Going Out and Coming In

I recently saw a rerun of A Nun's Story, in which Audrey Hepburn plays Sister Luke, an accomplished nurse who serves in the hospital of her Order in the pre-World War I Congo. There she develops not only medical, but listening and caring skills that endear her to her patients. As war approaches in Europe, she returns to the mother house in Belgium and continues nursing. There she experiences growing conflict with her Mother Superior, primarily because she habitually skips Vespers because she is ministering to patients. In the final confrontation, Mother Superior reminds her, “You are a nun first, and a nurse second.” The implicit response to this statement is, “why should there be a difference?” and is really the theme of the movie. She leaves the Order to go back to the Congo.

There is no question that a Christian who serves God in the world will burn out if he does not operate from a center. Jesus withdrew from the crowds to pray. I read somewhere that Mother Teresa found it necessary to have the Eucharist served to her daily. But the time of separation and the time of service--what the Old Testament calls "going out and coming in"--is the devout rhythm of the Christian life, not an inner struggle between two priorities. Each grows out of the other.

The church as I have known her errs in the direction of the convent. During one of my pastorates I became involved with the local rescue mission. That meant that occasionally some unkempt folks showed up at our services. One of our parishioners allegedly asked another, “What bridge did he find them under?” He was concerned that everything be neat and clean and in its proper place. He had become a nun first. But lest I condemn him unjustly, I have to ask how much I, as his pastor, helped contribute to his attitude. I like neat and clean and orderly, and was never fully comfortable with those folks on the back row.

When I was sixty years old I left the institutional ministry, and discovered an alarming thing. I no longer had a title that allowed me to talk about God publicly because I was a “preacher.” I was suddenly just a naked Christian-in-the-world. It was depressing to find out, once titles and collars were gone, how little of the faith there was in me. I pouted for several years at what I perceived as a loss, and the stripping away of a veil. I had become a nun first, and God put me into a crucible.

I have gradually learned (very, very late) some basic truths out of this experience: 1) God is more concerned with a man’s character than his ministry. 2) Often, God sows older people into the world. 3) God loves the world. 4) John 15:5 is true. His life flowing through us brings permanent change. 5) That life is not some kind of cold power; it is the gift of the heart of God who is in love with the world. From God it reaches down. When it passes through us, it reach up to our fellows. 6) There is no difference between a man in Christ, the place where God places him, his everyday contact with other human beings, and a man’s ministry. Christ in man, and man in Christ, is ministry. The nun is a nurse, and the nurse is a nun.