Since the summer of 2020, I’ve been hopping between different churches, which has led many “concerned evangelicals” to ask, “What are you looking for?”
Initially, I said I was in search of a sacred space. But, truthfully, I realized that sacredness is where the faithful gather, where God’s voice can be heard through prayer.
We had a memorable evening with an elderly couple from the Latter-day Saints who spotted us hitchhiking. They brought us home, eager for us to “show them some literature.”
I’ve become increasingly curious about the beliefs of others. It’s fascinating to see that so many share common ground. Sure, some pastors can be a bit dull, and there’s always chatter about “the other” church in town. Each community seems to have its own unique practices, words, and rituals—yet, many aren’t really engaged beyond that.
“Seek and you will find,” they assure each other in the Mother Church area. Somehow, I stumbled upon my truth without setting out to do so. Why don’t others follow suit? If they really sought, if they loved the truth as much as the scriptures, they’d likely be here.
Not everyone, though. Maybe just a vocal minority.
And here I am—loud, slightly charismatic, and perhaps a bit opinionated, sometimes forgetting to truly look before I decide what I’ve found.
The world is not our home
Now, I’ve pulled my husband into this little game we play, which some might call universalism. But we aren’t really universalists—at least not in the traditional sense. We’re simply curious, alive, and a bit dissatisfied with worldly comforts. This world isn’t our true home, and it definitely isn’t confined to a single building.
If you really search, you can find it. My intentions may not differ much from an atheist who attends for the sake of observation and reflection. I can relate to a woman at the front of a church—the one who signs sermons and songs for the deaf. Even though she isn’t Catholic, she seems to grasp every word of the priest and choir more keenly than most congregants, experiencing a form of spiritual awakening through her work.
I’m discovering community, camaraderie, and profound truths beyond my understanding. My earlier curiosity is giving way to deeper passions filling my heart.
We had planned to attend Mass during our honeymoon but, as hitchhikers depending on the kindness of strangers and public transport, figuring out where to go each day can be tricky. We joked about making a sign that said “Take Us to Church.” Maybe one day.
Instead, we went where we could find a place to belong.
Church for widows
The first stop was an Anglican church in Newfoundland, seemingly run by elderly women—there were about thirty of them scattered throughout the space, while only five men were seated. Not exactly a promising sign.
Still, it felt like a church for widows striving to remain active, putting on community events despite the lack of younger faces. The Spirit was definitely present, offering comfort and strength amidst their loss. They were ready, finding hope for what lies ahead in paradise.
They greeted us with warm smiles and cookies, making us feel less like strangers and more like cherished guests. We sat, observed, and listened, enjoying the gentle camaraderie.
Dinner on the 7th day
After that, we looked for Catholic churches to pray in, though they often felt a bit distant on Sundays. We encountered a significant shrine at the borders of Quebec, Labrador, and Newfoundland, which also honored the local traditions. I found it beautiful how the church integrates each culture to convey truth.
Then we noticed a sign that read “Seventh-day Adventist” in a small French-Canadian town. It was Thursday, and we had already decided to stay for the French Acadian Mass on Sunday.
“Let’s check it out,” I suggested to my husband. “It could be a bit frustrating, but I think it’ll be worth it.”
He agreed, so we made our way there on Saturday morning. The church was new and looked more like a storefront due to its large windows, with only about six people present inside.
“Can you all join me?” I asked. “I’m not a Seventh-day Adventist, but my family observes the Sabbath, so I’ve attended several services.”
As we set our bags down near a stack of unopened copies of *The Great Controversy*, they handed us a booklet of Romans and two pens. The room felt bare, more like a warehouse, save for some lace curtains on the windows.
We spent the next two hours discussing what it means to pray, the greatness of Jesus, and how often we should pray—reflecting on the idea that all Protestant denominations are fundamentally Catholic since they acknowledge the authority of Rome to shift the Sabbath from Saturday to Sunday.
