A Story about the Spiritual Journey

by Sharon Garlough Brown

  It works as a metaphor for my life, doesn’t it? Katherine was right. I’ve always been an internal bleeder. I’ve always stuffed everything. And just like my body eventually began to hemorrhage, maybe that’s what my spirit is doing now. The hysterectomy took care of my physical symptoms, clearing out the damaged tissue and organs and leaving an empty void behind. I never made the connection before, but Steve referred to the sabbatical as “radical surgery.” Maybe this is what it’s about. Clearing out the damaged, bleeding tissue within my spirit—years of accumulated toxicity, growing in secret, undetected.

  That’s it, isn’t it? Even though that lectio of the wedding at Cana pushed me over the edge, I need to remember that Jesus didn’t leave the jars empty. I don’t have a clue what he’s going to fill me with. But Katherine promises there’s hope. She pointed out that it was a gift to be able to pour out my anger. She said that anger and resentment have been taking up space in my spirit for a long time. I just didn’t know it was there. In that sense, then, the emptying is preparation for receiving something else. “Freeing up sacred space,” Katherine said. I like that phrase.

  No more secret hemorrhaging. Katherine said that my anger with God is a sign of my intimacy with him, even though it doesn’t feel that way right now. She said that only people who really trust God can vent their anger at him. She’s right. I’ve taught people that. I’m still not ready to talk to God. But maybe there’s hope I won’t be angry forever.

  I’m being honest now in a way I never have been before. Guess that’s part of cleaning out the toxicity. I’ve been so afraid. So afraid of disintegrating. So afraid of looking at my sorrow and being overwhelmed by it. I’ve still got things I shoved away years ago—things I’ve never talked to anyone about. And I’m still not ready to talk about them. Not yet. Maybe never. I don’t know.

  I have so far to go. So much to confront. I’m not going to be naïve about how hard the road will be. But there’s hope. There’s hope in the ashes.

  I’ll stop there. Someone has just entered the courtyard, maybe to walk the labyrinth.

  Oh no. No no no.

  Nate.

  Hannah spent weeks laboring over her inaugural sermon for preaching class. Choosing the John 4 text of the Samaritan woman at the well, she poured herself into the work of exegesis. She studied cultural and historical contexts; she used her budding knowledge of Greek to dig behind English translations; she explored the theological implications of Jesus revealing who he was to an outsider and outcast. Then she wove all the “where, what, when, and why” into the “so what?” of personal application, inviting her listeners to contemplate the meaning of Jesus’ promise to be Living Water in their own lives.

  Though her hands trembled as she stood before her peers, she tried hard to make good use of all the speech tips and training she had received. When she finished, her professor congratulated her for a well-delivered, carefully crafted sermon. Hannah was relieved.

  As she and Nate walked together to the student center for lunch, she asked him for his feedback. “Dr. Jenkins was right,” he said. “You hit all the marks for careful exegesis and good technique. But it wasn’t you, Shep.”

  Hannah was taken aback. “What do you mean, ‘It wasn’t me’? Maybe I was just nervous!”

  “I’m not talking about nerves. We were all nervous. I’m just saying that Dr. Jenkins doesn’t know you like I do. Your message didn’t have any of your heart. You were so worried about getting things correct, you stripped the text of its life. And that’s not you. You’re full of passion and spirit. Your sermon wasn’t.” Hannah was quiet, contemplating her friend’s accurate and perceptive observation. He smiled kindly at her. “I’m not being critical to be mean. You know that. I’m for you, Shep, remember?”

  Hannah let go of her wounded pride. One thing she had learned about Nate Allen: she could always trust him for the truth.

  Nathan had arrived at Katherine’s office for his monthly spiritual direction appointment at 11:30 a.m. Greeting his trusted mentor warmly, he sat down in a chair facing the window. “We keep getting these beautiful autumn days,” he commented, looking out at the brightly colored courtyard.

  Katherine smiled. “Haven’t put the boat away yet, have you?”

