A Practical Guide to Faithful Curiosity (Part 2)
This is Part 2 of our series on faithful questioning. If you missed Part 1, you can read “The Courage to Stay Curious” here.
The Questions That Keep Me Up at Night
Last week we talked about why questions are sacred rather than dangerous. But this week, I’m wrestling with questions that feel more urgent, more personal, more impossible to ignore.
My husband is a green card holder. We have a daughter. And every morning when I check the news, I wonder what role I’m supposed to play in this moment we’re living through.
The images from Los Angeles are haunting. ICE raids in immigrant communities. Federal troops deployed against protesters. Churches wondering if they’re still safe spaces for the people they serve. And all around me, I see people wrestling with the same question I am: What is my role in this?
It’s different this time. In the past, my social media would have been flooded with “thoughts and prayers” posts – people expressing concern but not really knowing what else to do. This time, I’m seeing something else. I’m seeing people who are horrified by what’s happening but genuinely asking where they fit into the bigger picture. People saying “I need to do something, but I don’t know what.”
That question – “What is mine to do?” – that’s exactly where sacred questioning leads us.
What if this moment is asking something more of us than our prayers and our discomfort?
I’ve been thinking a lot about Martin Luther King Jr.’s words from Birmingham Jail. He wrote about white moderates who were more devoted to order than justice, who preferred “negative peace” – the absence of tension – over “positive peace” – the presence of justice.
A close friend asked me recently if I was a white moderate. The question hit me like a punch to the gut. I wanted to say no immediately, to defend myself, to list all the ways I care about justice. But instead, I sat with it. I let it make me uncomfortable. Because that discomfort? That’s exactly what sacred questioning feels like.
The question landed so hard because I’d been analyzing my own writing, and I realized something uncomfortable about myself: I call out injustice as wrong, but then I stop there. I’ve been an encourager, standing behind others saying “yes, fight!” but I haven’t actually jumped into the fight and stood beside them. I say these issues affect me too, but I don’t fight like they affect me.
Wrestling with her question helped me understand that I’m not a white moderate in the sense that King meant – I don’t prefer order over justice, I don’t want people to wait for a “more convenient season.” I believe deeply in people’s right to protest, and I want justice, not just peace.
But where am I in that fight for justice? That’s the question keeping me up at night.
These are the questions that sacred curiosity leads us to. Not just “Is God good?” but “How do I live out God’s goodness in a world that’s broken?” Not just “What do I believe?” but “How do my beliefs change how I show up?”
When Faith Questions Become Justice Questions
Here’s what I’m learning: the same courage that helps us ask hard questions about our faith is the courage we need to ask hard questions about our role in the world.
Remember that framework from last week – the difference between cynical questions and sacred questions? It applies here too.
Cynical questions about justice sound like: “What’s the point? Nothing I do will matter anyway.” or “Why should I get involved when other people created this mess?”
Sacred questions about justice sound like: “What is mine to do in this moment?” or “How can I use whatever privilege and platform I have to love my neighbors well?”
The difference isn’t in the complexity of the question. It’s in whether we’re asking from a place of resignation or from a place of hope.
I’m asking these questions because I believe that my faith means something. That it should shape how I respond when I see suffering, when I witness injustice, when systems cause harm to real people with real families.
But I’m also asking because I don’t have it figured out. Because I’m learning as I go. Because faithful questioning doesn’t give us easy answers – it gives us better questions to live into.
The Questions My Daughter Will Ask
There’s something about being a parent that makes everything more urgent. I know that someday my daughter will ask me what I did during this time in our country’s history. What I did when families were being separated. What I did when people were afraid to take their children to school because of immigration raids.
She’ll ask not because she wants to judge me, but because she’ll be trying to figure out her own role in whatever crisis she’s facing.
And I want to be able to tell her that I didn’t just pray about it. That I didn’t just feel bad about it. That I asked the hard questions about what my faith required of me, and then I acted on what I discovered.
I want to tell her that I was scared sometimes, that I didn’t always know if I was doing the right thing, but that I kept asking: “What does love look like in action?”
This isn’t about having all the answers. It’s about being willing to let our questions lead us into deeper faithfulness.
Sacred Questioning for Justice
So how do we question our way into action? How do we move from feeling overwhelmed by the world’s problems to finding our particular place in God’s work of healing?
