Journey to the True Church: Finding God’s Path

The sterile scent of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints building always hit me like a wall. It wasn’t a bad smell, just…artificial. Like the perfect smiles plastered on the faces of some of the congregants. At 16, I was already too cynical for my own good, a tall, lanky girl with a head full of swirling, skeptical thoughts. My blonde hair, usually pulled back in some haphazard attempt at neatness, framed a face that was perpetually studying, analyzing.

I was a sponge for information, particularly psychology and religion, but applying that knowledge within the rigid structure of the Mormon church felt like trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. I was a walking contradiction, towering over my peers not just in height but in the way I thought, colored by a childhood of chaos and the sanctuary I found in creativity. My hair, now a lighter shade of grey, matched the naive honesty in my big yellow eyes; they watched people closely, skeptically, weighing their actions against their words.

Sitting in Bishop Patterson’s office always felt like some kind of Spanish Inquisition, although the bishop himself was as jolly as a man could be, his cheerful demeanor clashing with the sterile, minimalist surroundings. His office felt particularly… oppressive. The generic pictures of Jesus and Joseph Smith on the walls seemed to be judging me. The chairs were comfortable enough, but I always felt like I was being interrogated, a relic from former periods of human civilization. Bishop Patterson, a large man whose weight seemed to strain the very fibers of his suit, sat behind his massive desk. He was a friendly enough man, but his jolly demeanor never quite reached his eyes.

"So," he began, his voice a booming, practiced tone. "How are you settling in? Are you…keeping yourself pure?"

My stomach clenched. The question, so common, so expected, still made my skin crawl. Here I was, a teenager trying to navigate the choppy waters of adolescence, and this grown man was asking me about my virginity. It felt invasive, violating. I mumbled a noncommittal answer, focusing on tracing circles on my jeans with my finger. The discomfort was palpable, like my skin was shrink-wrapping around my bones.

He shifted gears abruptly. "Do you have a job?"

"Yes, I do," I replied, relief momentarily washing over me.

"Excellent! That’s wonderful. Now, about tithing…"

My relief evaporated. He proceeded to explain the importance of paying tithing, a tenth of my income, to the church. It felt like a shakedown, a politely worded demand from a religious bill collector. The underlying message was clear: God expected His cut, and the church was there to collect it. I nodded along, feeling a mixture of resentment and confusion churning within me. I felt the sting of obligation, a religious mobster demanding his cut.

My skepticism wasn't new. Even as a young child, I'd found myself questioning the rote testimonies I heard every Testimony Sunday. One after another, children would march to the podium, their small voices echoing through the chapel as they pull the mic toward their face, reciting the same words: “I’d like to bear my testimony. I know the church is true. I know Joseph Smith was a true prophet.”

My own testimonies were… different. One time, I talked about how much I enjoyed the church dance the previous Saturday and suggested we start a mosh pit. Another time, I went on a tangent about the symbolism of squirrels. The congregation never knew what to expect when I approached the podium. They would brace themselves.

The constant repetition of "I know the church is true" had always needled at me. Is it the true church? What is the true church, anyway? The question became a persistent, nagging voice in my head, a catalyst for a lifelong spiritual quest.

That quest led me far beyond the familiar confines of the Mormon church. I explored other religions, other faiths. I visited a Catholic church, marveling at the ornate grandeur of the sanctuary, but feeling suffocated by the ritual. I went to a synagogue and sat in on Kabbalah studies. I sat in a service learning about ancient magic, learning about Shechina (God's presence) and the idea of Ba'al as a forerunner of God. I walked with Shinto priests (shinshoku) in the serene forests of southern Japan, listening to their quiet reverence for nature. I sat in silent contemplation with Buddhist monks in dimly lit meditation rooms. Some churches felt like a business trying to shake me down, they would be friendly and loving until I didn't produce money, and then I wouldn't be greeted with the same love.

Everywhere I went, I encountered variations on a theme: a structure, a set of rules, a demand for money. Televangelists like Joel Osteen, Kenneth Copeland, and Creflo Dollar, with their million-dollar mansions and preach prosperity from their private jets while simultaneously begging for donations, , a spectacle that seemed at odds with the simplicity Christ espoused. It left a bitter taste in my mouth.

My questioning led me to the Bible, where I stumbled upon passages that seemed to suggest the existence of only a select few "true" churches throughout history. Verses like Ephesians 4:4-6 ("There is one body and one Spirit, just as you were called to one hope when you were called; one Lord, one faith, one baptism; one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all") seemed to imply a singular, unified truth.

This only deepened my confusion. Where were these "true" churches? Were they massive organizations with millions of members, or small, humble gatherings hidden in plain sight? And what about all the people who lived before Christ? Would they be condemned simply because they were born before the "true" gospel was revealed? I pondered, flipping through passages that reassured me: God’s mercy extends beyond time.

The scriptures reveal in Romans 2:14-15, "Indeed, when Gentiles, who do not have the law, do by nature things required by the law, they are a law for themselves, even though they do not have the law. They show that the requirements of the law are written on their hearts, their consciences also bearing witness, and their thoughts sometimes accusing them and at other times even defending them," offered a glimmer of hope, suggesting that those who lived righteous lives, even without knowledge of Christ, would not be excluded from God's grace.

