Living in the Space Between
a stream of consciousness on the craft of hovering
For those who feel too right for the left, and too left for the right.
There are days I feel a bit theologically homeless.
Too structured for the mystics.
Too mystical for the structured.
Too this for them.
Too that for the others.
It feels tricky being in between.
Over the last few years, I’ve given language to this space - I hover. That metaphor seems to fit the best. I hover over most things and anchor to a few. That’s how I’m navigating faith, theology, politics, pain, and even my own story. I hover.
To hover is to wait, to listen, to hold off on easy answers. I am not trying to be indecisive. I’m trying to be honest. I am looking for wisdom and understanding.
As painful as this chasm feels at times, the tension found here is also a sacred gift.
In spiritual direction, I often sit with people who are between things:
Between belief and wrestling with belief.
Between who they were and who they’re becoming.
Between what’s lost and what’s hoped for.
And I’m learning this: there’s no quick way through the in-between. The in-between is its own terrain and it’s holy ground. Those of us on this journey recognise the path.
We aren’t all the way here or there. And some of us are simply learning to keep our footing while the ground underneath us shifts.
I grew up thinking the point was to find the "right" place to land. I don’t think that way anymore. Now it seems God is asking me to live well in the tension.
Tension isn’t a flaw in the system - it makes living possible and playable. My daughter Aria’s violin strings need tension to make sound. Our family trampoline is pulled from every side - the tension is what makes it come to life.
Communities need tension to grow. The back-and-forths of conversations and opposition and struggle and differences become the playground the Spirit uses to help us become strong and mature, if we have eyes to see and ears to hear it. The Body of Christ needs diversity to properly reflect the wisdom of God—Paul called it the manifold (multi-coloured) wisdom of God (Eph 3:10); multifaceted and brilliant, not uniform and tidy.
Why do we need things to be so neat and tidy? Life isn’t neat and tidy. Faith isn’t neat and tidy. Jesus wasn’t neat and tidy.
(Jesus wouldn’t get hired as a pastor at most churches…)
The right hand needs the left. The left foot needs the right.
They hold each other in tension, and in doing so, we keep each other from falling off the edge.
But so often we cut each other off, splitting and dividing and creating enemies and "others”. We aren’t enemies, as much as it might feel like it at times.
This past Easter, I saw a woman and her children walking up to the front of the church on a Sunday to receive communion. I have recently been very wounded by this lady. Her actions cost me so much personally and created so much pain for me and my family.
Everything inside of me wanted to resent and dismiss her as she made her way to the table. I so desperately wanted to “other” her, to offer her up as my scapegoat: “She is the problem! Who does she think she is, participating in this sacred meal?”
But she isn’t the problem.
It’s me too.
It’s all of us.
AND I am fully convinced that what she did was wrong. But that doesn’t change the fact that that moment was exactly where we both belonged - in the offering and receiving of grace.
Perhaps one of the greatest fertilisers for our spiritual growth is sticking around long enough to see the “other” as a gift of grace.
To say, “I don’t agree with you… and I still need you.”
To say, “You supernaturally irritate me… and that might be a gift.”
To gaze at them until we see the face of Christ.
For those of you who find yourselves in-between right now - between theological camps, political tribes, church communities, relational certainties - I want to say this: you’re not alone. Yeah, it can feel pretty lonely at times. But that doesn’t mean you’re actually alone, and it certainly doesn’t mean that you’re not where you’re meant to be.
So, how do we foster the tension in a way that is helpful to ourselves and to those we encounter, no matter what “side” they’re on?
Well, I don’t have a formula. But here are a few things I’m learning (and relearning) along the way:
Stay curious.
Questions are way more interesting than an opinion. Try to let wonder be your default posture. Curiosity softens us and creates space for real connection, even across deep differences.
Foster humility.
You don’t have to be certain to be sincere. The best companions in the in-between spaces are the ones who have the courage to say, “This is where I am right now, but I’m willing to be informed otherwise!” That is a perspective that can hold a lot of weight.
Sink into grace.
Anchor to grace like your life depends on it, because in lots of ways it does. Grace for others and grace for yourself. Allow grace for the mess, grace for the struggle, grace for the not-yet-resolved. What is grace? It’s allowing God to actively work in our lives to accomplish what we cannot accomplish on our own.1
Stretch, don’t tear.
Like a stiff muscle, stretching too far, too quickly can cause damage. Tensions that arise within ourselves and with others don’t always need to be resolved straightaway. As we surrender to the slow work of the Spirit, over time, the stretching can grow us into more whole, more human, more Christlike people. Plus, kindness and love are so much more compelling than a great argument.
Remember - you're not alone.
The in-between often feels like exile. But you’re not the only one here. There’s a quiet fellowship of the in-betweeners, those who are still hovering, still holding, still hoping.
Peace and JOY!!
-Phil
This is definitely a Dallas Willard-ism, but I don’t know exactly where I heard him say it. He said great things like this all the time.
Perhaps the Lord does not want you to hover, He does not want you to be aimless, to ebb and flow where every direction leads you. Perhaps this is the moment He calls you to linger more, to stay more, to rest more. Not to linger to the circumstance, but to stay in His Presence. Perhaps as you continue to rest, you unravel Him in the process.
Like what we have talked few days ago, maybe the wilderness is not a call for desperation, but an invitation of surrender. Perhaps He too calls you to this.
It seems the in-between has become my permanent residence. It is fatiguing and lonely. I’d love to plant a flag and be done with it, I envy others that can and do (like I once could) but here I am. Your post is heartening (but I still wish I could plant a flag!)