In recent years you may have noticed an internet trend. Users post images of empty or transient spots like passageways and office lobbies. But there’s more to these “liminal space” images. They tell a story of longing, nostalgia, unease, or loneliness without any people. Sometimes they show an everyday space like a hallway; other times they verge on eerie and creepy, such as an abandoned mall food court with the sunset’s rays peeking in through the windows.

I’ll admit. At first these images weirded me out. Yet I’ve found myself drawn to them over time. I wouldn’t say I love them now, but I sense they represent something deeper. As an introvert in a long season of waiting and searching, the images resonate with me. They capture a feeling and an entire season of my life translated into a physical environment. While overspiritualizing is a danger, I believe we can analyze these “liminal spaces” images to see what spiritual truths we can glean. We can do this and still (sort of) enjoy the original effect.

Waiting for the Next

As Christians, we’re in a liminal space—somewhere between our old BC lives and our new lives in heaven. We’re waiting not just for the full display of Christ’s glory but for our own glorified bodies. In looking at liminal spaces, we become keenly aware of our need for more. We’re hanging out in the hallway, looking at the staircase ahead of us. We know we’ll get to climb them one day, but we’re stuck here for now. We sneak in glances atop the stairs and think we can discern objects up there. Yet we really have little idea what awaits.

Our faith also teaches us to wait for the next coming of Jesus. In the second-to-last verse in the Bible, Jesus says he’s coming soon. Then the author John responds, “Amen. Come, Lord Jesus!” (Rev. 22:20b). In context, John is longing for Jesus to come soon—within the hour if possible. The church has been in a posture of waiting over the entire church age. Sometimes we think he’s sure to come soon based on current events. But so did past generations of the church. And they waited. So we must wait also. In fact, the church age—coming up on its 2000th year (since Jesus’ death on the cross)—has been about thriving in the liminal. Faith and trust make a long wait bearable.

Faith and trust make a long wait bearable.

You, me, and all the rest of the church are also waiting for our own events. Whether it’s the salvation of a wayward child, the opening of a door to serve overseas, or the provision of a spouse after years of singleness, we wait for things less certain than the second coming of Christ but no less beneficial—or so we think. Liminal spaces are a reminder that people have always had to embrace the waiting. Almost no one wants to wait in these spaces since they’re uncomfortable. How many recliners do you find in an airport hallway?

Psalm 27:14 asks us to wait. “Wait for Yahweh,” David says. “Be strong, and let your heart take courage.” Let’s wait for the next…next provision? next chance? next age in God’s sovereign plan of history?…with the faith of Abraham. If anyone could say he was in a liminal space, it would be the patriarch who waited decades for God to send a promised son.

Views of the Past

Waiting somewhere gives us plenty of time to imagine the future—or look back to the past. Maybe we think our actions led us to the waiting, or we wonder how the waiting found us so easily. In any event, the past becomes more easily accessible to us in liminal spaces as the present seems to freeze.

Some of these lookbacks represent shame, regrets, and missed opportunities. Imagine a once-intricate staircase at a new train station, but the years have passed and only graffiti and the night fog cling onto the rusting metal beams. And so we carry with us the pain of regrets from before we were saved—or maybe after. As Christians we can’t wish regrets away. And while it’s true that Christ has paid the sinful penalty for these before-and-after regrets and that he invites us to cast our broken thoughts upon him (1 Peter 5:7), the consequences and the memory traces remain—oftentimes more than we’d like. The liminal spaces exercise isn’t about celebrating the brokenness but about remembering it exists, calling it out of the shadows, and then letting Jesus handle it.

Liminal spaces can also yield more joyful recollections. Those past victories and those high-tide moments in our lives shine brilliantly against the absurd, drab surroundings of wait in which we’re stuck. Or could it be that we’d like to celebrate it more? We’d like to be more joyful about our past mini-salvations. Alas, the years of waiting have worn us out like a shirt washed too many times. But God has surely delivered us all somewhere, someway, somewhen. Let the images remind you of your past highlights. (In the meantime, your lowlights are busy in Christ’s anxiety program.)

Longing for Significance

If liminal spaces prod us into waiting, they also usher us into longing for a depth of experience and purpose—a dignified weight of meaning under-girding it all. Sometimes we feel an emptiness with the hope of possibility just around the corner. Seeing a dark, foggy corridor makes us want the space to mean something. We’ve secretly longed all along; yet the liminal spaces accentuate this. What will come from all this longing?

Liminal spaces help us realize that longing is very biblical. If the liminal space theme could fit anywhere best in the Bible, I’d argue for Psalms—especially the laments. Check out Psalm 107:9. “For he satisfies the longing soul. He fills the hungry soul with good.” Or in this one the writer whose soul is anxious asks, “But you, Yahweh—how long?” (Psalm 6:3b). God feels distant and removed. Circumstances are murky. His story of salvation-to-glory has an unclear middle. We don’t get it. Or consider in Luke 18 those “who are crying out to [God] day and night” for justice (v7a). One more. Peter asks us to “long for the pure milk of the Word, that with it you may grow” (1 Peter 2:2b). These are longings for purpose, deliverance, and justice. These are supposed to be attainable in this life.

We don’t have to wait until glory for everything, including significance. Liminal spaces show that many situations and relationships contain a degree—or five—of absurdity or strangeness that defy human explanation. The brokenness of the Fall continues to show itself in our surroundings every day. Whether we fully obtain the significance for which we long in this life, the longing is still good and necessary. In fact, without the longing we can’t thrive as believers.

Avoiding Abandonment

Liminal spaces are lonely little spots, where people haven’t likely visited recently. Or maybe solo explorers venture to them. But it’s clear someone’s missing from these abandoned hallways and pools. More accurately, someones are missing.

We all want to see the spaces we occupy filled with relationship, context, and belonging. Liminal spaces aren’t meant for long-term belonging. Who wants to stay in a hallway forever? We want to make it through the doorway into the next spot where our friends and family will eagerly greet us like a surprise party. A few frames in our life movie may be solo but the majority of the scenes simply can’t be.

If we aren’t careful, we can let our hearts and routines become long-term liminal spaces—quiet, isolated pockets where context and community are absent. The modern age represents endless offshoots of potential connection: a whole list of contacts to text, call, or DM. Yet sometimes precious few of those connections take real root. More of us have loneliness closets than we may realize—today a closet, tomorrow the whole house. Liminal spaces visually represent what some people feel viscerally. Staying there too long allows weeds to spring up out of the concrete.

Let’s permit liminal spaces to remind us of the occasional value in alone time but also of the long-term need to dwell in humming spaces. God intends for us to avoid abandonment rhythms. He’s wired the need for connection. The sometimes-absurd stillness and isolation captured in a freeze-frame liminal space should lead us toward others. And these spaces are either journeyed-to or made-from. In other words, you may have to leave the space you currently occupy. Or you might invite the people to your space.

Conclusion

Looking at liminal spaces permits side-glances into spiritual truths. As we’ve seen, they bring to life the waiting we feel, nudge us to look back, instill in us profound longings, and encourage us to find others. These are all avenues to lead us closer to Christ. I can’t say if God intends for you to stay in a liminal space you feel stuck in or if he’s going to bring you into one soon. If he allows you to live a long Christian life, chances are good you’ll find yourself in or near one. I say that not to depress you but to prepare you for the potential insights that residing in such a space, even temporarily, can offer you. The next time you stumble across one of these images, let it remind you of even better things.