I'm a Christian, but probably not the kind you're thinking of.

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

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

My Christianity is 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.

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

My style of Christianity prioritizes simplicity. Big-box churches, baroque cathedrals, rosaries, praise bands, cloying Marian devotion, charismatic gifts, and Latin Masses don't resonate. I also find the influence of Evangelical theology on Christian thought deeply troubling. The biblical idolatry, legalism, and fundamentalism it has unleashed are repugnant.

Instead, I strive for spiritual realism, focusing on love and simplicity. My touchstones are silence, meditation, love of neighbor, and simple rituals.

I’m comfortable in ecumenical settings and believe that we all must imagine new forms of empowering Christian communities that are organic, authentic, and not institutional.

I’m a liminal Catholic.

The word liminal originates from the Latin word 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 Catholic spiritual path is a space between traditional and nontraditional practices and thinking. It is a space between doctrines, interpretations, and traditional customs and stances.

This means I find 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.

I engage the Church from the margins. I don’t attempt to speak for the Church, nor am I actively trying to reform it.

My theological views and convictions are ecumenical, non-institutional, and liminally Catholic.

My spirituality is heavily influenced by forms of Celtic Christianity and is defined by liminality, sacramentality, nature-orientation, simplicity, hospitality, and mercy.

Liminality implies a spirituality of in-between spaces— thresholds between the sacred and mundane, tradition and innovation. It embraces moments of transition and the in-between spaces of life.

Sacramental in nature, my spirituality is tangible—bread, wine, water, and creation itself. Everyday acts become sacred, with rituals that honor the divine in both formal liturgy, home rituals, and daily life.

Nature is a spiritual touchstone, and I share a Celtic sense of the divine infused through nature and its cycles and rhythms.

Simplicity is central to my spirituality, and I prioritize a life unburdened by materialism. I seek to live modestly, leaving room to focus on what truly matters.

Hospitality and availability are central, reflecting an open-door ethos.

Mercy remains at the forefront, with an emphasis on forgiveness and justice, and seeking to heal divisions, extend compassion, and advocate for the marginalized.

Overall, I strive to maintain a simple spiritual practice, which revolves around the following:

• Daily contemplative meditation, reflection, and self-examination

• A short daily Gospel reading

• Practicing mindfulness and awareness of the divine presence

• Living simply as a spiritual discipline

• Showing hospitality and availability to others

• Responding with compassion when confronted with those in need

• Contributing toward a just society

In terms of ritual practice, I observe the following:

• A simple ritual to welcome the Sabbath on Saturday evening

• Cultivating awareness of the divine in nature’s patterns and cycles, following the seasons, and a natural framework of the liturgical year

• Making the Eucharist in varied forms central to my spiritual life, celebrating with others, at Mass and with festive meals akin to the early Christian Eucharistic fellowship, extending the practice of the Open Table

• Reading and writing on matters related to theology and cultural renewal

• Gathering with others to celebrate, reflect, pray, and engage theologically and ritually to build communities of mutual support and shared values

Theological Views and Influences

My theological perspective is deeply rooted in Catholic tradition, shaped by the rich interplay of Nouvelle Théologie, Christian Personalism, Catholic Social Thought, and Radical Orthodoxy. These influences converge to form a vibrant, dynamic faith that engages both intellect and heart, emphasizing the transformative power of God’s presence in human life and society.

As a Catholic, I ground my beliefs in the Church’s teachings, sacraments, and communal experience, viewing faith as a living encounter with Christ. This foundation informs my appreciation for the Church’s role in guiding moral and spiritual life, fostering a commitment to truth and charity.

Nouvelle Théologie profoundly shapes my approach, drawing from thinkers like Henri de Lubac, Yves Congar, and Hans urs von Balthasar. This movement’s return to patristic and biblical sources revitalizes theology, emphasizing the unity of nature and grace. It inspires me to see that the divine presence permeates all creation, encouraging a holistic theology that integrates scripture, tradition, and lived experience.

Christian Personalism, particularly through the lens of John Paul II and John F. Crosby, underscores the dignity of the human person as central to my theology. It views each individual as uniquely valuable, created in God’s image, and called to relationality. This perspective shapes my commitment to fostering authentic communities where persons flourish through mutual respect and love.

Catholic Social Thought further informs my worldview, rooted in principles of justice, solidarity, and the common good. Drawing from encyclicals like Rerum Novarum and Centesimus Annus, I advocate for systemic change that uplifts the marginalized, protects the environment, and promotes human dignity.

Radical Orthodoxy, inspired by John Milbank, challenges secularism by asserting the primacy of theological narratives. It encourages me to view transcendence as a lens for interpreting all reality, resisting reductive worldviews. This influence strengthens my commitment to a sacramental vision where God’s grace transforms culture and society.

Historical Jesus Scholarship enriches my understanding of Jesus’ life and teachings. Scholars like John Dominic Crossan, John P. Meier, and Stephen Patterson provide historical context, grounding my theology in the real, human Jesus, whose ministry shapes my commitment to compassion, mercy, and justice.

Ecumenical, Post-Denominational Ecclesiology broadens my vision of the Church. It embraces unity across Christian traditions, fostering dialogue and collaboration beyond denominational boundaries, reflecting a shared mission to embody Christ’s love in a fragmented world.

Together, these strands weave a theology that is Catholic but reaches beyond Catholicism, seeking to be ecumenical, relational, socially engaged, and intellectually robust.

Who hasn’t encountered Christians who presume to tell others exactly what true Christianity 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 and occasionally picking up the Bible or a theology book does 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 or spirituality, 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 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 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).

And the final day came, and Jesus gathered his followers. On the right, he placed his sheep, and on his left, he put the goats.

Then he said to those on his right, ‘Come, you who my Father blesses; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world.

For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.

I was lonely and you befriended me, I was awkward, and you were kind to me, I was marginalized, and you drew me in.”

Then the just will respond to him, ‘Lord, when did we see you in need? When did we see you as a stranger and invite you in, or clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you? We don’t understand; we weren’t really religious. We often didn’t go to church or read our bible. We don’t even understand much theology.’

Jesus will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’

Then he said to those on his left, ‘Depart from me, you who are self-righteous, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels.

For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me.’

They also will answer, ‘Lord, we don’t understand. We studied our bible. We shamed and excluded the sinner in your name. We went to church and denounced heretics.’

Jesus will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.’

Then they will go away to eternal punishment, but the just to everlasting life.

I invite you to explore the theology presented in the other navigation sections of this site.

These ideas are still evolving, and I don’t claim to have all the answers.

You don’t need to agree with me; I hope we can find common ground, engage in dialogue with one another, and learn from each other.

Join me in this ongoing conversation, and let’s see where these evolving ideas take us together.