A Liminal Catholicism

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 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.

Liminal Catholicism embodies a spirituality on the edges of the Catholic Church, embracing it while navigating personal tensions with certain aspects.

It is a spirituality lived on the threshold—neither fully inside nor outside—marked by active participation, such as attending Mass, yet with critical engagement over aspects that feel misaligned with conscience and today’s realities.

This selective embrace is not a rejection or rebellion, but a wrestling with truth, seeking authenticity over conformity.

Living liminally requires holding onto ambiguity and questioning so-called certainties. It’s a spirituality of pilgrimage, rooted in Catholic identity yet open to growth, where the periphery becomes a place of encounter and transformation.

So, why Catholicism if I disagree with some aspects of its theology and practices?

My embrace of Catholicism often surprises my friends—and even myself—given its unexpected place in my life.

I do not affiliate with Catholicism out of unquestioning loyalty or unthinking assent. Instead, I cherish the Church for its theological humanism, universal scope, and radical mercy—qualities that transcend my disagreements with it concerning more or less secondary matters.

I value the Magisterium’s role as a teacher, offering interpretations of the tradition that are reasoned and measured even when I can’t affirm them or would explain them in a different way.

Clericalism has deeply harmed the Catholic Church. In my experience, I have never met a mentally and emotionally healthy priest, suggesting that the system’s pressures and isolation may contribute to personal struggles. Practical changes in church administration—such as greater lay involvement, transparent accountability, and collaborative governance—are urgently needed.

However, the Church transcends its clergy and administrative frameworks; it is fundamentally the Body of Christ, a living community beyond its institutional flaws.

The reality is this - I value Catholicism because it embodies the fullness of historic Western Christianity, presenting a Christianity that generally avoids severity, harshness, rigidity, or narrowness.

Furthermore, the Catholic tradition has profoundly shaped the West’s spiritual, intellectual, and cultural landscape. Its affirmation of human dignity, love, mercy, and reason has had a significant influence on the West.

In short, my liminal Catholic spirituality helps me make sense of the world and my place within it. Celtic Christian insights further deepen this understanding.

Spiritual maturity acknowledges that no denomination, community, or theology is without flaws. To demand perfection is to paralyze progress. The perfect should not be allowed to become the enemy of the good.

Catholicism isn’t perfect. But it also doesn’t claim to be. Yet it encompasses much of the West’s cultural story: mysticism, love, scholarship, and social witness.

Simple Catholicism defines my spiritual practice: I go to Mass, participating without pretense. I don’t challenge the church at my parish or claim to speak on its behalf. I go to pray, not protest.

I find meaning in the liturgy's rhythm, the passing of the liturgical seasons, the public reading of the gospel, and the Eucharist.

Beyond Mass, I engage with several ecumenical Christian groups, most of which are influenced by Celtic Christianity.

These communities enrich my spirituality with their practical mysticism and reverence for creation, a balance of prayer, work, and hospitality. They broaden my perspective, connecting me to a broader Christian perspective while grounding me in practices that resonate with my simple approach.

This blend sustains me, offering depth and meaning without requiring me to engage in theological conformity.

Who hasn’t encountered Catholics who presume to tell others exactly what the Church 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.

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, particular periods of the Church’s history, styles of worship, and manners of explication.

Reading a few magazine articles, watching EWTN, and occasionally picking up the Catechism does not a theologian make.

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 Catholicism, 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 doctrinal purity would do well to revisit the gospels. In the narratives, their counterparts are not the beloved disciples but the Pharisees.

To be a Catholic is to freely and meaningfully immerse oneself in a rich tradition that encompasses the Church’s theology, rituals, practices, and community.

It is not a coerced obligation but a voluntary embrace of a living faith that invites personal and communal transformation. 

To be a Catholic demands a foundational attitude of trust and acceptance toward the Gospels and the Church’s teachings. This stance begins with a default disposition of assent—a willingness to accept the Church’s guidance—coupled with a genuine desire to deepen one’s understanding of its teachings and positions, as well as their rationale. 

However, this attitude should not be misconstrued as a legalistic demand for total intellectual or theological conformity, allowing room for personal exploration, conviction, and dialogue with the tradition. Complete assent to every Catholic teaching is an unrealistic expectation due to the vast breadth and nuanced complexity of the Church’s tradition. 

While respect for Church teaching authority is essential, blind adherence to their pronouncements without personal reflection or critical analysis can hinder spiritual growth. This approach can stifle intellectual curiosity and prevent individuals from grappling with complex theological issues.

To counter this trend, it is crucial to cultivate intellectual curiosity and critical thinking within Catholic communities. This involves encouraging individuals to engage thoughtfully and prayerfully with scripture, tradition, and the Magisterium's teachings. It also requires fostering open dialogue, where diverse perspectives can be shared and debated in a respectful manner.

Christian maturity requires the critical internalization of church teaching in a manner that does not compromise intellectual integrity. Therefore, genuine participation in Christianity does not allow for juvenile shortcuts, such as letting the Church think for you.

Mature participation requires critical evaluation, nuance, and individual internalization of Church teaching. If disagreement or questions arise, one does not need to leave the Church.

There is a fine line between intellectual and spiritual integrity and intellectual and spiritual hubris. Catholicism can only transform and improve us if we allow it to and cultivate a critical willingness to conform to its wisdom. 

Moral legalism, often mistaken for fidelity to truth, distorts truth and love, undermining the essence of mercy and its distinction from relativism.

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—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 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).

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

I’m not claiming to be a spokesperson for the Church—just a fellow traveler sharing my reflections.

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.

I’d love for you to challenge or build upon these ideas. If something resonates or sparks a question, drop me a line—my email address is at the bottom of the site.

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