I’m still figuring this out myself, but here’s what I’m learning about how to approach the gap between what we believe and how we live.
(If you’re wrestling with this same gap between belief and action, the “Beyond Comfort” workbook offers practical tools for moving from comfortable faith to courageous engagement. It’s designed for people ready to let their faith stretch them into new places.)
Start with your story. What part of your own experience connects you to this issue? For me, it’s deeply personal – having a husband I’m navigating the immigration system with, understanding how vulnerable that process makes families. Your connection might be different. Maybe it’s your own family’s immigration story, or your work with people experiencing homelessness, or your children’s questions about why some kids at school look hungry.
Ask: What breaks my heart? This isn’t about guilt or shame. It’s about paying attention to where your compassion is already activated. Where do you feel that tug in your chest when you read the news? What stories make you want to do something, anything, to help?
Get curious about proximity. Who in your actual life is affected by this issue? Not theoretically, but really. Are there families in your child’s school who are scared right now? Are there people in your congregation who are wondering if they’re safe? Sacred questioning always moves us from abstract concern to relationship.
Ask: What do I have? This isn’t just about money, though that might be part of it. What platform do you have? What skills? What relationships? What time? What knowledge? Sacred questioning assumes that you have something to offer, even if you can’t see it yet.
Wonder about small steps. What’s one thing you could do this week? Not “How do I solve immigration policy?” but “How do I show up and speak up for those being targeted?” Not “How do I end systemic racism?” but “Are there ways that I contribute to racism and if so what steps do I take personally to change?”
The Sacred Questions I’m Living Into
I’m not writing this from a place of having it all figured out. I’m writing from the middle of my own questioning, my own wrestling with what faithful living looks like. I’m writing it with the fear that action could come with personal costs – that speaking out could somehow affect my husband’s immigration status, that being too visible could put my family’s safety at risk.
Last night someone rang our doorbell late, and my heart jumped into my throat. It was just a neighbor telling us we’d left the garage door open. But my mind went somewhere else entirely. What if it was immigration? Are our papers in order? Where’s his passport, his green card? What do we do if they ask questions? Did we miss something on one of the forms, make a mistake we didn’t catch?
My husband is here legally, but that doesn’t stop me from wondering when he comes home late from work if he was grabbed with others in some sweep. It’s the same panic I felt when my ex-husband was deployed – every doorbell ring, every phone call sending my heart racing, wondering about his safety following prolonged periods of silence.
So when I talk about finding our role in justice work, I’m not speaking from some place of moral clarity. I’m speaking from the messy middle of being scared and convicted at the same time.
Here are the questions I’m sitting with right now:
How do I raise a daughter who understands that her privilege comes with responsibility?
How do I use my platform as a writer to amplify voices that need to be heard?
What does it mean to love my immigrant neighbors well when I have citizenship and they don’t?
Am I just performing concern to feel better about my own privilege?
How do I move from being an encourager on the sidelines to actually stepping into the fight?
What if I care more about protecting my reputation than actually helping people?
How do I stay informed without becoming paralyzed by fear for my own family?
How do I have hard conversations with people who see these issues differently when I’m worried about the consequences?
Some days I feel like I’m making progress. Other days I feel like I’m just figuring out how much I don’t know.
The questions themselves are changing me. They’re making me more aware, more intentional, more willing to step outside my comfort zone.
They’re also connecting me to other people who are asking similar questions. And that’s where the real work happens – not in isolation, but in community.
Finding Your People
One of the hardest parts about moving from comfortable faith to active faith is feeling like you’re doing it alone. Especially if your church or faith community isn’t talking about these issues, or if they’re talking about them in ways that don’t feel authentic to you.
There are people in every community who are asking these same questions. People who love Jesus and also believe that love requires action. People who want to follow Christ’s example of caring for the marginalized, the vulnerable, the overlooked.
Sometimes you find them in existing organizations – nonprofits working on the issues you care about, advocacy groups rooted in faith like the Interfaith Immigration Coalition, churches that integrate worship and justice work.
Sometimes you find them by starting conversations. By asking people in your life: “I’ve been thinking about immigration (or poverty, or racial justice, or climate change). Have you been wrestling with what our faith asks of us here?”
Sometimes you find them by showing up to events, rallies, community meetings. Not because you have all the answers, but because you’re curious about learning more.
