A reflection by Dawn, FCJ Companion in Mission
The Space In Between: Finding My Place Between Two Parishes
Each morning, as I sit at my desk, God seems to be everywhere—in the familiar objects around me and, more profoundly, in the movements of the faithful. It is not the crucifix above, the bobblehead of Pope Francis to my right, or the solemn ceramic nun on my left that draws my attention. It is the quiet rhythm of parishioners leaving the sanctuary after receiving the Blessed Sacrament, moving toward the chapel to linger in adoration.
I have often wondered at their urgency. Was the Eucharist not enough? And then I realize it is precisely because it is enough—too much, in fact. Too much grace to be contained in five hurried minutes, too much love to be received casually. Their haste is not impatience; it is response. It is gratitude made visible, and in it, I see the Spirit moving—not only within them, but within me.
I work at a large parish that serves nearly four thousand families. Every week hums with life: the rustle of pages at a book study, the laughter echoing at a trivia night, the clink of glasses at a recognition dinner. Some weeks, there’s a blood drive, a fish fry, a walking rosary around campus, or a grief group where voices rise and fall with shared stories. The parish is a flurry of motion and purpose, and the abundance is invigorating.
Yet I do not attend Mass there. Instead, I cross the city each Sunday to a smaller, quieter place: the Holy Name of Jesus Chinese Catholic Mission. About twenty-five of us gather, and the intimacy is just perfect. For someone with social anxiety, like myself, the hush and simplicity of this space is grace in itself.
Here, Mass feels like a retreat. Father Bill enters quietly, asking gently, “Are you comfortable? Is everyone ready?” There is no procession, no fanfare, only the sacred stillness and a quiet invitation to enter fully into worship. It reminds me of home Masses with Sister Madeleine, when Father Jesse celebrated for us during formation as CiMs—small gatherings where the heart could breathe.
I have found that my absence in the small parish is noticed, and I, too, notice if someone is missing. There is a special friendship that grows in this little community—this year, some parishioners gave my husband and I homemade heart-shaped cookies for Valentine’s Day. I cannot wait to see them again, just to thank them for the thoughtful treats. Not that such gestures couldn’t happen in a large parish, but in a smaller one, it is more personal, more immediate, more tangible.
I have come to recognize that both spaces feed my soul in ways the other cannot. The large parish stretches me outward, challenging me to serve, to connect, to embrace community in its fullness. The small parish draws me inward, into contemplation, intimacy, and whispered prayer.
I live, then, in the space between. It is a delicate tension—between bustle and quiet, abundance and simplicity, outward service and inward reflection. And in this tension, I find the fullness of faith, the grace of balance, and the profound truth that God’s presence is never confined to one form, one place, or one way of being.
Here, in the space between, I have found my place.
Photo credit: Godong Photo for Adobe Stock.
