How a quiet night revealed a bigger story
Sometimes, life has a way of weaving together connections we never could have anticipated.
Tonight, while on a business trip to Pittsburgh, I decided to attend a Vespers service. I was curious about what another Orthodox parish would be like, and since I had nothing else to do in the evening, I figured, why not?
A quick Google search turned up several Orthodox churches in the Greater Pittsburgh area: Greek, Antiochian, Ukrainian, Slavic… but only a few offered a Wednesday service. One was just a few miles from my hotel.
So me, the introvert who hates new experiences, hopped in the rental car and headed over to a rather run-down neighborhood, which clearly had seen its better days slip by.
I pulled up to St. Nicholas Orthodox Church and waited. No one was there. I wandered up the street and took pictures of a beautiful, dilapidated Catholic church nearby. When I returned, a gentleman was walking up the steps.
“Is Vespers tonight?” I asked.
“It’s supposed to be,” he replied.
That we were the only two there 10 minutes before service made me realize the parish was not as bustling as my own.
Turns out, he had a key and opened the door. We walked in, and I was immediately struck by the beauty. One of the most stunning churches I’ve ever seen. And I thought my home parish was beautiful.
The iconostasis was taller. The stained glass windows added to the icons lining the walls. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling. There was even a balcony. While there were some pews at the rear, the front of the nave was open—a more traditional layout that encourages movement.
It was stunning. Absolutely stunning.
What started as a simple decision to visit a parish turned into a tapestry of meaningful connections.
The priest, Father Tom, not only knew my home parish and Father Stephen, but also referenced my grandmother’s church—where my parents were married—located four hours away. It felt like I had stepped into a place where the past and present were meeting, stitched together by unseen threads.
There were only enough of us in attendance to count on two hands. Most were in their 20s or 30s—several were recent converts eager to share their stories and hear mine. They made me feel right at home.
Even in a new place, that sense of community and genuine interest I’ve encountered with Orthodoxy was unmistakable. I found myself embraced by a parish that felt both new and familiar, reminding me of what I’ve been experiencing more than three hours away in a very different town—one vibrant and bustling.
The characteristics of the people were the same.
And really, the Vespers were, too. That’s a beauty of the liturgical format I hadn’t considered before: I can walk into any parish and know the basic rhythm. Sure, there were differences. No choir. No deacon, so the priest chanted nearly everything. And there were a few word variations. But it was the same prayerful structure.
Afterward, I stayed for Bible study and more fellowship. I was even invited back for the men’s club the next night, though I’ll already be out of town.
It was that feeling of connection that struck me. From discovering that Father Tom knew Father Stephen (and even Father Stephen’s father), to the mention of my grandmother's parish, and even a potential professional connection for my daughter—who, it turns out, lives in the same town as Father Tom’s former home parish.
In moments like these, it’s hard not to feel God’s hand gently guiding me, reminding me of the beauty of Christ-centered community.
I could’ve picked a different parish. Or just stayed at the hotel, which I seriously considered. But I kept feeling like I needed to push past my anxiety and go.
I’m glad I did.
I just need to keep listening. Keep following where I’m led. And keep marveling at the mysterious ways we’re all connected through Him.
These reflections are part of my personal journey—how I’m seeing and interpreting things in the moment. Like any journey, my understanding may be limited or incomplete and will likely deepen over time. I share these thoughts not as conclusions, but as honest glimpses along the way.
