Scattered throughout the various small towns of Pennsylvania are churches. Drive down any mainstreet, as I periodically do the one in Coudersport, and you will see one for nearly any version of the Christian faith. There is something timeless and sincere about each one – almost daring you to come in and feel the stories of the Pennsylvanians who came from near and far to find a connection to something greater than themselves.
Potter County has always seemed very protestant to me. Maybe it’s because my childhood visits were filled with the hardworking farmers of the Seventh Day Baptists and Free Methodists that dot the branches of my family tree. Maybe it’s because my mother, a protestant minister herself, had her own religious start on a hill that included milking cows and Sunday School classes.
One day, during a visit to my mother’s birthplace, I was driving through the heart of Coudersport when I noticed a Catholic church. I’ve driven past it dozens of times before I’m sure but somehow I’d never noticed it was Catholic. It seemed odd in the middle of deeply protestant “God’s Country” Potter County. But there it was. A brick, 1950’s style Pennsylvania Catholic Church – right on the corner across from the McDonalds!
Mine is a different spiritual path. Far less interested in a single truth found in a single god under the banner of a single religion, I’ve enjoyed experiencing the nature of the creator through many eyes and belief systems. Dogma has never been important to me. But I’ve loved Catholicism since a friend dragged me to her church as a teenager.
So I resolved to visit this unexpected Catholic church.
Which is how I found myself slipping in a side door on Christmas Eve. Rustily standing up and sitting down in the rhythm of nearly two thousand years of slowly changing faith. The church is astonishingly beautiful and I found my brief encounter with the parishioners warm and accepting. I did a double take at a young blond haired, blue-eyed boy who looked just like my brother, his sons, and one nephew did at that age – suggesting that somewhere in this place my family tree has a branch.
Coudersport, I’d learned just a few months ago, used to have an “Italian Town”. The tannery brought settling immigrant families in with their old world craftsmanship to work the leather that came from plentiful deer and cows. I thought about those families as I sat and appreciated the workmanship of the sanctuary. I wondered how they felt in their early days during Potter County’s cold and snowy winters. Was this church a place of warm community in an otherwise alien land?
As mass ended and we exited the church we were each handed a small wrapped package. In it, a book – Rediscover Jesus: An Invitation.
This morning, Christmas morning, I woke up to find the world blanketed in white. Our family celebration won’t start for several hours and I still have time before wresting the turkey into the fryer – my contribution to the family table. So I sat down with the book, not sure what I would find. I was pleasantly surprised.
This is a storyteller’s book and the first chapter ends with the question: When was the last time someone confused you with Jesus?
That is an excellent question.
What If Jesus...? 