  Nathan shook his head and grinned. “You know that’s one of my favorite spiritual disciplines. I’m hoping to get in a good sail with Jake tomorrow.” His eyes fell to a woman sitting on the corner bench of the courtyard, writing in a notebook and repeatedly tucking her hair behind her ears. Normally, he wouldn’t have paid much attention. Perhaps if Charissa hadn’t just mentioned her trip to Lake Haven, he would have ignored the woman entirely. But his spirit quickened in recognition. Though he couldn’t see her face, he knew the gesture.

  Hannah Shepley.

  “I think I see an old friend of mine in the courtyard,” Nathan said. “Is that Hannah Shepley?” Katherine followed his gaze and nodded. “I’m sorry, Katherine. I haven’t seen her since we were in seminary. Would you excuse me long enough to say hello?”

  “Of course! Take your time!”

  Nathan moved briskly down the hallway, praying as he went. What were the chances of their paths converging after all these years? He had spent the past several days debating whether or not he should try to contact her—just to say hello—and now here she was.

  Hannah’s voice from years ago rang in his ears. “A God thing,” she used to say when speaking about God’s providential workings. Nathan didn’t know what purpose the Spirit might have in orchestrating a meeting after all these years, but he wasn’t going to miss the chance to find out.

  Hannah happened to look up just as he entered the courtyard. Their eyes met briefly before she looked down again and resumed writing. She doesn’t recognize me, he thought. Not wanting to startle her, he approached slowly, saying her name tentatively. “Hannah?” She looked up again. “It’s Nate. Nate Allen.”

  She was staring at him with the blank, amnesic stare of dark eyes ringed by dark circles. Her expression was opaque. He couldn’t read her. Then she smiled slightly and rose from the bench. There was a moment’s awkwardness as each one tried to determine how to greet the other. Handshake or embrace? A dance of gestures resulted in a casual one-armed hug.

  “I can’t believe it!” he exclaimed. “What a small world!” He was grateful Charissa had mentioned that she’d met Hannah. If Nathan had seen her anywhere else, he might not have recognized her. Her face was tired, and the fire that had once lit her eyes with life and passion had gone to ashes. He’d seen the signs of pastoral burnout many times over the years and wondered if Hannah’s premature aging was the result of compassion fatigue. Or was there something else?

  “Charissa told me she’d met you.”

  “Small world,” Hannah agreed.

  Nathan wasn’t sure if her reserve was rooted in surprise at seeing him or regret over an old chapter being reopened. Though he kept trying to read her, she was unfathomable. The years had certainly given her ample opportunity for perfecting her mask.

  “I was here to meet Katherine for spiritual direction and happened to glimpse you through the window,” he explained. “After all these years it seems anticlimactic just to say hello. But that’s all I wanted to say.” Hannah didn’t reply immediately, and he began to wish he hadn’t come out to the courtyard.

  “It’s nice to see you,” she finally said.

  He decided to test how open she was to conversation. “Charissa said you’re here on sabbatical.”

  She nodded. “Until June.” He waited, but she said nothing more.

  “You’ve got a generous church.”

  “Very.”

  Nathan cleared his throat. “I told Katherine I just wanted to come out and say hi.” Hannah tucked her hair behind her ears. “Well . . . It’s good to see you,” he said. “Take care, Hannah.”

  “Thanks. You too.”

  This time Nathan was the one who walked away.

  Hannah tried in vain to find
her breath. The encounter had happened so suddenly that it took several minutes for her feelings to catch up with her; by then he was gone.

  She couldn’t stay in the courtyard. Not if he could glimpse her through Katherine’s office window. So she gathered her things, went out to the parking lot, and disintegrated in the privacy of her car.

  Of all the days for him to appear—why today? If only she’d had some warning. If only she had been the one to glimpse him from a distance. Then she could have decided whether or not to approach. But no. She had been cornered and trapped without any time to prepare. Not only did she look terrible, but she hadn’t even been able to speak. She hadn’t trusted herself to voice more than a few syllables.

