When I started my second post-college job, I was out of my element. This place was conservative, and my first job was too. But at my first job, most of my coworkers were young, single, and secular. We had an absurd sense of humor and on the rare occasion we were all in one place at the same time, we were probably binge drinking. We were like a live action South Park reboot, just older and with expense accounts. At my second job, my colleagues were mostly married, and mostly older than me. There was a deeply religious undercurrent that’s difficult for me to describe in hindsight. Everyone was nice and welcoming, but despite so many values in common (my first job literally became a client at my second job), it felt like an entirely different universe. But the job that initially made me feel awkward and out of place completely transformed my understanding of Christianity.
I remember one of the partners leading a prayer at the first Christmas party I went to, and being taken a little off guard, but appreciating it in a way that I didn’t really comprehend. I’d receive emails from partners seamlessly threading clients’ challenges to biblical truths. I remember being moved to tears at an all hands meeting when someone shared a pitch that included their personal testimony on adoption, rejection and God. That’s not to say that my second company was overbearing or uptight – people (including myself) still drank way more than they should at company events. But it was a very different culture than anything I was used to.
Growing up in Boston, it was weird to be religious. I can’t think of another friend I had in elementary school, middle school or high school that regularly attended church. When I was young, I was really enthusiastic about being a Christian, but as I got older, and church started to feel like a chore my mom was making me do, something changed. It’s not like I ever stopped believing in God or denied my faith. But the older I got, the less intrigue, excitement and acceptance I found there. The girls my age were mean, the old women were too, and somewhere along the way I went from looking forward to church to looking forward to leaving.
I was raised to believe that the church of Christ was the one true church, and before my second job, I never really questioned it. I only remember attending a different church once in my adolescence because I was sleeping over at a friend’s house. If I’m remembering correctly, I think it was Baptist. They were screaming, dancing and jumping, and I was legitimately frightened. I had never seen anything like it.
Before that job, I’d never met a practicing Catholic in my life. The Catholics I knew went to church on Christmas and Easter. And because of that, it was the least committed kind of Christianity in my mind.
But then I moved to Northern Virginia for my second job, and started working at a company founded by a Catholic, but not the way my high school classmates were. It wasn’t a biannual visit for him. It was at the center of his identity, and visible in every aspect of his life. Nothing about it felt performed or pious. It just seemed like who he was.
For most of my time at this company, I didn’t interact much with him. He was elusive and intimidating without trying to be.
But the longer I worked for him, and in my limited exposure, the more I respected him not just as an entrepreneur or a thinker, but as a person and as a father.
And I think on some level, the idea that “you will know them by their fruits” began to challenge all of my assumptions about Catholicism, and Christianity as a whole.
It’s hard to put it into words. It’s not like he was someone that was constantly referencing scripture or chastising his employees based on his religious convictions. He had 10 kids, but it wasn’t any obvious stereotype that made his faith so palpable.
I looked at this man’s life and I couldn’t make sense of the idea that because he didn’t believe exactly what I believed, that he was “wrong.”
All that he’d achieved and all that he’d maintained – in his personal life, in his business, and otherwise – couldn’t have been a coincidence. It all pointed to someone who had an intimate relationship with the Lord and took it seriously.
And I don’t say that because I think he bartered obedience for blessings, but because the more familiar you become with the dysfunction of this world and how the accumulation of wealth so often distracts us from what actually matters, you can’t help but recognize a serenity that only comes through surrender to our Savior – especially when it defies all expectations.
I don’t think it was a sudden realization, but a seed that was planted in my subconscious and took years to fully bloom.
As that seed took root, I began to notice the same spiritual sincerity in places I never thought to look. The further I got from where I grew up, the more I saw Catholics and Protestants whose love for the Lord seemed undeniable even if I was confused by their service or sacraments.
After that, I started questioning the foundations of my faith, and became consumed with anxiety about who was really right about God.
I wondered if I could spend the rest of my life earnestly seeking Him, just to end up in hell because only Presbyterians had correctly analyzed scripture.
I want to be clear that this is an opinion I’ve formed through months of prayer, studying the Word, and generally deepening my relationship with God. This isn’t a fact, and I’m not pretending it is. If I’m mistaken, I pray that God reveals it to me and corrects me.
But the more time I’ve spent in my Bible, the less convinced I’ve become that God has handpicked one fellowship for heaven, or that “one true church” exists in the way I was taught it did.
Churches of Christ are known for bare bones austerity. Their buildings are plain and minimalist. In high school I remember visiting a cathedral for my art history class, and telling my Catholic friend how jealous I was of their churches. They were so beautiful and overwhelming in all the right ways.
I understand how a Catholic could walk into the church I attended before I moved away from home, and feel like it was uninspired and didn’t adequately honor God in all His greatness. And I understand how someone from my church could walk into a cathedral, and think there was more focus on showmanship than substance.
But as I grow as a Christian, I wonder if we’re completely misjudging one another, and missing the forest for the trees.
Maybe some churches are imposing and ornate in a way that brings us to our knees, demanding awe and reverence, as physical reminders here on earth of the God we serve and all of His wonder. And maybe some churches are simple and unassuming because Jesus’s earliest followers met at houses and hillsides, anchored only in their beliefs with no material sanctuary to call their own, and they’re trying to keep that spirit alive in a world that will never be home.
And maybe neither of them are wrong.
Because when I walk into a grand, centuries-old cathedral, with stained glass windows and design that seems to border on the divine, it’s hard for me to believe that God could be absent. But I think He’s just as present in tiny chapels and strip mall churches with fluorescent lighting and outdated carpets.
I began to wonder if God was less concerned with whether we called ourselves Catholic, Protestant or just plain Christian as long as we were calling out to Him.
It’s important to question ourselves, to question each other, and to measure everything against the Bible. We need vigilance and discernment to protect us.
But I don’t know if our salvation is as fragile as we think it is, or if a difference in interpretation can take it from us.
I don’t think a perfect denomination will ever exist, because a perfect person never will. Try as we might, we will always fall short of His glory. But while we may not arrive at the same theological conclusions, if we pursue the truth in earnest—with humility, obedience, and love—I’m beginning to think that God cares more about the posture of our hearts than our doctrinal precision. And I think we’d all benefit from extending a fraction of the grace we’ve received from God to other Christians doing their best to follow Him, even if we think they’re doing it “wrong.”
what do you think?