For years, I prayed for an answer to the question that consumed me: where is the true church? I poured my heart out to God, begging for clarity, for direction. I prayed intensely, seeking God’s guidance. Walking in nature, I felt closer to God than I ever had in any building. I met others on these walks, those who found solace in pews and those who, like me, found church in the open air. The Holy Spirit taught me discernment, guiding me away from false prophets. I learned to listen to its whispers, as Matthew 7:15 warns, “Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep's clothing but inwardly are ravenous wolves.”

Finally, the answer came, not in a blinding flash of revelation, but in a slow, gradual understanding that dawned on me over time. God's church is everywhere. It's not confined to a building with stained-glass windows or a specific set of doctrines. Verses like Matthew 18:20, “For where two or three gather in my name, there am I with them,” resonated deeply. The true church is in the hearts of those who seek Him, who strive to live righteously, who show compassion and love to others. As Acts 7:49 states, "'Heaven is my throne, and the earth is my footstool. What kind of house will you build for me?' says the Lord. 'Or where will my resting place be?'"

I realized I felt closer to God when I was walking in nature. Sitting with my feet in a river feels like I am being baptized. Nature is my sanctuary, where the rustle of leaves and birdsongs were hymns unto themselves, a stark contrast to the echoing halls of megachurches that vibrated with sound and spirit alike. Although, the truth is, I do truly enjoy the reverberation of a megachurch’s audio system as it sends the joy of God through my body to my bones forcing tears from my eyes. The collective energy of hundreds or thousands of people singing praises to God is a powerful and moving experience.

I still take walks, and I talk to a lot of people on those walks. I talk to them about life, God, and the meaning of it all. We share our feelings on going to church, some people need it, and some, like myself, feel uncomfortable. I understand how some people need and want and belong at a church in a building or follow a religion, for them to feel a connection to their Savior. As stated in Hebrews 10:25, "Let us not give up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but let us encourage one another—and all the more as you see the Day approaching."

On the other hand, I also understand those who feel sideways about organized religion and going to a building for worship. The Crusades, the Thirty Years' War, and the Rwandan genocide are all stark reminders of the horrific violence that can be perpetrated in the name of religion. Millions upon millions died in those conflicts, fueled by religious hatred and intolerance. I feel like some churches are gangs against other churches. Like the Bloods and Crips, yet each claiming a monopoly on truth. Both are Christian, but this Christian church is against that Christian church all battling over the 10%. However, churches have also done immense good, providing charity, and keeping strong the love for Jesus and his father, the Alpha and the Omega.

The most important lesson I hold dear is, "keep your head on a swivel," looking out for false pastors and preachers. Matthew 7:15 warns, "Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep's clothing but inwardly are ravenous wolves."

One Sunday, I was attending a service in Colorado where I felt a strong prompting from the Holy Spirit to leave. I didn't want to, because I knew it might offend people, including the pastor. But the feeling persisted, growing stronger and more insistent. As it says in 1 Thessalonians 5:22, "abstain from all appearance of evil." I don’t know why I was feeling the Holy Spirit, but it’s best to be still and listen. I listened and I left. Better to listen and leave than to stick around and see why you should have left.

I understand that everybody has their own path, their own place of worship, their own "gang" that they belong to, and I'm not mad at anybody. I pray that all those paths, churches, religions, and gangs help any person reading this gain a closer connection with Jesus Christ and His father, our Father in heaven, God. I want everybody to know in their heart that we are all children of God and he will deliver his message to each one of us in the way we need it. We are all different, so God has different ways of connecting with our soul. He speaks to our souls in the language we understand. Some souls like the sound of birds, other souls like the sounds of a choir with reverberations blaring through a pitched ceiling, some like no sound at all.

That day in Bishop Patterson's office, I didn't know the journey that lay ahead of me. I didn't know that my skepticism, my questions, would lead me to a deeper, more personal understanding of God. But I can see now that even then, God was guiding me, nudging me along the path that was right for me. I found my "church" in nature, in the fellowship of the average person on the street when I Segway the conversation from complaints about the weather to the blessings of God. I listen to sermons online, but I prefer to walk alone and talk to God or Jesus. Mark 1:35 says, "Very early in the morning, while it was still dark, Jesus got up, left the house and went off to a solitary place, where he prayed."

My journey has taught me that God meets us where we are, using the circumstances and experiences of our lives to draw us closer to Him. He doesn't force us into a mold or demand that we conform to a particular set of beliefs. Instead, He gently guides us, leading us to truth in a way that resonates with our individual hearts and souls.

As stated in Proverbs 3:5-6: "Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight." This verse reminds me that I don't have to have all the answers, or even fully understand God's plan. I just need to trust in His guidance and surrender to His will, knowing that He will lead me down the right path, even if it's not the path I expected. This understanding keeps me grounded, reminding me to be open to new experiences and perspectives, and to trust that God is always working in my life, even when I can't see it.

---

AUTHOR: Sarah Lester

LOCATION: United States