I attended church again today, and while a lot has been happening in my life lately, I found myself on autopilot. I had actually committed to visiting another church with friends—a United Methodist church—but completely forgot. My curiosity about other churches has grown because they seem so different from what I experienced growing up. The differences in beliefs and practices can be overwhelming at times. For instance, at my church and others I’ve visited, communion is taken more frequently than the once-a-year Passover tradition I grew up with. Here, anyone who has accepted Jesus as their Savior can partake, and grape juice is used instead of wine. Growing up, communion was much more restricted—only a select few, even among the elders, were allowed to participate.

I often feel conflicted when encountering practices that differ from what I was taught, but I’m encouraged by the guidance of the pastor, memories of my relatives in their churches, and what feels like an internal prompting to do what’s right. I’ve heard of some churches using communion as a form of exclusion or discipline, which feels so different from what I understand it to be about. There was no communion today, but I had the chance to speak with the pastor about how prayer requests are handled.

During the service, someone asked for prayers for an upcoming ablation procedure. As the pastor described her ailments leading up to it, I found it difficult to keep it together. I’ve had the same experiences and have gone through many ablations myself. My journey eventually led me to spending two weeks in the ICU and later receiving a pacemaker. While I understand my case is rare and tied to Wolff-Parkinson-White syndrome, hearing her story brought up a lot of traumatic memories. It reminded me how difficult that journey was for me and how significant it is to lean on faith during those times.

Honestly, I often feel out of place in church, almost like a child who doesn’t understand the basics of how things work. Even the kids seem to know the rhythms and traditions better than I do. I’ve also realized that I’m a bit slow and oblivious at times, so it takes me a while to catch on to things that may seem like common sense to most people. That makes it harder for me to fully feel at home in the church setting, as I’m still learning the nuances of how things are done and what’s expected.

While people are friendly and say hello, I sometimes feel like an outsider. I can’t pinpoint why—whether it’s my social awkwardness, the perception that I’m “different,” or possibly my involvement in defending the library against book bans and supporting the LGBTQ+ community. I’m not certain where this church stands on that topic, but I have my suspicions.

Other aspects of my life may also contribute to the distance I feel. I’ve gone through a divorce, which has been brought up in the past when someone asked me about reconciling. Given that, I suspect there’s no chance of any future marriage that the church would accept. If there were anyone close to my age in the congregation, I doubt I would even be considered an option in their eyes. This adds to the feeling of being somewhat out of place. I also sense that people know about my community work, but church often feels separate from that—there doesn’t seem to be much collaboration outside of Sunday services. For me, connecting with people has always come easier through shared acts of service, but I haven’t seen many opportunities for group service projects within the church.

These days, I’ve moved from simply participating in community events to taking an active role in planning them and ensuring they come together successfully. However, church members seem to engage with each other only during service or events directly connected to the church, so that sense of teamwork outside of worship isn’t as present as I’ve experienced in other settings.

The church members are welcoming, and they always greet me kindly, but I don’t feel a deeper connection with anyone. It’s hard to explain—I’m grateful for their friendliness, but beyond those surface-level interactions, there doesn’t seem to be much to build on. I often feel like I’m just existing alongside everyone rather than truly being part of the community.

At times, I feel tension from both ends—people in the community judging me for going to church and people in the church potentially judging me for my community involvement or personal history. But ultimately, I try to focus on helping others and being right with Jesus. That’s what matters most.

One thing that’s been on my mind is the sheer number of churches in our little town. It makes me wonder why so many are needed. There must be some kind of conflict or division between them that keeps people from gathering in the same church. I can’t help but think about how that impacts the sense of unity among believers.

After the service, the pastor’s dad, who’s also my neighbor a few doors down, invited me to take a photo with him in front of the various Christmas trees on the stage. He and his wife, along with their son, have always been incredibly welcoming, and I truly appreciate their kindness.