending and a new beginning,
with overlap between them.

Anthropologist Victor Turner calls these moments “liminal spaces.”

Liminal spaces are the in-between places of our lives,
neither here nor there,
“betwixt and between”
as someone recently described them to me.

We all experience liminal spaces throughout life,

times when we are in transition, on the threshold:

That first week in the new house,

surrounded by boxes and empty cupboards,
wondering who the neighbors are,
or how to get to the grocery store.
You’re not in the old house any more,
but not yet fully in the new house either.

Or beginning life as newlyweds,

not single anymore,
and yet not quite a couple.

There are those times we wait for the results of medical tests,

unsure of how our lives might suddenly be turned upside down.

Summer is a liminal space for students,

where they are no longer fourth graders, but not yet fifth graders,
no longer sophomores, but not yet upperclassmen,
no longer in high school, but not yet college students.

Some are transitioning into retirement.

Maybe some are in the middle of a breakup,
or in between jobs.
There are those who are grieving the loss of a pet,
a friend, or a loved one.
The smoke in the air reminds us of all those
who have lost homes and possessions in the forest fires,
and who are unsure what will happen next.
These are the liminal spaces of our lives.

This is where the Israelites are in today’s first reading;

this is where the disciples are in the gospel.
We see both groups on the threshold, on the verge.

At the end of the book of Joshua,

the Israelites have entered the Promised Land.
This is a key moment in Salvation History.
God had sent Moses to lead them
from slavery in Egypt into the desert
where they have wandered for decades.
But Moses has died and Joshua has led the Israelites in battle
against the Amorites, the Moabites, Canaanites,
until all opposition has ceased.
Now a long period of uncertain wanderings through the desert
is ending;
a new era is beginning.
God’s chosen people are about to settle in a land
filled with people who have worshipped other gods.
It is a new place, a strange place in many ways.
The Israelites are no longer a wandering people,
but not yet a settled community.

They are in a liminal space.

And in the gospel we have read for the past six weeks

the disciples have heard Jesus speak of himself
as the bread of life;
that his flesh is true food
and his blood is true drink.

This new teaching challenges the beliefs of the disciples.

Some can’t tolerate it.
They turn back to where they once were.
They return to their former way of life.

But not the Twelve.

The Twelve are willing to accept the uncertainty of liminal space.
They are on the threshold of a new and radical teaching.
They’re not quite sure what it means.
You get the feeling that they would leave Jesus too
if they had a better option.
But Jesus has the words of everlasting life.
There is no place else to go.
They will not return to their former way of life.
They cannot follow Jesus and at the same time stay where they are.
They must move.

Because of their encounter with Jesus

they are no longer who they were before,
but they are not yet the people they will soon be.

They are in a liminal space,

not physically but spiritually.

Liminal space is disorienting, uncomfortable, frightening.

But liminal space is where growth happens,
where new perspectives appear.
It’s in these threshold moments that communities are formed.

Joshua summons all the people together to remind them

not to look behind at the gods of the past, but to look ahead.
He challenges them:
“Are you going to worship the gods of your ancestors?”
“Are you going to return to your former way of life?”
“Or are you going to serve the Lord?”

On the threshold of settling into the Promised Land,

Joshua leads the people in a renewal of the covenant.
“As for me and my household, we will serve the Lord.”
And the people essentially answer, “Amen.”
“We also will serve the Lord, for he is our God.”

With that answer, the community makes a conscious choice

to remain God’s people.

Jesus challenges his disciples in the same way.

“Does this shock you?” he asks.
“Do you also want to leave?”
“The words I have spoken to you are spirit and life.”
And through Peter, the Twelve answer, “Amen.”
“We have come to believe and are convinced
that you are the Holy One of God.”

With their answer, the apostles make a conscious choice

to stay with Jesus, to be a community of disciples.

And now the challenge is before us.

Joshua’s question is for us, too:
Are we going to worship other gods?
Or are we going to serve the Lord?
Jesus asks us, as he asks the first disciples,
Do you also want to leave?

To serve the Lord, to stay with Jesus,

means entering into liminal space.
It means leaving our former way of life behind.

Jesus’ first words in the gospel of Mark are

“Repent and believe in the Gospel.”
This is what conversion is,
a turning away from the old, false self
to the new, true self.

Jesus is constantly inviting us to follow him,

but we can’t follow him and stay where we are.

Anthropologist Victor Turner called Christians “liminal figures”

because we understand
that we are temporary residents of this world.
We are “betwixt and between,”
in liminal space for our entire lives.

Our conversion is not a single moment in time,

but a lifetime of turning that began with our baptism.

To be a Christian means to live always on the threshold

of this life and the next.

What are the uncomfortable places that we are each being led to?

Maybe we’re feeling called to serve others,

but we fear losing our comfortable existence.
We might be trying to let go of an addiction
or sinful pattern of behavior,
but we haven’t yet found anything healthy to replace it.
Maybe God is calling us to a religious or priestly vocation,
or to commit ourselves in marriage,
and we’re afraid of how that would radically change our lives.

Whatever liminal spaces we may find ourselves in,

today’s scripture readings reassure us.

“The Lord protected us along our entire journey…” the Israelites say.

“Therefore we also will serve the LORD, for he is our God.”

“Jesus, you have the words of eternal life,” says Peter.

God protects us and gives us the words of eternal life.

What makes the liminal spaces bearable,

whether they’re physical or spiritual,
is first, the sure knowledge that God walks with us,
and second, the reality that others are in the same situation.

No matter how disoriented, uncomfortable, or afraid we may be,

we always have a home in the Body of Christ.
The Christian community is to be the place where anyone can come
and be held in the arms of Jesus.
That gives us strength and hope,
and the courage to accept the liminal spaces in our lives.

This Eucharistic celebration,

like the assembly of the tribes at Shechem,
is a chance to renew our baptism,
and to embrace our ongoing conversion.
After coming here to this liturgy
are we going to “return to our former way of life,”
or continue to serve the Lord?