  What must he be thinking of her?

  He had come to her without any hint of bitterness or resentment. Though he easily could have avoided her by choosing to remain in Katherine’s office, he had deliberately come to the courtyard. Hannah had been given a chance to have a friendly conversation after all these years—a chance to ask questions about his life and to reconnect. Instead, she’d appeared cold, disinterested, and aloof. Here he was—less than fifty yards away from her—and she didn’t know what to do. She was already so raw, so vulnerable.

  But was their meeting in the courtyard purely coincidental? She would have to be a fool to believe that. She certainly didn’t know what purpose God intended, but she would have to be blind to miss the divine fingerprints. Perhaps God was merely giving her an opening for closure, a chance to seal off any old hurts or regrets. What harm could result from a simple conversation?

  She watched and waited. Shortly after twelve-thirty Nathan emerged from the portico and walked to his car. Calling out his name, she hurried to meet him. “Nate, I’m so sorry.” She was struggling to find words even after rehearsing them in the car for almost an hour. “I didn’t mean to be unfriendly. I was just so surprised to see you. Forgive me.”

  “Forgiven,” he answered. “I was the one who had time to prepare. After all these years, I’m sure it was a bit of a shock.” He was waiting for her to speak.

  “I would have recognized you anywhere,” she confessed, studying his face. In fact, he seemed to have grown younger even as he’d grown older. There was a lightness to him she couldn’t quite describe or define, but it was palpable. “You haven’t changed a bit—except for the goatee.”

  He rubbed his fingers along his chin. “It’s required for academia,” he replied, smiling. She could tell he was also searching her face for familiarity. She looked down. “Ministry has been hard on you, Shep,” he observed gently. “I’m so sorry.”

  Shibboleth. She knew him. He had just revealed himself. Truly, he hadn’t changed a bit.

  If he had attempted to be flattering or complimentary, Hannah would have seen right through him. Nathan had never been one to be disingenuous. His honesty was one of the qualities she had most valued when they were friends. Now there was something warm and intimate about his artlessness, as if he were banking on their shared history of trust and openness.

  Shep. He even felt comfortable enough to call her by the old nickname. No one else had ever called her Shep. She had forgotten.

  Her eyes filled with tears.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said again. This time she wasn’t sure if he was simply echoing his compassion or apologizing for speaking the hard truth. She wanted him to know he hadn’t hurt her feelings. It was important for him to know that.

  “You’re right, Nate. My senior pastor saw warning signs I didn’t see. I didn’t want the sabbatical.”

  “No, I didn’t think you’d choose that for yourself,” he said quietly. “Forced rest, huh?”

  “He called it ‘radical surgery.’ The disentangling of my personal and professional identities.”

  “Ouch. Death of the false self. That hurts.”

  Sixteen years melted away in a matter of minutes as Hannah realized how much she’d missed having a friend like him. Ministry had been so lonely, so incredibly lonely. Now she was face to face with someone who had known her as well as anyone ever had.

  He glanced at his watch. “I don’t have to be back on campus until three o’clock. Do you have time for lunch with an old friend?”

  Hannah was conflicted. Part of her wanted to leap at the invitation. The other part was afraid. Nate saw.

  “Don’t worry, Hannah,” he said, smiling kindly. “I’m not interested in reliving the past. You’re safe. There’s nothing that needs to be resolved on my end, okay?” She felt something catch in her throat as she nodded.

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  Oh, how dearly she had missed her friend.

  “So you told Charissa you didn’t think I’d remember you, huh?” Nate asked as they sat in a booth at the Corner Nook. Hannah confessed by nodding. “Trying to manipulate her into not revealing your whereabouts?”

  Hannah laughed. “‘Sir, I see that you are a prophet.’”

  “You always had a scriptural response for everything, didn’t you?” he teased.

