Living the Questions
Text: Exodus 17:1-7
I’d like to begin with a quote from Rainer Maria Rilke, a Bohemian-Austrian poet and novelist:
Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books that are now written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.
What does it mean to live questions instead of seeking answers? How can we be patient toward all that is unsolved in our hearts? How can we let the questions guide our lives?
At each stage of my life, I have encountered various questions, particularly during crucial moments, in times of crisis, despair, or loss: What is the meaning of life? How can I help others find meaning in their lives? What is the Spirit calling me to do? How can I be myself without fear of judgment? How can I keep the spark alive while following my calling? Each of these questions gave me something to wrestle with and reflect on. Gradually, I let the questions lead me and they provided me with insights into how to live my life. I came to understand that they were not meant to be answered. Instead, like a mountain guide, my questions helped me find the right path. Sometimes they got my attention with a loud voice when I needed to turn my life around. Other times, they whispered words of encouragement in my ears, cheering me on. I’ve learned that having questions is like a trustworthy companion; though I tend to forget to appreciate them, I know they will be alongside me as I journey to where I need to be.
The COVID-19 pandemic has brought up many questions in our lives and our communities that we haven’t really asked before: How can I interact with others meaningfully in an uncertain world? How do I show kindness to strangers and look out for others when I don’t know who’s been infected with COVID-19? How do we care for the vulnerable without physical interaction? How can I live my life in a way that follows all the health guidelines? How long can I endure this new normal and the sense of isolation that comes with it? What does it mean to be the church when we can’t gather in person? How can we be a community church when no one else can use the building? How can I continue to make a difference in the community even when it’s locked down? What can I do today to bless the world and make it a safer, more peaceful place?
Those questions don’t require answers of us. They are meant to be our guides as we continue to navigate these uncharted waters. Learning to live with questions is how we live in between times, also called liminal times. The word “liminal” comes from the Latin word “limen”, meaning threshold – any point or place of entering or beginning. It is a place of transition, a season of waiting and not knowing. It’s not a comfortable place to be in; we may experience disorientation, confusion, and an unsettled feeling. In these places, we may feel like we are going through a long tunnel without light that we aren’t sure will have an end. If we learn to wait in the tension and discomfort, the liminal space can change us – it is where all transformation takes place. As Richard Rohr writes:
We have to allow ourselves to be drawn out of “business as usual” and remain patiently on the “threshold” ... where we are betwixt and between the familiar and the completely unknown. There alone is our old world left behind, while we are not yet sure of the new existence. That’s a good space where genuine newness can begin. Get there often and stay as long as you can by whatever means possible. ... This is the sacred space where the old world is able to fall apart, and a bigger world is revealed. If we don’t encounter liminal space in our lives, we start idealizing normalcy.
The challenge is to recognize liminal space in our lives as a gift. It was certainly a challenge for the people of Israel to go through a liminal season, their forty years in the wilderness. After the dramatic escape from the Egyptians, the people of Israel entered a constant struggle to resist returning to liminal spaces. Whenever they faced a new challenge, they wanted to go back to their old ways of living. They preferred certainty in captivity to the uncertainty a free life entailed. The people cried out for food and water, complaining to Moses: “Why did you bring us here to die of hunger and thirst?” Their physical selves weren’t the only things at risk, their belief system was as well. This was made clear when the people asked: “Is God among us or not?” Moses also cried out to God: “What shall I do with this people?” We can also imagine unspoken questions: “Why me?” “Didn’t I tell you that I wasn’t qualified for this mission impossible?” What stands out to me is that God didn’t seem to care much about their act of questioning, but simply heard and acknowledged them. God invited Moses to commemorate those places of doubt and question as liminal space, a place of possibility.
The truth is that we have all been in a liminal space, a place between “what was” and “what is yet to be known”. From the time we were born to the time our journey on Earth ends, our life is all about crossing over from the place of the familiar and known to the place of unfamiliar and unknown. It is human nature to resist the liminal space because it always begins with an ending and the experience of loss; we resist loss.
What’s interesting about a liminal space is that we stand on both sides of a threshold – one foot in something that is not yet over, and the other foot in something not yet defined. We are invited to stay in that in-between place until we experience something entirely new. By learning to live questions, we can let go of old ways and embrace new ways. What matters is one’s perspective, as illustrated in one of my favourite quotes: “What the caterpillar thinks is the end of the world...the butterfly knows is only the beginning.”