To be honest, the service was a bit lackluster, and I found myself making a lace bookmark to stay engaged. The speaker was personable, though his delivery was all over the place in terms of accuracy. I don’t think he aimed for precision, but rather to keep the atmosphere lively. Since he was one of the few men, everyone’s involvement felt critical to sustaining that spirit.
Instead of cookies, they served us delicious bean and rice dishes, along with fresh homemade hummus.
9 out of 10 points
During dinner, they lamented how other churches didn’t uphold all Ten Commandments.
“Evangelicals want the Ten Commandments in schools but overlook them in church,” one remarked.
“If kids came home and refused to do homework on Saturday, most Christian parents wouldn’t go for that,” another added.
“There’s a church in town that has the Ten Commandments displayed outside,” the pastor mentioned.
I asked him why they seemed unconcerned about the fourth commandment. To my surprise, he promised to think it over and stated he could provide scriptures to confirm how Jesus now expects us to keep all commandments—except that one.
Later that night, the pastor welcomed us into his home. While discussing the Saturday Sabbath and how the Catholic Church has misled many, he eventually admitted, “I’m Catholic and believe the church has the authority to change the Sabbath to distinguish us from the Jewish faith.”
Then he offered, “I think Jesus will save Catholics too, though they may not keep all ten commandments. But they’ll have to face judgment for ignoring the Sabbath.”
Suddenly, we were friends.
Answered prayers
We visited another church in Maine, and the lead-up was enriching. We spent an amazing evening with a kind Latter-day Saint couple who picked us up while hitchhiking. Instead of “The Book of Mormon,” they shared their life story over glasses of orange juice and raisins, reminiscing about their temple wedding in Switzerland. They boasted about their large family, with 14 children, 88 grandchildren, and 17 great-grandchildren.
After a fun card game, they took us to stay with a unique, Quaker-like Christian family who then invited us to their church.
It felt like God was responding to our yearning for the Mass. The small, nondenominational church had an atmosphere reminiscent of early Christian gatherings, blending familiar hymns and songs alongside the Apostles’ Creed and communion served similarly to Catholic practices.
The sermon held us captive, with none of the typical snippets woven in. We almost felt transported back in time if it weren’t for the modern attire.
Shared root
After the service, I asked the pastor about any Catholic influences in his church.
He chuckled, saying, “If we had ex-Catholics, they might object to those traditional aspects.” He believed Protestants had lost something significant by abandoning ritual, and he was gradually trying to incorporate that back in, stating, “It’s also part of our roots.”
I chatted with his wife about my experiences and mentioned the concept of the Living Room Academy, which she hadn’t yet heard of. Afterward, she decided to start a similar initiative for the girls in her church.
What I appreciated most was their sense of openness. Their church didn’t feel like an insular bubble; instead, they were searching for meaning and home, blending tradition with modern faith expressions.
Go home
Finally, we made it to Mass in Fitchburg, Massachusetts. Honestly, it felt like a coming home.
I hadn’t realized how much I had come to cherish attending Catholic services with my husband. While I still wrestle with questions about the Church, the moment you step inside and feel the beauty God envisioned for sacred spaces, it’s comforting—almost like paradise.
Everything else seems so mundane and business-like. Church “music” in other settings may claim to be more vibrant, yet nothing compares to a cathedral choir. Good sermons can be found in Protestant settings, but the amount of scripture read during Mass is remarkable.
Many Protestants might complain if they had to sit through the extensive readings. They typically seek verses to bolster the sermon. In contrast, Mass consists largely of rich scripture readings complemented by brief homilies.
It’s almost become a hobby to continue church hopping, exploring, and reflecting. I wish for my children to have these experiences as well, as they’ve sparked enlightening conversations between my husband and me, bringing us even closer spiritually.
I encourage everyone, regardless of their faith tradition, to explore local churches. Each offers something unique, providing a chance to practice humility and compassion.
