Liminal
Pastor’s Epistle—October 2026 There’s something inherently ethereal, and indeed a bit eerie, about liminal places. Areas of transition—from light to dark, from east to west, from civilization to wilderness—have fascinated every human culture. America is no exception, given our national obsession with “the frontier,” wherever that happens to be in a given generation. Crossroads and doorways, graveyards and twilight, all thrill us with their ambiguity, their in-betweenness. Unseen things, things just beyond the veil, seem that much closer, that much realer. And October is basically one big liminal space. Autumn proves perhaps the most dramatic of the seasons, replete with pungent aromas: spices and woodsmoke and decaying vegetation. Leaves erupt in one last great riot of color before they wither and fall. In comes the harvest, transitioning from summer’s plenty into winter’s scarcity. The winds shift, heralding the frost and ice that, while not yet arrived, are now well and truly on thei...
