I had planned to go to Midnight Mass. Instead, circumstances unfolded that led me to spend Christmas Eve on my own. Rather than settling for proximity, I chose light. Music. Aliveness. I stayed whole.
And then I thought—why not Christmas Eve church hopping?
First stop — Mt. Olivet
The first church wasn’t a full Mass, which made sense—they’d been holding services every hour from 2 p.m. to 9 p.m. Instead, it was a program—immersive, orchestral, almost cinematic. Strings, brass, voices. A communal sing-along carried by an orchestra that lifted the entire room.
I was prepared to sit alone, but a woman motioned for me to sit with her. I smiled and gestured that I was fine where I was. She didn’t waver. She pointed again—insistently. So I sat beside her, and for thirty-six minutes we shared the space and the music.
I was struck by her openness—risking rejection, offering connection wholeheartedly. It felt like God sending people to keep me company.
She mentioned Mt. Olivet was the largest Lutheran church in the country. What stayed with me wasn’t where I was, only the quiet sense that God was present, beating in my heart.
Second stop — Lourdes
At Lourdes, memories kept me company.
Immediately, I was transported back to my parish church in the Philippines, where I attended Catholic school from kindergarten through high school. The dove—the Holy Spirit—suspended above, just like at Espíritu Santo Parochial School, where I sang in the choir.
I also thought of the years my kids were in Catholic school, when I volunteered as a cantor to reduce tuition. Except this time, every attempt to sing with the cantor reminded me: I’m not a soprano anymore. I had to find the alto line—not too high, not too low—where my voice could rest.
Then the priest said:
“Christ shared in our humanity so that we might share in His divinity.”
Something in me leapt. I heard angels singing hallelujah in my head.
This was a truth I had come to understand outside the church—and here it was, spoken plainly and unapologetically.
From a priest’s mouth.
On Christmas Eve.
While I was choosing aliveness.
Last stop — The Basilica
The Basilica was my final stop.
The last time I’d been there, in 2021, I walked out mid-service. The message felt unmistakable then—blind obedience, conformity, compliance. I had vowed never to return.
And yet.
I love this church. It’s beautiful—like the churches in Europe, except here they are still alive with Mass, not just preserved as architectural wonders. I also miss traditions Eagle Brook doesn’t offer. There’s no Midnight Mass there. For me, growing up in the Philippines, Midnight Mass was Christmas.
The Basilica offers a literal Midnight Mass—and a grand one at that. I am grateful.
I decided to stay until the trumpet blasted Joy to the World—my favorite moment. The trumpet cutting through the space. Bells ringing. Flags moving in procession. Breathtaking and magnificent.
Then the candles were lit—another favorite. The choirs sang, voices angelic. No wonder I was back.
Beneath the majesty, I noticed the familiar undertone. But this time, my body was unreactive, and I didn’t feel compelled to leave. I stayed for what I needed—the music, the light, the tradition, the beauty. What I didn’t need, I didn’t take.
Across churches and traditions, my body consistently recognized what was nourishing.
I don’t need to acquiesce to belong. I have my church—in Eagle Brook, in Kingdom Factor, in Christian Executive Fellowship—places where I am fed, where I belong, and where I grow in faith.
What stays with me
Christ shared in our humanity so that we might share in His divinity.
God sent people to sit beside me. I felt their hearts. I didn’t feel alone—the woman who insisted I sit with her, the man who, during Peace be with you, took my hand with both of his, then placed his hand over his chest. I felt that.
Presence from strangers where it has been absent in proximity.
I did not negotiate my aliveness for belonging.
I let the music carry me.
I let God meet me through people.
And I stayed whole.
Belonging came without asking me to disappear. Across churches, across traditions, I remained whole in the Body of Christ.