When on holidays I make a habit of stepping outside my ecclesiastical comfort zone by seeking out churches unlike my own. It’s a reminder of how beautiful and varied the body of Christ truly is. Earlier this month that habit landed me in a pew far removed from my own back home.

The service was very casual. Many church attenders wandered in late. The PowerPoint guy at the back kept missing his cues. The songs were few but long, phrases being repeated like a rhythmic refrain. During the Lord’s Supper, an eager member began passing the elements before the pastor had finished explaining them. The look of surprise on the pastor’s face said it all!

The real challenge came during prayer. It felt unrehearsed and awkward, the atmosphere turning expressive and intense. The pastor laid hands on those who had come up to the front, shouting his prayers, repeating the name of Jesus. The devil was ordered out of the room! Sitting quietly, my first reaction was discomfort. I thought of Elijah’s taunt to the prophets of Baal saying that perhaps their god was sleeping and needed to be awakened.

“God isn’t hard of hearing,” I thought. I began to pray silently for the grace to appreciate these differences and for a heart free of judgment.

Reflecting later, my mind turned to Peter in Acts 10. Comfortable in his own tradition, he was sent to the home of Cornelius, a Gentile centurion whose culture was entirely foreign to him. This would be no traditional Jerusalem service, yet the Holy Spirit moved among the Gentiles just as powerfully as at Pentecost. It reshaped Peter’s understanding, leading him to declare: “In truth I perceive that God shows no partiality. But in every nation whoever fears Him and works righteousness is accepted by Him” (Acts 10:34–35).

Peter learned that “doing church” doesn’t need to look like Jerusalem for God to be present. The methods may change; the Maker doesn’t.

That morning didn’t change my convictions — if anything, it deepened my appreciation for my own church family’s quiet, confident expressions of prayer. I do believe that God hears our quietest whispers.

I was challenged, however. Our preferences should never blind us to God’s genuine work in a different setting.

So here’s my closing thought — and my thanks. I’m grateful for the wonderful variety within God’s family: the quiet and the loud, the reserved and the expressive, all are welcomed at His table. My challenge is this: the next time you encounter a faith expression that feels loud, messy, or unfamiliar, pause before you pass judgment. Say a little prayer. Ask God for the grace to receive what the Lord is doing. God doesn’t require our familiar environment to do His extraordinary work.