Shannon's Corner

  It’s the day after the miracle. The tomb is empty, but life still feels uncertain. Joy has been proclaimed, but not yet fully grasped. The world has changed, but not everyone knows how to live in it yet. The in-between moment between revelation and understanding, hope and clarity, resurrection and recognition.   Two disciples, confused and heartbroken, walk a dusty road away from Jerusalem. They had hoped Jesus was the one to redeem Israel. But hope, to them, had died on a cross. Even though resurrection had already happened, they hadn’t yet perceived it. Jesus draws near, but they do not recognize Him. They speak of Him in the past tense, while He walks beside them in the present.   This is the grief of the liminal: the space between loss and new life, where we are not yet able to see what has already begun. But notice how Jesus responds. He doesn’t scold. He walks. He listens. He teaches. And then—He stays. He stays long enough for them to recognize Him in the br...

  There is something sacred about the in-between. In the language of transition, liminality is the quiet pause between what was and what will be. It is the hush between breaths, the dusk before dawn, the quiet just before resurrection stirs.   Lent invites us into a spiritual wilderness—a place both barren and fertile, disorienting and formative. We follow Jesus into the desert, into hunger and silence, into forty days of surrender. We let go of attachments, distractions, and comforts, not just to practice deprivation, but to prepare room. To clear the clutter. To lay down what no longer serves.   Isaiah’s words echo across this space:  “See, I am doing a new thing… do you not perceive it?”  But how can we perceive the new when we are still grieving the old?   This is the ache—and the invitation—of the liminal. It asks us to slow down. To sit with the uncomfortable. To let go of the urge to fix, to rush, to return to what was. It’s a space of waiting, ...

  Lent is a season of stripping away. A holy pause. A necessary undoing because life is messy, hard, and overwhelming. What burdens are you carrying today? Is it guilt? Shame? Fear Anxiety? Grief? The endless pressures of daily life? These weights can feel crushing, leaving us exhausted and weary. We are not alone in the in-between. Jesus meets us right where we are and as we are—and not only as a guide, but as the One who bears the weight we cannot carry.   In the ancient world, beasts of burden—donkeys —were not glamorous creatures. They were humble, lowly, often overlooked. Their strength wasn’t in speed or beauty, but in the quiet endurance to carry heavy loads.    It’s no accident that Jesus chooses a donkey for His triumphal entry into Jerusalem. He comes as King, yes—but not in splendor. He comes lowly, riding on the back of an animal that carries burdens.   Throughout His life—and especially in His death—Jesus carr...