A Move Yet Still Home

Last spring, I moved with my family to Kansas, which is my ninth lifetime state (I also studied abroad and lived in London for four months, so if you count that, I’m in the double digits). Only recently did I begin to appreciate the blessing that being Catholic truly is.

Like most cradle Catholics, I’ve always had God in my life. Growing up, weekly Mass and CCD were omnipresent. As we’ve grown our own family, those same traditions have persisted. Regardless which state or city we moved to, a Catholic parish and the True Presence of Jesus in the Eucharist was always available.

Prior to this move, we lived in Florida, and our parish there was something special. Not only were we close enough to walk or bike ride to Mass, but that parish felt alive in a special way. The list of ministries was lengthy, and there were always events or service projects we could be a part of. I volunteered with faith formation, participated in the moms’ ministry, Walking with Purpose, and Bible study. There were monthly socials after a daily Mass, quarterly family events after the Youth and Family Mass (where kids served as ushers and lectors), and no shortage of friendly conversations in the parking lot. To say we loved this family-friendly parish would be an understatement.

When the news came that we were moving to Kansas for my husband’s new job, my heart sank knowing we had to leave our parish. It really had become a second home for us. I knew we wouldn’t find a parish like that in Kansas. I had lived in seven other states in my life, and that parish is unique.

My husband and I traveled to Kansas for a weekend to get to know the area and do some house hunting, and we visited the local Catholic Church for Sunday Mass. My heart was hardened before I walked into the sanctuary. I simply knew it wouldn’t be as good as our old parish.

I looked around and proceeded to judge everything. The tabernacle wasn’t prominent enough. The crucifix was too small. The choir performed instead of inviting us to participate. The priest was old and unenthusiastic. Everything I saw I disliked, and I wanted to be back in Florida.

Then the homily began. I don’t remember the readings for that Sunday, nor do I remember the beginning of the homily. What I do know is that God spoke directly to me that day through his faithful servant’s words.

He reminded us that we don’t come to Mass every week because of the priest or the social time. We come because Jesus meets us here, body, blood, soul, and divinity in the Eucharist. No matter which church we are in, he comes to us there.

Bam. My hardened heart softened. I was struck, and instantly humbled at my own arrogance and pride. Tears flowed down my face as I really let Jesus into my heart. Jesus reminded me that I’m there for him. Not the priest, not the building, and not the socialization. It doesn’t matter which parish I belong to, because Jesus is there for me, and I come to meet him. That’s all that matters.

I looked back on all the states and all the parishes and finally fully appreciated the gift I have in the Catholic Church. While I do still miss my old friends and the community of the parish in Florida, my heart remains grateful for his presence that I’m able to receive, regardless of where I live.

Maria Riley 2023

Maria Riley

Maria Riley is a passionate Catholic writer and editor who loves volunteering when she’s not writing or mom-ing. She’s the author of a new Catholic children’s chapter book series: Adventures with the Saints (releasing Fall 2022). Visit her at MariaRileyAuthor.com or on social media @mariarileyauthor. She and her family live in Florida.