Curiosity over judgment: how a young seminarian studies humanity

Nick Vance is a well-rounded 25-year-old who enjoys rock climbing and playing guitar. A West St. Paul native and graduate of St. Agnes School in St. Paul, he’s now a seminarian at The St. Paul Seminary School of Divinity, also in St. Paul.

Q) Why do you want to be a priest?

A) Because I believe God asked. Sometimes people ask me, “Are you going to be happy?” That seems to be the wrong question. This wasn’t my idea. It was God who chose me, for some reason. God’s grace allowed me to say yes to this call. I can feel my heart loving it more and more after I learned to trust him. As I’ve learned to grow closer to the Lord, I learned to relax my grip on everything. “Alright, Lord, I just want to be with you.”

Q) What does that feel like?

A) Peace. And a real sense of belonging.

Q) You studied journalism before entering seminary. Does that training still influence you?

A) The greatest posture I learned in journalism was curiosity. There’s a popular quote: “Be curious, not judgmental.” Before we make all these assumptions, have a humble curiosity about the world and the people around you. I learned how to be a good journalist when I realized, “Oh yeah, I’m wrong about all sorts of stuff, all the time.”

Having this attitude of curiosity — that we can suspend that voice for a little bit and say, “I might be wrong about this person or situation” — that’s a game-changer.

Q) It could settle many nasty Facebook feuds.

A) When you see this division, you just have to pause. Before I engage in that debate, rather than going after this person and giving them my 30-second pitch of why I think they’re wrong, it’s asking: “Lord, how do you see this person? How can I love this person?’”

Q) Wow! That’s powerful.

A) Christ’s harshest words were to people who, in the name of religion, were casting all sorts of unjust judgments on people around them, like the hypocrites who wouldn’t sit with the tax collectors and the sinners. He had a gut-level reaction to that attitude. Christ had this basic openness toward people. If I, indeed, am called all the way to priesthood, I’m going to have to read those injunctions Christ has against the hypocrites so closely, and pray to the Lord every single day that I don’t fall into the same attitude that Christ was calling out. It starts in me.

Q) A mentor at the seminary once told you a priest is a student of humanity. I love that.

A) The priest who is conforming his heart to Christ is inexorably drawn to people. All these relationships, all these people who show up at the parish or pass him on the street — they are all loved by Christ, and he’s called to love them with the same heart.

Q) How can you bring your observations on human nature to the pulpit?

A) I spend all day in theology, hearing these words and phrases that get thrown around, and it comes to the point where it’s almost esoteric. To someone who is coming to church, a lot of this stuff might get lost on them — not because they’re not smart, but I wonder if it’s a failure of the preacher to translate this into human experience. Theology is meant to bring to bear upon life. I’ve been so convicted about the need to take these human experiences and use them as examples in order to illustrate the mysteries of God, to translate this from Church-speak into real understanding and an invitation into the mysteries of God.

Q) Spending all day in theology makes exercise even more important!

A) Whether I like it or not, this is the body that the Lord has given to me, with all of its wonderful quirks and strange groupings of freckles. Our job is to reasonably protect and nourish our bodies and put them at the service of the kingdom. For me, as a future priest — God willing — this means taking good care of my health so I can serve long and well for the people of God. Health and fitness can never be ultimate ends in and of themselves, but they certainly can’t be dismissed outright either.

Unfortunately, priests don’t always do this very well, but I want to make sure that I am consistently attentive to my physical and mental health, because my life is not my own. It’s a gift from the Lord meant to be redeemed continually by Christ and poured out for his people.

Q) What do you enjoy about rock climbing?

A) It takes engagement with every single part of you. You have to be strong and have good endurance, but there’s also a mental game. Not only do I have to study what I’m going to do and figure out how to navigate it, but I also have to manage the different fears I might have going into this. When I’m climbing, I have to learn how to take calculated risks and trust my fingers to grip onto this hold while I shift my footing. I have to know when I’m out of my depth, if I’m going to attempt something that’ll make me fall off the wall and end up on the mat. I keep coming up against the edge of my comfort zone. I’m able to discover a depth to myself, a strength I didn’t know before.

Q) What’s your favorite place to hike?

A) Superior Hiking Trail up north. Can’t beat it.

Q) You ran the Twin Cities Marathon — along with your rector, Father Taphorn. Did your training teach you anything about the spiritual life?

A) Primarily, just the value of showing up. I would feel so much resistance within myself just to tie my shoes and give up another Saturday morning to do a long run, but as soon as you get into it and shake it out, you realize, “Oh, yes, I’m supposed to be here. This is fruitful and enjoyable.” The same thing is true for the spiritual life. So much of it is just showing up. Showing up, shaking off whatever is weighing us down and letting the Lord do the work.

Q) What was it like to cross the finish line?

A) I thought it would be like a movie scene, in slow motion. It was not at all as glorious. I spent the last four miles in so much pain. When you round the corner of the Cathedral and run straight downhill to the Capitol, you see this whole crow gathered and hear the cheers and the band. That was the only thing that got me across the finish line. A bunch of the people cheering on the sidelines had racing cards on — they had just run it themselves. They could’ve gone off with their families, but they chose to stick around and cheer on the other runners. It reminded me of the communion of saints, the people who have already fought the fight and won the race, willfully choosing to cheer me on and intercede, to give me encouragement. I hope and pray that that’s what the end of my life looks like.