Nate Wise

Nate at a friend’s wedding in 2020.

What’s your name?

Nate Wise

How do you spend your days? (family, work, hobbies)

Work consumes most of my time. I work from about 7:30am to 5pm, Monday to Friday. I had been in the office since May until I tested positive for COVID in the last month. Other than that I love to cook. Over the course of the year, I put my grill to work making ribs, wings, steaks, and burgers. I also tried to refine a simple margarita recipe over the summer; I feel good about what I came up with. I’ve bought a ton of books, and I’m slowly getting through them, but please don’t ask about my progress. Family has been hard because of my mom’s deteriorating health—I haven’t been able to see my family a lot.

What part of town do you live in?

I live in the Near West End.

How long have you been going to City Church?

Since fall 2016, so just over four years.

How are you attending City Church these days?

In person. I’ll be honest, I hated the live-stream when everything shut down and only tuned in the first few weeks. So, I was thankful to get back into the building and worship, even if I became the resident percussionist.

Nate helping out with percussion for an episode of The Takeaway last fall.

What did you expect from 2020 when it started?

OH MAN. I had so much blind hope for a good year. I felt good about work and the opportunities that were on the horizon. I was excited about all of the weddings, beach trips, and flights that should’ve happened. I also was real proud of the work I had done on my mental and physical health. I’ve joked with friends since college that “It’s our year,” and I honestly thought that it would be a big year for personal growth and for relationships to grow and strengthen.

If you could describe 2020 in three words, what words would you choose?

Mournful, resilient, overwhelming

What did the events of 2020 reveal to you about yourself and about Jesus?

Whew. 2020 revealed that I need to be with people—that community is way more important than I had ever thought of. I mentioned earlier that I was proud of the mental and physical progress I thought I had made, and this past year was like pulling the emergency brake and throwing out a parachute. It reminded me that progress isn’t linear but to be more gracious with myself. The past year also reminded me of the privilege that I have as a middle class, young, white male. There are too many names of black and brown people who have been murdered at the hands of white supremacy and the systems that it upholds. It’s my responsibility in the position of privilege to speak truth to power and hold people accountable for participating in the systems that seek to dehumanize and destroy the lives of people who do not look like me.

I think 2020 has revealed to me a more compassionate Jesus. Growing up, I was led to believe that there’s no room for consistent repentance—that redemption and reconciliation is a one time shot, and if you blow it then you’re cooked and you had to be extra good to get back into the “good graces” of God. They’ve stuck with me longer than I care to admit. This year I have been consistently reminded of how much I am loved, forgiven, and cared for by God than I can put into words. Jesus is more softhearted to me. I’ve also experienced the revelation that Jesus is on the side of true and equitable justice, always. If we are blocking justice with our words, actions, and policy, then we are not in line with what we’ve been called to do by him.

How have the events of 2020 pushed you to reimagine your story? How have they pushed you to reimagine your faith?

The past year has made me realize that I am not an island—that I am dependent on people and people are dependent on me. Not just my immediate circle, but the people I don’t even see at the grocery store. I’m reminded of a blog by Kaitlin Curtice. She writes:

“These days, our dividing lines keep us from understanding that there is a thread of humanity that holds us-it's a sacred thread, and because we belong to each other, we belong to the great conversation, based on care and compassion and justice.”

Because of the realization that we belong to each other, it has forced me to reimagine and reframe my faith as not just words but actions that will seek justice, equality, and care for everyone around me.

What is your biggest hope for 2021?

My biggest hope is that there’s a new normal. That justice is realized for the people who need it the most, that we understand healthcare as not a personal responsibility contingent on employment status but as something that all people deserve. Personally and selfishly, my hope is that my expectations for 2020 were not burned to the ground by the flames of the pandemic but set aside to be that much more sweet when they’re experienced. I’m hopeful that I’m consistently reminded of the promises of God even when I’m completely down on myself.