Sunday Essays #11: Finding God in the Gulf Coast

an Easter essay on how a guy got his faith back.

Inspired by the articles like the one below and my own personal journey, I figured Easter Sunday was the perfect time to share an imperfect look at how I got back into my faith. Religion can be a tricky subject to tackle, but I wrote this one with an open heart and an open mind.

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My First Conversation in Florida

Fresh off of my trek down to the gulf coast in the early days of my relocation, I figured the smartest thing to do would be to introduce myself to my next door neighbor.

Here I was, a stranger in a strange land.

Most Long Islanders inhabit the east coast of FL: Boca, Delray, etc.

(Fun fact that I learned far too recently- this is because of the Interstate system before air travel became so prolific. 75 from the Midwest takes you down the west coast, 95 outta the Northeast takes you down the east coast)

Makes sense that my next door neighbor was originally from Michigan.

Does not make sense that I was a native Long Islander.

Anyway, he turned out to be a great guy- he lived there with his wife and newborn son.

As for our chat, the first conversation I had in Florida that wasn’t with a Zyn-dealing gas station attendant or a cute barista during a pit stop?

I remember it vividly.

There were the usuals, the standards.

So man, what do you do for work?

Where you going to work out around here?

How was the drive?

Usual friendly, cordial, “two people who are gonna be living next to each other feeling each other out” type stuff.

Then he hit me with it, right at the end:

“John, let me ask you- how’s your relationship with the Lord?”

Shit, man.

I don’t know.

What was I even supposed to say?

I guess I fudged something, but the truth was I was caught by a straight right I didn’t see coming.

The Classically Trained Catholic

In theory, I should’ve been a world-class believer.

I came up through as classic and traditional a pipeline an American Christian possibly can.

Catholic school from K-8, prestigious all boys Catholic school for Grade 9 (our authority issues-having hero didn’t exactly thrive there), had all my sacraments right on time.

I should’ve been bossing the midfield of adulthood faith like the veritable spiritual La Masia product I was…but at some point, the wheels came off.

Perhaps it was around college, or sometime after.

There were sparks of it in the late 10’s- I always made sure to get my ashes on Ash Wednesday, my Lenten adherence never wavered.

Nonetheless, it never became habit.

Invoking God in Cold Calls

My neighbor conversation was, unbeknownst to me at the time, a canary in the coal mine for what was to come.

I distinctly remember sitting in my Florida real estate office, newly-minted FL license hanging over my desk (first try on the test btw, real ones know), helping an older colleague bang out lead calls on a multifamily listing he had trouble moving.

Most of these calls were to investment groups or family offices in Florida that bought in the area.

I was in utter disbelief at the responses I was getting.

Hey, not for us at this time, God bless you though.

Sure, send over the OM- have a blessed day.

Hey, gotta thank God for another beautiful day, anyway yeah run me through the NOI.

Listen, Long Island isn’t some godless place, but the invocation of faith inside a business environment was downright foreign to me.

Cold calls back home?

If you made your “50 by lunch”, you better have been told to unalive yourself in three different ways or to go insert a random item into your body, or else you weren’t trying.

It was culture shock.

Naturally, this caused me to keep an ear to the ground regarding faith in-house.

It wasn’t unusual for Monday morning water cooler talk to involve Church, in fact it was the norm.

We tried the new sushi place on Siesta Key Saturday night, then we had a luncheon at our Church after Mass on Sunday.

It wasn’t virtue signaling, or “look at how devout I am”.

Zero percent performative.

It just….was.

Super Rainy Ash Wednesday 2025

It was Ash Wednesday in 2025, marked by a typical "outta nowhere” Florida downpour.

I Google’d “Churches near me” and found out I was in luck- there was a Catholic Church walkable from my office.

So, off I went.

Except this time, it was different.

After getting my forehead inscribed, I sought out the first man of the cloth I could find after I said my prayers.

I ended up finding a deacon in his mid-40’s, affable dude, super friendly.

“Tryna talk to God, but I’m afraid because we ain’t spoke in so long..

Basically the white boy version of that ^

Essentially, I asked the deacon how do I get back into this?

I’ll admit I was expecting to be judged.

To have to perform some sort of penance or whatever.

That’s not at all what happened.

“Just show up, man. See how you feel when you do that.”

Those were my instructions.

Delivered with a smile and a story about how he strayed so far from his current standing in the Church that he was an atheist at one point.

Okay, seems easy enough, I thought.

Turns out it wasn’t.

Holden Caulfield Sings the Blues

It seems ridiculous in hindsight, but my tentativeness tracks back to what I was seeing on social media at the time.

Christianity was starting to come roaring back.

It was becoming “cool”.

Like anything else that becomes “cool”, it became influencer-adjacent.

Bodybuilding, cooking, Fortnite, doesn’t matter- if people do it, there’s an influencer market for it.

Whatever spiritual gusto I had received from my mound visit with the deacon was dampened by what I was seeing on the fyp and my timelines.

Dudes filming themselves driving with the Rosary intertwined on the hand that’s on the steering wheel.

Girls filming themselves tearing up during Adoration.

The tsunami of “tradwife” content.

Former roster members proclaiming they’ve now given their lives to Jesus (let’s just say I’m happy I met them before that).

