Tuesday, July 8, 2008

Liminal Space

As the title of my post suggests, I find myself in a period of transition.  As a Lutheran seminarian from Canada at seminary in the Midwest United States, I am not unacquainted with the liminal space of transition.  Yet here I am here once again, and it is not the same.  

As my 'About Me' will suggest as I get around to editing it, I am just beginning the final preparations to embark upon my year of internship in Oslo, Norway.  Not only am I exploring what it means to be an intern for the year, I am exploring what it might mean to be a pastor in the Lutheran church, as well as what it is like to be immersed, surrounded, and encircled by a congregation that is very international, in a country that I have only ever visited for a week five years ago.  And most of all I am exploring, pondering, and trying to figure out to what and to where God is calling me.  

It is all extremely exciting and frightening at the same time.  

Therefore, I selfishly write this blog for me as a time to reflect upon, well, whatever happens!  If you know me and are wondering what I'm up to this year, I hope this will keep you updated.  If you don't know me and somehow stumble upon it, I hope you enjoy it.  If you read it and connect with it, please, write, respond, dialogue!  


To begin, I post something that I will likely never post again:  a poem.  

I am not a poet, nor have ever been a poet, but I recently had the pleasure of making one of my favourite trips, a 24-hour drive from the Midwest back to Canada.  I have made this drive with my family countless times, but this time, with Norway looming on my horizon, during the stint from 3-8am, driving across the plains of Saskatchewan, snippets of this poem were written.  Whether it is literal or figurative, I don't know.  It is no great piece of writing, but it is from where I am coming, and a fitting start.  


Liminal Space

Awakened at three
by the lulling motion
which comes to a stop, 
the door opens
and the 
refreshing breeze
sweeps in.  

Petro Canada,
Tim Horton's,
Coffee,
I crawl behind the
wheel
and drive North,
always North.  

To my right,
the deep blue
sky
is already
tinged
with a lighter blue.

The chaotic sea
hangs inverted
above my head;
or perchance
it is I
who hangs
inverted
above the chaos.  

For the
sky
is more expansive
than the land
which stretches out
before me
and
behind me
for countless
miles.

The dotted trees
of the horizon
both hide away
and point to
the prairie homesteads.

The majestic
wooden grain elevator,
rising out of
the sea
of grass,
is the only thing
to scrape 
the sky.  

Soon
I turn off my lights.  
They are or
no use
anymore;
the sky
is 
already
too bright.  

As I
drive,
the inhabitants
come out
in welcome.  

The swift fox,
the loping coyote,
the bounding jackrabbit,
the cattle
upon
the sea
of grass.  

Yellow heads
mingle with
red wings.  

The familiar 
waddle
of the 
raccoon
is replace by
the passing
nod
of the
wolf.  

A mixture
of French,
English, 
First Nations--
the names of towns
flash by
and bring forth
memories
long dormant
in my mind.  

Qu'Appelle,
Drinkwater,
Moose Jaw,
Pense...
je pense...
I think...

Something 
is awakened
within me
in this 
liminal space
between
the dark of night
and 
the light of day.

Until...

Until
the ray 
of sun
breaks
through
the swirling clouds
and
shatters
the spell.  


Until next time,
The Shoeless Seminarian