As the finality of 2020 begins to come into focus, I have been fixating on thresholds; the boundaries that help us to define one thing from another. On some level, I think we are all fixating on the need to step over this particular pandemic threshold and into whatever comes after it. As it happens when a mind begins to pay attention, I have been finding thresholds in all sorts of unexpected places. I learned this week that thresholds were originally affixed to doorways to keep thresh (hay) inside of homes which prevented folks from slipping on the cold, wet ground in their houses circa 1500. 

What began as a practical solution has become a part of our everyday vernacular in naming the beginning of one thing, distinguished from the phase that comes in front and behind it, before or after.

Consider the significance of these distinct thresholds, the physical and imaginary lines drawn between two experiences:

-The doorway that separates one’s home from the outside world. This threshold divides cold from warmth and anonymity from familiarity. The practice of carrying brides over the threshold of their homes has served as a marker signaling the change from single to married life. Many bless the lintels of their homes each Epiphany to offer blessings upon all who pass beneath. On my college campus, the doors were tremendously tall, conveying St. Benedict’s belief that every door we open marks an important decision.

-The threshold of seasons: The intensity of fall doing its best to usher in the cold and wind on the heels of summer, only to relent and give way to ice, snow, and shortened days.

-My daughters and I recently re-visited the movie Little Women and Jo March described “Stepping over the threshold of childhood into all that lied beyond” as she moved to New York City. 

-The transition of a laboring woman that signals the waves of physical and mental preparation are making a sharp turn toward the action of delivery.

In my former doula days, watching for a woman’s transition was an important shift to observe in her labor experience. It is the moment when a woman’s physical body moves from a place of preparation for delivery to the mission of delivering the child from within her. It is powerful both to watch and to experience. To bear witness to this process is to step onto holy ground and observe an intensely focused force, to step over the threshold of preparation boldly into active participation in bringing a child earth-side.

This year I found an artistic depiction of a laboring woman as a metaphor for Advent. Maybe you have seen it circulating, too? It is an image that I have not considered before, and yet it is completely appropriate. It has garnered a wildly enthusiastic response. Be on the lookout.

–Liturgical seasons too provide threshold that move us (in this case) from the high highs of the Feast of Christ the King, to the quiet preparations of the unexpected and humble work that happened as the infant Jesus grew in Mary’s womb. From here we step out of preparation and into the wild celebration of God made flesh.

In this way, the season of Advent is its own threshold: Invisibly marking distinct space and time between the ordinary and the feast of Christmas. A time set apart for joy and anticipation.

The stuckness of in-between

Over dinner this week my oldest proclaimed that she loves Advent… “except for the waiting part.” We laughed at the unintentional paradox that she so honestly named. All of this is fitting: The slight discomfort of being on the way, in the liminal space of journeying and becoming. In 2020, we need what Advent has to offer in new ways. We need its peace, and we sure could use its joy.

I suspect that this is exactly where our struggles to engage Advent this year are stemming from. In this year where everything blurs together: Home/work, work/school, weekdays/weekends, we are at a loss to identify landmarks in this in-between place. Never have we been more hard-pressed to define what we are or are not about at any given time because it feels simultaneously like everything and nothing and there is no clear end in sight. We may not enjoy the view from here, but I wonder if pandemic Advent isn’t an apt experience of the journey? Feeling the eagerness of hope while quieting the voice in the back of our minds that wonders if maybe we missed something significant?

The wise men must have recognized this experience of traversing on a hunch. The Apostles clinging to hope after the crucifixion must have known this uncomfortable place. Jonah, or any individual invited to announce Jesus with their lives, recognizes this experience of being led onward in unfamiliar territory, with hope and a trembling voice.

Crossing thresholds is prophetic and costs something

Aside from the threshold of our homes (and tempers?) which we criss-cross daily, thresholds of every other nature are stepped over only once. We do not go back to our childhood in the same way we once experienced it, just like the way we engage this particular Advent will be different than every other Advent we ever have or ever will experience. 

Of course, we can cross thresholds without paying attention: Fall to winter, preparation to transition; the ebb and flow of daily life will bring us across threshold whether or not we are attentive. This kind of mindful threshold crossing might feel as though it requires the same laser focus as being broken open in labor—which can feel daunting. And, it is the heart of the matter, isn’t it? Allowing ourselves to be softened enough to respond to the nudges and pangs of the Spirit is what prepares us for transformation to occur and for the Christ child to be born in our lives, too.

To threshold crossings, bringing to birth, and staying awake-

Happy Adventing.