My Road to Baptism (Part 1): The First Time I Entered a Catholic Church

People are often surprised when they learn that I am Catholic.

Many assume that I come from a Catholic family.

In fact, I do not.

I was baptised as an adult.

A child who wanted to visit a church

For as long as I can remember, when I thought about God, I imagined the God of Christianity.

I do not know why.

No one in my family took me to church.

I knew very little about Christianity.

I had never read the Bible.

I did not know any formal prayers.

As a child, I simply prayed in my own words.

Looking back, they were probably rather unusual prayers.

But they were sincere.

A church that was not there

The town where I grew up had temples.

It had shrines.

What it did not have was a Catholic church.

The idea of visiting one remained somewhere in the distance.

Something I hoped to do one day.

Walking past the church

Even as an adult, I often thought about visiting a church.

And yet, somehow, I never did.

Perhaps some readers will understand this feeling.

Walking into a church for the first time can feel surprisingly difficult.

More than once, I found myself walking around a church building, gathering courage, and then going home without entering.

At one point, I even lived in an apartment building directly behind the church that I now attend.

The church was only a few minutes away.

Still, I kept telling myself:

“Someday.”

Perhaps the time had come

Years passed.

Then life became more complicated.

I experienced both sadness and loss.

And gradually, a thought began to grow.

If I kept saying someday, perhaps that day would never come.

I was no longer young.

And I felt that I needed something steady.

Something that could remain when everything else seemed uncertain.

Perhaps what I was searching for was faith.

The convent shop across the street

When I finally decided to visit the church, something unexpected happened.

I did not enter the church.

Instead, I walked into a small shop run by a religious order across the street.

The church still felt intimidating.

I was not even entirely sure where the entrance was.

The little shop somehow felt easier.

Inside, a sister was quietly looking after the shop.

Soft sacred music was playing.

The atmosphere was peaceful and welcoming.

I explained that I was not Catholic, but wanted to learn more about the faith.

She showed me several books and spoke with great kindness.

“Perhaps God is calling you”

As we talked, I admitted something.

For years, I had wanted to visit a church.

And yet I never managed to do it.

Even that day, I had failed to walk through the church door.

The sister smiled and said:

“Perhaps God is calling you.”

She told me that everything has its proper time.

And perhaps, she said, this was mine.

My first Mass

Then she asked a question.

“Would you like to come to Mass with me on Sunday?”

And so, my first visit to a Catholic church happened in a way I had never expected.

I did not go alone.

A sister went with me.

Before I left, she also asked another question.

“If you are serious about studying the faith, would you like me to speak to a priest for you?”

I said yes.

Looking back

What I remember most from that day is not the books.

Nor the conversation.

It is the kindness.

I had walked into that little shop as a complete stranger.

Yet I was welcomed with such warmth that I left feeling lighter than when I arrived.

And although I did not know it then,

that quiet afternoon would become the beginning of a much longer journey.