Living the Questions

And a nightmare about teeth

I only have bad dreams.

Or, at least, I only remember the bad ones. For better or for worse, my brain likes to take advantage of that precious REM sleep to work out all my anxiety. In spite of trying to devote my life to, ahem, paying attention, I have to say that I don’t think too much about my dreams—my feet hit the floor, and I mostly forget about them. (Maybe because my alarm clock is a five-year-old, who pulls me from slumber directly into the land of waffles and hugs.)

In my dreams, I’m forever racing through a crowded airport, dropping things, pausing to get a better handle on my bags, and then dropping them again. I’m always finding myself utterly unprepared to teach the class or take the exam. And most commonly, I dream that I need to run, but try as I might, I just can’t move.

These are all familiar scenarios to me. But a few nights ago I had a dream that I couldn’t leave on my pillow. There’s nothing more boring than hearing about someone else’s dream, so I’ll make the synopsis brief:

I was at a dentist’s office for a routine checkup. He took a cursory look in my mouth and told me I was going to need an aggressive and pricey all-day surgery.

“Wait!” I said, “What’s actually wrong with my teeth? Why are you recommending such an aggressive treatment? Aren’t there other options?!”

The dentist left the room, and I chased down a succession of others. I asked all of them, with increasing desperation, the same questions. No one spoke a word.

And then security came in to escort me out. For causing a disturbance, they said. For asking too many questions.

And that, I’ve found, is something with which I need to linger.

Rilke famously called us to live the questions, and I do fine with the abstract ones. Easing into my forties has drawn me into a much deeper comfort with uncertainty than I knew in my twenties (or, God help me, my teens.)

But I also have lots of questions that demand concrete answers, mostly from the institutions that hold power over us. I want to know why the Church isn’t ordaining women. I want to know why we are continually losing Black lives to police brutality. I want to know why we can’t pass common sense gun reform (and, in fact, a mother of a Covenant School child was kicked out of a Tennessee special legislative session last week for, essentially, asking the same thing.)

I’m not naive enough to think I’m the first person to ask these questions, or even that I’m the one who asks them the most loudly and urgently. I have a lot of privilege as a cishet white woman, and that shouldn’t be overlooked.

There is something about being a woman, though, that opens onto the fear of being labeled troublesome, the risk of being dismissed as hysterical, the possibility of being asked to leave. And I think maybe my dream was calling me to be courageous in the face of that fear. All my heroes, prophets and activists, paved this road long before me. They will continue it long after I’m gone.

Part of living the questions, though, I realized, is being willing to be asked them myself. Why do I shop at places that I know don’t pay a fair wage or provide safe working conditions? How am I leveraging my privilege? What am I doing to make exclusionary places and practices more inclusive?

And, if no one else is asking me those questions, I need to ask them of myself. What am I doing to combat our country’s deadly racism? How am I making decisions and taking actions that will lead to a safer, more equitable future for everyone? What is my place in the great work of seeking liberation for all?

“Live the questions now,” Rilke wrote. “Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.”

I sure hope so.

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A Few Hopeful Things

Speaking of women’s ordination, the feast of St. Phoebe is coming up on September 3rd! The fantastic folks at Discerning Deacons have been doing so much work to raise awareness around the restoration of the female diaconate; there are tons of events and opportunities available this coming month and into the future. I was honored to have my prayer included in their St. Phoebe novena, and I’ll be sharing another one at the St. Phoebe Day Celebration here in Seattle, which is being hosted by Discerning Deacons and The Intercommunity Peace and Justice Center on September 19th.

Over on Instagram this week, I built a liturgy out of people’s beautiful responses to the idea that we should try not to limit what we think of as prayer. (It’s Waterloo for me, but I am all-inclusive when it comes to the joy of a good fizz!)

I also want to tell you about this beautiful new book from GIA Publications. It’s thick and rich with prayers, essays, historical information, and hope. You can order your copy here.

If you made it this far, thank you! I’m planning to send out a fresh essay every Friday because who doesn’t need a little pre-weekend fun? I mean, I do. (And extra special thanks to my sweet son, whose baby teeth I am holding in the top photo.)

Living the questions with you,
Cameron