  “And you still have a gift for seeing right through people. Charissa told me you have an excellent reputation for analyzing texts, including people’s lives. I always said you’d make a good pastor.” She hesitated, watching for nonverbal indicators that might give her permission to proceed. He was sitting with his hands openly resting on the table, looking relaxed. “What happened, Nate?”

  “Lots,” he replied. “I graduated from seminary and went into the ministry for a few years. But it destroyed my marriage.”

  Hannah flinched. “Oh, Nate—I’m so sorry.” She was. She truly was. She could see the pain on his face, and it pained her.

  “Thanks.” He took a sip of coffee. “Ministry casualties. They warned us about those in seminary, didn’t they? But I had too much pride to believe I’d become a statistic. I threw myself into the work of the church and forgot I was also called to be a husband and a father. By the time I woke up, it was too late. Laura had fallen in love with someone who actually paid attention to her, and she left.” Hannah heard no hint of bitterness in his voice—no edge at all.

  “Charissa told me you have a son.”

  Nate pulled out his phone and showed her some photos. “This is Jake. He’s thirteen. A good, good kid. I don’t deserve him.” The photos showed Jake and Nate on a sailboat. Jake had his father’s penetrating eyes and knowing smile. “Laura walked away from everything and gave me full custody of Jake when we divorced. I knew I couldn’t manage being a single dad and a pastor, so I went back to my passion for literature. And I’ve been teaching at Kingsbury for a few years now.”

  “Jake’s a handsome young man.”

  Nate put his phone away. “Thanks. Like I said, I don’t deserve him.” Leaning forward, he planted his elbows firmly on the table. “And what about you, Shep? Last I knew you were in Chicago.” She was surprised he knew that much and raised her eyebrows. He grinned. “Internet search years ago,” he confessed. “Curiosity.” It had never once occurred to her to track him down. That’s how thoroughly she had closed the door on their past.

  “I’ve been at the same church for fifteen years,” she said. “It’s a wonderful place. I’ve been blessed to be there. But as you so aptly observed earlier, ministry has taken a toll. I’ve been totally devoted to the church in every possible way. You know how that goes . . . ”

  “Hiding behind your busyness, huh?”

  He certainly hadn’t lost his knack for being incisive.

  “Busyness is my socially acceptable addiction,” she replied, swirling ice cubes around and around with her straw. “If we’re busy, we’re important, right?”

  He smiled. “The culture says it’s all about productivity and achievement—even the culture of the church. It’s so easy to wrap our whole identity around ministry—around being useful and thinking we’re indispensable. Toxic, deadly, seductive stuff. I had to confront it in my own spirit. And it can have really deep roots. I’ll tell you—Katherine has
been a wonderful spiritual director for me. I’ve experienced so much healing the past few years.”

  Peace. That was the youthfulness Nate wore. He had been so driven, so agitated, so restless years ago. But he seemed grounded now, centered.

  “You seem at peace, Nate. There’s a stillness to you that you didn’t have before.”

  “Thank you. You have no idea how much that means to me. It’s the fruit of the Spirit’s work.”

  Hannah sighed. “I’m hoping that’s what these nine months will bring me: fruit of the Spirit’s work. I sure need some.”

  “Hard pruning will do that,” he said. “Our task is yielding and resting, saying yes even when God cuts off the parts we’re convinced we can’t live without.” She felt her eyes fill with tears again. This was her old friend Nate across the table, and they were twentysomethings again, sharing all of their emerging insights about life and God and faith. “You okay?” he asked.

  She bit her lip as his hand shifted on the table. For a moment she thought he was reaching toward her in a gesture of comfort. But she was wrong.

  “I’m just trying to keep it all together, you know?”

  “I know,” he said, removing his glasses to breathe on them. Then he rubbed them slowly and methodically on his sweater. “Believe me, I know.”

  The next hour flew by. As Nate shared anecdotally about campus life, Hannah studied him carefully, eager to mentally photograph his gestures and facial expressions. She wanted to remember the way his eyes lit up every time he talked about his students—the way he clasped his hands together earnestly every time he mentioned how grateful he was to be teaching at a Christian university.