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 is simple, practical, open, and inclusive, deeply rooted in Celtic traditions, practices, and insights.

I reject legalistic and fundamentalist approaches to Christian living and theology.

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 am comfortable in ecumenical settings and believe that we must all imagine new forms of Christian communities that are organic, authentic, and reach beyond the fading institutional arrangements.

I’m a liminal Christian.

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 spiritual path is a space between traditional and nontraditional practices and thinking. It is a space between theologies, interpretations, and standard customs and stances.

This means I find meaning on Christian shores, but with one foot in the sand of tradition and one foot in the waters of a Christianity yet to be.

I strive for a Christianity that is theologically nuanced, deeply sacramental, ecologically aware, merciful, non-legalistic, open to the truth wherever it is found, committed to unity beyond theological conformity, and inclusive of all people of good will.

Theologically and spiritually, my journey has been deeply shaped by a a few Christian traditions, each contributing uniquely to my understanding and practice of faith.

From Roman Catholicism, I have been profoundly influenced by Catholic personalism, which emphasizes the dignity and relational nature of the human person; Catholic social teaching, with its commitment to justice, the common good, and care for the marginalized; and Nouvelle Théologie, known for its return to Scripture and early Church Fathers, inspiring a dynamic and historically grounded theological reflection.

Celtic Christianity influences my spirituality through its emphasis on hospitality, community, and interconnectedness. Its sacramental view of creation and the belief in the divine presence throughout nature resonate strongly with my appreciation for sacredness in the everyday, fostering a spirituality deeply rooted in place and relationship.

Finally, my scholarship and faith have been expanded by engagement with post-denominational Christian thought, embracing strands such as Historical Jesus scholarship, which recovers the human and historical context of Jesus; Radical Orthodoxy, which reclaims classical Christian metaphysics in conversation with contemporary culture; Emergent theology, with its openness to new expressions of faith and questioning of traditional forms; and Progressive Christianity, which centers inclusivity, social justice, and evolving understandings of doctrine.

Together, these movements and traditions support a spirituality of an open heart, a critical mind, and a robust commitment to love, mercy, and social justice.

I am a post-denominational Christian.

I see clearly that many Christian institutions are dying—seminaries closing, memberships shrinking, hierarchies losing their influence, whole denominations at risk of vanishing—but I believe Christianity itself is far greater than the sum of its denominations.

My stance is deeply ecumenical. I value the shared commitment to follow Jesus that exists across traditions more than the doctrinal or liturgical differences that once dictated loyalty to a particular church body.

For me, the heart of Christian life is in organic community. I cherish small groups, local gatherings, and networks of mutual support, places where we can care for one another and grow in understanding and commitment.

I view the decline of institutional structures as an opportunity for renewal.

There are a few online Celtic Christian communities with which I participate and find meaning.

The Iona Community is, in a sense, my mother church. I align with their outlook, views, values, and practices, and appreciate being connected to such a vibrant community and historical site.

Locally, I have a small group of Christian friends with whom I get together periodically.

It’s becoming increasingly clear that responsibility for caring and nourishing one’s soul is a personal undertaking. Sadly, it’s difficult to find respectable clergy and sane, healthy communities.

The institutional collapse and decline simply means that more and more Christians will have to take matters into their own hands, form supportive small groups, and develop a DIY approach to liturgy, ritual, sacraments, learning, and formation.

We could do worse than to become familiar with the examples of the Celtic monastic communities, which served as oases of learning, connection, and meaningful spirituality in a culture of turmoil and decline.

Authentic radicality, from a Christian perspective, means going to the roots—the very heart of the Gospel message.

It isn’t measured by how many rosaries one prays, pages of the Bible one memorizes, or how often one goes to church.

Rather, its true power is in embracing and living out the radical demands of Jesus’ love, generosity, forgiveness, and service.

The radicality of Christian spirituality is not found in outward religious actions, but in the transformation of character that mirrors Jesus’ own self-giving love.

The deepest call of the Gospel is to become people who choose compassion over judgment, give generously, forgive unreservedly, and serve those in need, no matter the cost.

This is the root meaning of “radical”—to return to the essentials, to be transformed and to transform the world by embodying Jesus’ love.

Living this way often means swimming against the current of social norms, just as Jesus did; it means letting go of pride, comfort, and recognition in favor of humility, simplicity, and solidarity with the poor.

Authentic radicality calls every believer not simply to maintain religious observances, but to truly incarnate the Gospel’s universal call to holiness in daily life—where love, mercy, and sacrifice become the defining marks of Christian identity.

In this light, followers of Jesus need to ask themselves hard questions concerning how they engage a popular culture that’s insipid, shallow, demeaning, and materialistic.

We need to examine how we interact with the following:

• Consumerism

• Entertainment & Media

• Sports Idolatry

• Food Choices & Sources

• Political Engagement & Affiliation

• Status & Social Power

• Disregard for the Needly & Lowly

• And other lifestyle expressions & choices

I highly recommend Paul Kingsnorth’s recent book, Against the Machine, as a starting point for the above considerations.

It is also important to understand that our response need not be one of deprivation and dourness.

Christianity calls us to embrace a holistic humanism. Christian humanism values the goodness of creation and affirms the arts, literature, and all aspects of higher culture.

In this view, all authentic human culture, which seeks what is good and promotes human flourishing, is seen as participating in and reflecting the divine plan for humanity.

Therefore, there is nothing truly human that is foreign to or opposed by genuine Christianity.

In an age hungry for authenticity and clarity, a way of life that cuts through complication and returns to what matters most is more vital than ever.

We must transcend the mindset that church is merely a weekly event.

Changing our minds means shifting from seeing the church as a place we go to, to understanding the church as something we become.

Rather than being passive participants, we are called to embody the Kingdom through intentional relationships.

This transformation also requires a change in habits.

Instead of limiting our Christianity to Sunday attendance, we must weave the values and spirit of the church into our interactions with family, neighbors, and communities—whether in homes, online, or informal settings.

This shift invites us to take ownership of our spirituality, living church as a dynamic, ongoing reality rather than a weekly obligation.

There’s nothing wrong with attending church and being part of a formal community. But we need to focus on being the church the other 6 days of the week.

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, watching EWTN, belonging to a prayer group, and occasionally picking up the Bible or the Catechism do 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, 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 conformity to 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 an aspect of 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).