I didn’t know what to expect.
My husband Siafa and I walked into Holy Family Catholic Church in Orlando with cautious hearts and curious minds. We were visitors, unsure of what we’d find. But what struck us immediately was the reverence.
Before even taking a seat, people paused. They knelt, first at the entrance, and again before sliding into their pews. It wasn’t showy. It wasn’t performative. It was quiet, intentional, and full of meaning. And for both of us, it was deeply moving.
That kind of reverence, I didn’t realize how much I missed it until I saw it.
And then came something unexpected: a sense of familiarity.
The architecture of Holy Family, its wood finishes, its stained glass, its sacred warmth reminded me of the church I grew up in: Evangel Ministries in Detroit. Despite the differences in tradition, I felt at home. God has a way of doing that, doesn’t He? Reminding us that He’s already been weaving things together long before we realized we were on a journey.
As the Mass began, I was struck by the rhythm of it all. The standing, kneeling, reciting. The flow of Scripture, the weight of silence. Nothing was rushed. Everything had a place. A meaning. A memory. It felt ancient and fresh at the same time.
When it came time for the Eucharist, I didn’t go forward. I watched. But the longing I felt I still remember it. A holy ache to be part of the mystery.
And after it ended, I didn’t want to rush out.
We sat in silence. Letting the moment linger. Because something had shifted in us. That first Mass planted a seed, quietly, reverently.
I had never experienced anything like it.
It felt like Jesus was there. Like He was seated on the throne. And we, just ordinary people, burdened and hopeful, had entered into His courts.
Not with loud music or emotional build-up. But with reverence. With stillness. With worship that had been shaped by centuries of faith.
It wasn’t a performance.
It was Presence.
And I’ve never forgotten it.
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Share it with someone who might need it, too. Whether it’s a quiet encouragement or a new way of seeing things, these reflections are meant to be passed along.
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Martina Griffin is a Catholic convert, writer, wife, and mother of four. She writes about faith, motherhood, beauty, books, and the quiet ache of transformation. A lover of popcorn, deep questions, and old classics, she shares her heart at Big Bowl of Popcorn—one post at a time. Instagram | Facebook | Email Me |


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