Look for people who hold both deep faith and deep concern for justice. People who understand that loving God and loving neighbor aren’t separate commitments.
When Churches Stay Silent
I know this is hard for a lot of people. Maybe your church doesn’t talk about social justice. Maybe when they do, it feels either too political or too surface-level. Maybe you’re in a place where expressing concern about immigration or racial justice or poverty feels risky.
This is where sacred questioning becomes especially important. Instead of “Why doesn’t my church care about these things?” you might ask “How can I faithfully engage with these issues even if my church community isn’t there yet?”
Instead of “Should I leave my church?” you might ask “How can I be a bridge between my faith community and the work of justice?”
Some people are called to be prophets within their existing communities, gently challenging and expanding the conversation. Others are called to find new communities that share their values. Both can be faithful responses.
The important thing is that you don’t let your church’s limitations become your limitations. That you don’t use their silence as an excuse for your own.
Faithful Questioning in Action
So what does this look like practically? How do we move from questioning to action?
Right now silence is deafening and it’s time to speak up.
Donate to organizations providing legal representation. Many immigrants lack legal support – organizations like RAICES, the National Immigration Law Center, and LA-based Immigrant Defenders Law Center provide free or low-cost legal aid.
Volunteer with local groups serving immigrant communities. CHIRLA in Los Angeles, Al Otro Lado, and Freedom for Immigrants need help with translation, letter writing, donation drives, and supporting detainees.
Contact your representatives. Call and write asking them to end indefinite detention, improve oversight of detention centers, and prioritize alternatives to detention. To find a list of your representatives on the federal, state, and local level visit https://www.usa.gov/elected-officials.
Support bail and bond funds. The National Bail Fund Network and Immigrant Families Together help pay bonds for detained individuals who can’t afford bail.
Show up in your community. Attend vigils, join peaceful protests, talk to your neighbors about making your community safer for everyone. Partner with local faith-based groups and advocacy coalitions.
Support affected families directly. Offer groceries, childcare, transportation, or emotional support to families whose loved ones are detained. Connect with local mutual aid networks.
Connect people with know your rights resources so they understand their legal protections.
The actions you take matter. They matter deeply. Sacred questioning isn’t just about having the right heart posture – it’s about letting that questioning lead you into concrete choices that make a difference in real people’s lives.
Living in the Tension
Here’s what I want you to know: you don’t have to have it all figured out to start. You don’t have to be an expert on policy or theology or activism. You don’t have to choose the perfect organization or the perfect way to help.
You just have to be willing to stay curious about what love looks like in action.
This is sacred work, but it’s also messy work. You’ll make mistakes. You’ll learn things that challenge what you thought you knew. You’ll feel overwhelmed sometimes, and angry sometimes, and hopeful sometimes, all in the same day.
That’s okay. That’s actually good. It means you’re awake. It means you’re engaged. It means you’re letting your faith stretch you into new places.
The goal isn’t to become the perfect Christian activist. The goal is to become someone whose faith shapes how they show up in the world, who asks hard questions about what love requires, and who’s willing to act on what they discover.
Ready to move beyond comfortable faith? The “Beyond Comfort” workbook offers practical tools for stepping into the margins where authentic spiritual growth happens. Perfect for individuals or small groups wrestling with questions and seeking deeper faith.
The Questions Continue
Sacred questioning doesn’t end when we start taking action. If anything, it deepens. The more we engage with injustice, the more complex our questions become.
How do we sustain ourselves for the long haul without burning out?
How do we center the voices of people most affected by these issues?
How do we work for systemic change while also caring for individual people?
How do we maintain hope when progress feels slow?
How do we handle conflict and disagreement within movements for justice?
These are the questions that keep us growing, keep us humble, keep us dependent on God’s wisdom and strength.
But they’re also the questions that keep us faithful. Because faithful questioning isn’t just about having the right answers. It’s about being willing to keep asking, keep learning, keep showing up, even when it’s hard.
Especially when it’s hard.
What sacred questions are you living into right now? How is your faith calling you to engage with the world’s pain and God’s work of healing? I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments below.
If this series has been helpful, you might also enjoy Christian Nationalism vs. Jesus and When Healing Doesn’t Come for more thoughts on navigating complex faith terrain.