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| Rene Magritte – The Improvement, 1962 |
A Thought for the Day given at a lunchtime service of Holy Communion at St Giles-in-the-Fields on Wednesday 6th August 2025 - The Feast of the Transfiguration based on the text of Luke 9.28-36
The Dutch philosopher Cornelis Verhoeven wrote that the threshold—or doorway—is a boundary that becomes a space. A space in which we experience change. He explains that the word sublime comes from the Latin for "high" or "exalted," combined with limen, meaning "threshold."
Verhoeven suggests that even in something as seemingly ordinary as walking through a doorway, we are offered a glimpse of the sublime: a crossing from one domain to another. It is an experience that changes us. This change is felt by the body, yet often overlooked by the mind—an act of movement that carries a hidden sense of reverence. When we pass through a doorway, Verhoeven suggests we are participating in an act of exaltation.
His insight reminds us that we believe in a God who is both immanent and transcendent—present within creation yet beyond it. At the Transfiguration, Peter, James, and John become witnesses to this mystery. In that moment, the threshold between heaven and earth opens and they glimpse the reality that lies beyond: the radiant glory of Christ, revealed not in metaphor or symbol, but in dazzling presence. It left them speechless—“they told no one any of the things they had seen.”
These same three disciples will soon stand with Jesus in Gethsemane. There, amid fear and sorrow, they will begin to see that God is present not only in glory but in suffering. In that knowledge we take heart as we contemplate the ultimate threshold or boundary. Though we are dust and to dust we shall return, in Jesus we are shown the promise of new life—a transfigured world, not lit by sun or stars, but by the light of Christ himself. A doorway stands open for us into the endless life and love of God.
Rowan Williams puts it beautifully: “If we have seen his glory on the mountain, we know at least, whatever our terrors, that death cannot decide the boundaries of God’s life. With him the door is always open and no one can shut it.”
This threshold—the sublime and exalted space Verhoeven describes—is not some distant place. It is here, now, open to all who turn to Christ. A boundary becomes a space. A door becomes a way. And we are invited to cross.
Image : Rene Magritte – The Improvement, 1962
This is quietly stunning, Phillip. A beautiful interweaving of Verhoeven’s insight, Magritte’s imagery, and the Transfiguration’s mystery. I found myself lingering especially on “a boundary becomes a space” – what a gentle, profound truth. Thank you for opening a doorway, quite literally.
ReplyDeleteYour post sparked an idea in me, which I would like to share. I have called it “A Dialogue at the Doorway: An imagined conversation with C.S. Lewis, John Lennox, and Ronald Dworkin in response to “Doorway to the Sublime” by Phillip Dawson”.
Written in honour of a homily by the Revd Phillip Dawson for the Feast of the Transfiguration, St Giles-in-the-Fields, 6 August 2025
By James Richard Roberts
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Introduction
Phillip Dawson’s recent reflection “Doorway to the Sublime”, preached at a midweek Eucharist and posted to his blog, quietly opened something for me. His use of Cornelis Verhoeven’s philosophy – that a threshold is not just a boundary but a space of transformation – struck a deep chord.
As I lingered with the image of the Transfiguration as a liminal doorway between the earthly and the eternal, I found myself wondering how a few of the thinkers I most admire might respond. What would C.S. Lewis say about a glory glimpsed through a threshold? What would John Lennox affirm about the historical and theological weight of such a moment? And what might Ronald Dworkin – a religious atheist who still spoke of objective value and the sacred – make of it all?
This fictional piece is the result: an imagined roundtable in a quiet pew, just after the candles have burned low.
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Author’s Note
This is a fictional and imaginative meditation. The voices of Lewis, Lennox, and Dworkin are not quoted directly, and I don’t presume to speak for them – only to think with them, inspired by their writings, their concerns, and their cadences.
It is offered in the same spirit as Phillip’s homily: reverent, curious, and open-hearted – a threshold of conversation.
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ReplyDeleteSetting:
The nave is quiet now. Sunlight filters through high windows. A few candles still flicker beside the altar. Three men remain seated in the second pew from the front – strangers to one another by time (or barely overlapping in the care of Lewis and Lennox), but united by wonder. They've just listened to Phillip Dawson’s homily. They speak quietly, as if still half in prayer.
LEWIS (smiling, gently turning the phrase over):
“A boundary becomes a space. A door becomes a way.”
Yes — that’s it, isn’t it? That’s what we’re all yearning for. Not merely to observe beauty or holiness, but to pass into it. The Transfiguration wasn’t just spectacle — it was invitation. A moment when the door cracked open and the light inside said, Come further up, come further in.
LENNOX (nodding):
I quite agree, Jack. What struck me most was how he described the glory not as an escape, but as something woven into the fabric of our reality. I think that’s what the disciples saw — not a break in nature, but its true fulfilment. The Transfiguration wasn’t magic. It was truth, revealed.
(pauses, then adds):
And as Phillip said, the same three disciples would soon watch Christ suffer. That’s no accident. The threshold of glory leads to the threshold of the cross — and both are open doors.
DWORKIN (thoughtfully):
It’s beautiful language – “a threshold that becomes a space.” I can’t help but read that through a moral lens. The sublime, for me, is not necessarily in the supernatural – but in the sense that some things are always meaningful, always sacred. Beauty, justice, love. They are not inventions of the mind. They are the door.
LEWIS (gently):
But Ronald, where does the door lead? You speak of beauty and meaning – but what if the reason we sense them as real is because they are reflections of something – or someone – greater?
DWORKIN (smiling):
Perhaps. Or perhaps they are simply part of the structure of the universe – eternal, necessary truths. I don’t believe in a personal God, Jack, but I do believe that when someone walks through that door – the threshold Phillip described – they are not merely moving from one place to another. They are being changed. Transfigured, if you will.
LENNOX:
And I would say: they are stepping toward the One who made the door. The glory on the mountain wasn’t abstract. It had a name. A voice said, “This is my Son.”
DWORKIN:
And I heard that voice, too. In Phillip’s words. Not because I believe Christ is divine – but because I believe humanity is. That’s a kind of glory, too.
LEWIS (quietly):
Yes. And yet… if the voice is real, and the door is open, might it be asking more than recognition? Might it be asking for love?
(A long pause.)
They sit in the silence of St Giles. Outside, a London bus rolls past. Inside, the ancient stillness holds.
DWORKIN (softly):
Perhaps love is the greatest threshold of all. The most dangerous. The most sublime.
LENNOX:
And the most costly.
LEWIS (smiling now, eyes lifted):
But also the most eternal.
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ReplyDeletePostscript: A Note of Gratitude
If the Transfiguration truly is a threshold, then perhaps we are all gathered at the edge of something radiant – theologians, philosophers, preachers, and pilgrims alike.
Phillip’s homily was such a moment for me – a quiet glimpse of the sublime. This imagined conversation is simply my way of saying thank you.
This piece is offered in quiet gratitude for Phillip’s writing and witness. It is a tribute not only to a beautiful homily, but to the threshold it opens – one that invites thought, prayer, imagination, and worship to meet.
I hope it brings him joy – and perhaps, surprises him – as a small reminder that his words are reaching far further than he knows.
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James Richard Roberts, 6 August 2025