Twilight is a powerful time—liminal space between light and dark. We can’t see clearly as twilight envelops us. Familiar landscapes become unrecognizable. If we step out, it is into the unknown.

Our modern world does not like twilight. Just look at those photos of the earth at night and, wherever there are people, you’ll see earth lit up brighter than a Broadway marquee. We don’t like the unknown. We don’t like what we can’t clearly see.

Yet it is only in the unknown that the new can be birthed. As I continue to reflect on the CAC’s recent Conspire 2018 conference, I’m using Barbara Brown Taylor’s reflections on twilight as my launch point. Barbara is an Episcopal preacher and writer whose works I sometimes envy—if I’m honest—but she also inspires me to keep writing my own reflections, as I do here on this blog, week after week.

You see, every time I sit down at my computer, I am faced with the unknown. The blank screen is unknown territory. What I will write is often unknown to me until I venture into that twilight land. There, in being present and paying attention, new insights and wisdom reveal themselves to, in, and through me. It’s an awesome process that I attribute to my dance with the work of the Holy Spirit—and it’s one that often feels out of my control.

Take this post, for example. When I sat down to reflect on twilight, I thought I would focus on the theme of the conference, which was the path of descent being the path of transformation. But instead of descent, I’ve wandered into “unknown territory” instead. They’re related, but not identical.

Twilight is a transition time. Barbara said that the challenge of discerning what we see makes it a dangerous time. She spoke of feeling the thinness of the thread that holds us to something. She also aske