By I was raised Christian, so coming to Carroll felt familiar before I even arrived. I knew the rhythms of prayer, the language of faith, and the comfort of being surrounded by people who believed in something larger than themselves.
I knew Carroll was a Catholic college, and I assumed I would fit in easily. I expected my friends and teammates to come from homes like mine, shaped by church, tradition, and a familiar foundation of faith.
But once I got here, I quickly learned that my assumptions were wrong.
Our community is not a group of homogenous people who believe the same things or practice faith in the same way. Even two Catholics, raised in Catholic homes, can live out their spiritual lives in completely different ways.
I found myself drawn to the students who came to Carroll without any faith background at all. They stepped into our spiritual environment not knowing our vocabulary – bringing with them no expectations.
I’ve spent most of my life around Christianity, but that doesn’t mean my faith has been consistent. My beliefs have grown, faded, changed, and resurfaced depending on where I was and who I was with.
Maybe that is why I began to pay attention to how individuals from non‑religious backgrounds view this place. What does Carroll look like through their eyes?
I started wondering what it feels like to walk into a faith‑centered community with nothing but curiosity.
I wondered how they’d react to a pre‑game prayer?
Would they be offended or intrigued by a Bible study invitation?
Would they smile when they saw faith intensify during weeks with organic chemistry tests?
When I imagine walking beside a student who has no faith background, I picture them noticing things I barely think about anymore.
I know why people pray before a game. I know the routine of Bible study.
I know the way people talk about hope or purpose when life gets heavy.
But for a student seeing all of this for the first time, none of these symbols of faith carry automatic meaning. Newcomers to a faith community learn the language in real time, absorbing traditions and gestures that feel ordinary to me, but unfamiliar to them.
In that unfamiliarity, I can appreciate both their curiosity and their hesitation.
Sometimes I think about the small moments that shape their first impressions of Carroll.
Before a game, I instinctively bow my head while the team prays, but they may stand quietly at the edge of the circle, unsure whether to participate or simply watch.
When someone invites me to Bible study, I know what that space feels like, but they may pause because they don’t know what to expect.
During challenging weeks, I’ve watched teammates pray after losses and classmates turn to Scripture for comfort after a grade that shakes their confidence.
A student without a religious background might see those moments as a form of resilience, a way people stay grounded when life becomes difficult.
To understand that perspective more clearly, I asked my friend Joran Guy, a sophomore studying business and data science. I wondered what stood out to him when he first arrived at Carroll.
“I didn’t grow up religious, but coming here showed me how big a role faith plays for people,” Guy said. “You can be as involved as you want – Mass, Bible study, church – and even if you’re not Catholic, you still get the chance to experience it.”
As he spent more time around the team, Guy began asking questions. He noticed how many of us prayed before meals and wanted to know why.
“All the basketball guys were really good people, and I felt like something deeper was shaping that,” he said. “I wanted to understand what they believed and how their experiences led them there.”
Joran became curious. He asked how Catholicism worked, what Bible study was like, and why faith mattered so much to the team.
The basketball guys had invited him to join them at Bible study one night, and he accepted – not to convert, but because he genuinely wanted to understand the community he had entered.
He told me he felt accepted here, but often didn’t know how to fit into a group that spoke a language he had never learned.
“I always feel welcome,” he said. “but sometimes I’m not sure how to participate. I’ll join the prayer out of respect, but I wouldn’t feel right leading anything, because I didn’t grow up with it.”
Hearing that honored and amazed me.
He noticed details I had long stopped seeing, and the conversation reminded me how easily faith communities forget how intimidating their practices can feel to someone encountering them for the first time.
Moments like that have shown me that faith is not something a person simply inherits. I was raised Christian, but my own beliefs have shifted over time.
My faith has grown, faded, and resurfaced in ways I never expected, which taught me that upbringing does not guarantee belief.
And in the same way, I’ve seen people with no religious background choose faith more freely and intentionally than those who grew up in a church.
Their journey is not the same as a Catholic student – but their journey is not second‑class.
Their questions are not obstacles.
Their curiosity is a kind of courage, a willingness to step toward something unfamiliar simply because they sense there might be meaning there.
The more I pay attention, the more I realize that faith doesn’t belong only to those who grew up praying.
Sometimes the students who arrive at Carroll with no religious background are the ones who see our community with the clearest eyes. They notice the small gestures, the quiet kindnesses, the moments of honesty the rest of us overlook.
Walking beside them, even just imagining I am at their side, has reminded me that faith isn’t a birthright. Faith grows in conversations, in community, and in the ways people show love.
Maybe that’s the challenge for all of us here: to make sure curiosity is met with welcome, so that no one has to walk into faith alone.
Guy remembers words from his grandfather that may guide us all.
“The best way to form a belief is through experience,” said his grandpa. “People’s lives lead them to different understandings of God – and that’s OK!”