The hilarious yet puzzling juxtaposition of Tampa Hinge girls answering the “what I’m looking for” prompt with “a man with a relationship with Jesus” sandwiched in between two separate bikini-clad photos of their ass on boats.

I don’t say any of this to judge, but if I’m being honest?

The modern incarnation of faith felt…off.

Performative.

It all seemed, in the essence of this passage’s namesake, so phony.

So, what turned the tide?

Let’s Talk About Waco.

I’ve touched on gaining popularity on TikTok Live in 2025.

One of the best aspects of that run was the fact I got to make friends from all across the country.

The closest to me is arguably my friend from Waco, Texas.

We’ll call her “B”, for anonymity.

B is an early/mid 20’s woman who grew up in the heart of the Bible Belt.

Naturally, I considered her to be an asset in the “John reconnects with his faith” mission.

Little did I know the path I was about to go down.

She was always talking about her church, how she went often, how she and her friends studied scripture together.

That’s when I pried for more information:

So like, what’s Mass like for you guys?

She laughed.

Oh, it’s not Mass..it’s service!

So you’re not Christian?

No of course I am, I’m just not Catholic.

Okay cool, so what are you?

I’m non-denom.

Non de- what?

Just like that, class was in session.

I learned about different interpretations of faith, Bible study, leaders within the Church.

KJV, NIV…these weren’t foreign intelligence agencies, these were Bibles.

(Also, the NIV is a lot easier to read and is now my go-to).

Suddenly, I was awakened to a whole new perspective on faith.

B’s wasn’t as structured, or sacramental, or black and white.

It was almost like..based on vibes?

That’s not me denigrating it- that’s me extolling it.

It seemed personal, flexible…more about the people you are on the journey with rather than placing yourself on trial every time you step into prayer.

I had my eyes opened in a big way.

Faith wasn’t “one size fits all”.

It was more abstract, more holistic, with an emphasis on the growth of the individual .

B sent me videos from her services, and I was struck by the raw joy.

Music, singing, embracing, storytelling.

Sure, I wasn’t loving the sweatpants and sweatshirts in the congregation (this is a guy who is pulling for UConn over UM next week if only bc Dan Hurley’s blazers > Dusty May’s zip-ups), but personal proclivities aside, I had been given an entirely new perspective on this journey I was trying to go on.

It’s not so much about rule-following, or perfection, or feeling forsaken- it’s a journey of personal betterment to be shared with those close to you.

That I could get down with.

So, that Sunday, armed with a new mindset…off to Church we went.

“Well, I didn’t spontaneously combust, so that’s a start.”

That was my response to my deacon friend’s “So, how’d it go?!” when we caught up outside after my first Mass back.

We were able to laugh about it, but there was some truth to that.

I mean, looking around, it had been awhile since my last non- Christmas/Easter/funeral/wedding Mass.

And what did I do in that time, especially recent to that specific day in late Spring 2025?

Was Jesus smiling down at how I was moving in 2024 and early 2025?

Was Jesus loving my NYC summer rooftop BS, or ICSC poolside shenanigans, or the 4AM St. Pete nights?

Probably not!

Looking around the congregation, who was I to even be there?!

Clean cut I-75 types.

Dudes with families.

Floral dresses en masse.

I felt like the Prodigal Son.

Repetition Leads to Revelation

For better or for worse, I can be extremely stubborn.

I wasn’t gonna leave Mass that day on that note and not come back and try to turn this whole thing around.

So that’s exactly what I did the next week.

And the week after that, and the week after that.

Slowly, the tide began to turn.

Sure, maybe the family men and clean-shaven Lululemon golf dudes in the pews led a lifestyle that had been a bit more PG.

The floral dress girlies might be a bit more wholesome than my beloved “iced coffee and resting bitch face” contingent.

Didn’t mean I had any less of a right to be there.

After all, what was I chasing?

I wanted to be integrated.

To improve as a man, which in turn makes me a better son/brother/friend/etc.

I mean, look at my colleagues.

They had a lightness about them when they spoke about attending Church.

It was a spiritually cleansing experience, a stepladder to a better you.

I wasn’t doing this for likes, to posture on IG, to use it as a “mouse trap” to get a significant other.

There was a mantra I came up with along this path:

Perfectly imperfect.

Fast Forward to the Present

It turns out heading back to Church was just the entry point.

As I said above- this wasn’t for likes. The phone stayed off in my pocket.

Mass attendance turned into group texts with my friends (some who have always had strict adherence to their faith, some who are comeback stories like me) chopping it up about whatever the homily was or how we felt afterwards.

FaceTime’s with B where she would read me a verse and actually be able to interpret it and give me the lesson from it.

Faith was becoming a facet of daily life, not just an hour in a jacket and a buttondown on a Sunday morning.

An awareness of something bigger than myself, a North Star for when the path seemed rough or I was losing sight of the light at the end of the tunnel.

Sure, I still have my mental health challenges.

My down days.

The trials and tribulations that come with being a man trying to make his mark on this world.

But now?

I did the hard work, with some nudging from the new environment around me, both physically and digitally.

Did the uncomfortable deep dive and introspection that comes along with it.

As a result?

I’ve got someone to talk to every single day.

Someone who listens.

Someone who gets it.

(He’s been through way worse stuff, especially around this time of year).

Grateful for that.

Grateful for the journey.

Have a Happy Easter, everyone.

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-John Abbate

4/5/2026