Indoor Church, Outdoor God

Before moving to Utah, about five years ago, my relationship with God was primarily an indoor one. 

In my experience, the Catholic mass is an indoor affair with indoor components: a roof overhead; incense; words booming through a microphone; stained-glass windows; and a car ride to and from.

I attended Catholic schools, a Catholic seminary for high school, and a Catholic university, so my foundational lessons about religion happened inside a classroom. It wasn’t 100 percent – there was volunteering, community service, mission trips, and the actual day-to-day practice of faith – but the church highlights the importance of our sacred spaces. 

As proof, our most important rituals (the seven sacraments) are all held in a church.

I’m from Wisconsin, by way of Chicago. 

In both places, most of the social activity (and philosophical discussion) happens in a dark tavern, not in the great outdoors. 

But here in Utah, I found something I didn’t expect: a mix of religion and outdoor culture that I never knew my soul was thirsting for.

I’m ashamed to admit it now, but before I moved to Utah, I’d been on maybe three hikes, total.

That changed in two wonderful ways, both of which changed my view of what religion could be.

Shortly after moving, I received unexpected invitations from my church (St. Catherine of Siena near the University of Utah campus). The first was to join the church softball team, and the second was a hiking mass, where we hiked miles into the wilderness to share a church service and Holy Communion. 

For the softball league, it was my first real introduction to Utah’s active, outdoor culture.

You have to understand, in the Midwest, “beer-league softball” is much more about the first word than the other two. But here, being active and enjoying the fresh air is a goal, not a chore. I’ll never forget standing in center field, gawking at Mount Olympus as the sun set, and suddenly hearing a CRACK! and realizing I completely forgot someone was batting.

The hiking mass was different, in two ways. The first – I don’t know that I’d ever heard birds chirping during mass. But it enhanced the experience for me, rather than distracted. I’ll admit a few moments of gawking at the mountains that took my mind off of the words (much like that softball game), but what better way to appreciate what God has made than to actually spend time in it?

The hike itself was a great experience in community as well, to get to know my fellow parishioners in a way I don’t when all we do is share a pew.

But that’s just what people do here, I’ve learned. I’m proud to say that my lifetime hike total is now well into the hundreds, and it’s become a weekly activity that I share with my daughter (who has accompanied me on every hiking mass). 

I’ve also learned that when you ask a transplant: “What brought you to Utah?” the answer is usually one of two things: “a job” or “the outdoors.”

But a different response usually comes up when the same conversation happens in the opposite direction – when I talk about Utah to people back home. The first thing they usually think of isn’t the outdoors or the work… Utah is usually about “The Mormon Thing.”

They want to know if people have knocked on my door (they haven’t), or if they’ve tried to convert me (nope), or about the no alcohol thing (honestly, it’s been a lot healthier) or just whether it’s “weird.”

I suppose it’s been a little weird not being in the majority religion for once. Catholic is the biggest religion in both Wisconsin and Illinois, with The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints representing less than 1% in each state. Here, it’s 55% LDS and only 5% Catholic (*stats from the Pew Religious Landscape Study, 2015). 

I’ll admit I had some preconceived notions about Utah. My parents and my aunt & uncle both lived here decades ago, and they told me two anecdotes that gave me something to worry about. 

My dad told me a story about a coworker of his who lived a strict Mormon lifestyle and held a belief that good things happened to people who obeyed the laws of the church… and bad things happened to those who didn’t. One day, the coworker was in a devastating auto accident. My dad visited him, badly injured in the hospital, and he agonized over “what did I do wrong” that caused this tragedy. What kind of religion, my dad wondered, would cause a man to think that?

My aunt and uncle told me about their experience as a young couple in Logan, who shared the news of their engagement with their friends and coworkers. They invited everyone to a celebration of their Catholic wedding, but not only did people not attend, upon learning the news that the couple wasn’t LDS, their former friends became icy and unfriendly. 

Those stories worried me. But, they haven’t been my experience at all.

Maybe it’s because of where we live (Salt Lake City), or just the individuals we know, but the LDS families I interact with just seem to be the same decent, hardworking people of any other faith. One LDS coworker of mine brought his snowblower to my driveway during a 14” snowstorm when I was traveling for work. Another LDS family made us feel incredibly welcome when we moved here and didn’t know anybody, with no sign of conversion pamphlets.  

For me, my most important faith experience in Utah hasn’t been the “indoor” elements – like which church I’m sitting in or how comfortable I am. It’s been about a component of my faith I never really knew was there – appreciating the truly majestic and incredible things God made, not man.

And now, here in Utah, I’m looking forward to exploring a component of my relationship with God I never really knew was there – the outdoor one.

Andrew Welhouse is a political consultant, fundraiser, and writer who lives in Salt Lake City with his wife and four-year-old daughter. An avid runner, he has completed four marathons and nearly 20 half marathons, and is an eight-time winner of the Salt Lake Tribune Political Cartoon Caption Contest.