Come anyway. You’ll know someone by the time you leave.
Walking into a church where you don’t know a soul can feel intimidating. Maybe you’ve driven past St. Michael’s a dozen times, wondering what goes on inside that building with the gold dome. Maybe someone invited you once and you’ve been thinking about it ever since. The good news is that Orthodox parishes expect visitors who don’t know anyone. We’re used to it. And there’s a theological reason we take hospitality seriously.
The early Christians practiced something called philoxenia, which means “love of the stranger.” It’s not just Southern hospitality with incense. It’s a biblical command. When you welcome a stranger, you might be entertaining angels without knowing it. That’s Hebrews 13:2, and the Church has taken it to heart for two thousand years. So when you show up at an Orthodox parish not knowing anyone, you’re giving us the chance to practice something central to our faith.
Here’s what actually happens when you walk through the doors on a Sunday morning.
Someone will probably greet you in the narthex (that’s the entrance area, the space before you enter the main part of the church). Most Antiochian parishes station a greeter there on Sundays. Tell them you’re visiting for the first time. They’ll hand you a service booklet so you can follow along, show you where to stand or sit, and answer basic questions. Don’t worry about knowing when to cross yourself or when to bow. You can follow what others do, or you can just stand quietly and observe. Both are fine.
The Divine Liturgy itself is focused on worship, not socializing. People aren’t ignoring you during the service. They’re praying. That’s actually a relief for most visitors because it takes the pressure off. You can watch, listen, and take it all in without anyone expecting you to perform or participate beyond your comfort level.
After the Liturgy ends, things shift. This is when Orthodox hospitality really shows up. Almost every parish has coffee hour in a hall or fellowship area. People will introduce themselves. They’ll ask where you’re from, what brought you to the parish, whether you’ve been to an Orthodox service before. In Southeast Texas, this feels familiar, it’s not that different from the fellowship time after a Baptist service, except the coffee’s usually stronger and someone probably brought homemade baklava.
Stay for coffee hour. I can’t stress this enough. If you slip out right after the service ends, you’ll miss the whole point. The Liturgy feeds your soul; coffee hour is where you meet the parish family. This is when you can ask questions, get book recommendations, find out about inquiry classes, or just chat about normal life. You’ll meet families, college students, retirees, people who grew up Orthodox and people who converted last year. You’ll probably meet someone who works at the same refinery you do or whose kid goes to the same school as yours.
One thing that surprises visitors: Orthodox parishes tend to include people from all over the map. You might meet someone whose grandparents came from Lebanon, someone who was raised Methodist in Vidor, and someone who drove in from Port Arthur. The Antiochian Archdiocese has always been a missionary jurisdiction in North America, which means we’re used to welcoming people with no Orthodox background. You’re not interrupting some exclusive ethnic club. You’re joining something that’s been intentionally open since it started.
If you’re worried about Communion, don’t be. Non-Orthodox visitors don’t receive the Eucharist, but you can come forward at the end for a blessing and to receive the antidoron (blessed bread that’s distributed after Communion). Or you can stay in your place. Either way, no one’s going to judge you or make you feel awkward about it. The Church guards the Eucharist carefully because we believe it’s truly Christ’s Body and Blood, not because we’re trying to exclude people. There’s a difference.
You might leave your first visit with more questions than answers. That’s normal. Orthodoxy is ancient and deep, and it takes time to understand. But you won’t leave without having met someone. That greeter who handed you a service book will probably check in with you after coffee hour. Someone will give you their phone number or email. The priest might introduce himself and invite you to come back, to schedule a time to talk, to attend an inquiry class if the parish offers one.
The Church has been doing this for a long time. We know how to welcome strangers. It’s built into who we are.
So if you’ve been thinking about visiting but you’re hesitant because you don’t know anyone, that’s actually the perfect reason to come. Not knowing anyone yet is just the starting point. Give us a chance to practice our philoxenia. Show up, tell the greeter you’re new, stay for coffee hour, and see what happens. You might be surprised how quickly “I don’t know anyone” turns into “I met this couple who invited me to their Bible study” or “The priest said I could call him with questions anytime.”
The doors are open. Come and see.
