From Stakeouts to Sanctuaries: How a Parking Lot Encounter Led Me to a Stumble upon Tradition

In the mid 90s, I was attending a conservative Catholic Church in California, where the Sunday sermons often left me uneasy. The priest's sermons sometimes clashed with the truth I held in my heart, stirring doubts I couldn't quite shake. At the time, I was working as a private investigator, and a particularly tough case had brought me to Colton, a sunbaked city in the Inland Empire where strip malls and dust seemed to compete for dominance.

I needed a vantage point to stake out my target, and after some driving, I found an empty church parking lot on a quiet side street. It was perfect—secluded, with a clear view of the residence I needed to watch. As I pulled my beat-up sedan into the lot, I noticed a sign: Society of St. Pius X. My stomach tightened. I'd heard the warnings—whispers in my parish about these "excommunicated" traditionalists, how they were outside the Church, schismatic, dangerous. But it was a weekday, the lot was deserted, and I needed a place to park.

Enter Father Tague: The Priest That Changed Everything for Me

I spotted an open side door to the church, its white stucco walls glowing under the midday sun. Figuring I'd better ask permission, I stepped inside, the cool air and faint scent of incense a stark contrast to the heat outside. That's when I met Fr. Tague. He was a wiry man with a no-nonsense air, his black cassock slightly frayed at the cuffs, as if he'd worn it through years of unwavering conviction. I explained my situation, and he granted permission to use the lot with a curt nod, his eyes sharp but not unkind.

WATCH: "Trad Seats": A Tribute to the Faithful Who Choose the Traditional Roman Rite

Maybe it was the weight of the case, or the doubts that had been gnawing at me for months, but I hesitated before leaving. "Father," I said, "I'm Catholic, but I've got some questions I can't seem to settle." Looking back, those doubts seem almost trivial now, but at the time, they felt like cracks in the foundation of my faith. I'd been told the Society was a spiritual dead-end, yet here I was, standing in their church, asking a priest I'd been warned against for answers.

Fr. Tague didn't flinch.

He answered my questions with a clarity that cut through the fog in my mind—direct, unapologetic, rooted in tradition. No platitudes, no equivocation, just the truth, presented in a take-it-or-leave-it style that left no room for doubt. It was like a weight lifted, not just from my shoulders but from my soul. The contradictions I'd wrestled with during those sermons back at my parish dissolved in the face of his words.

"What Do I Do With This?"

I stepped back into the parking lot, the heat shimmering off the asphalt, and called my wife from a payphone across the street. "I think we've been missing something," I told her, my voice steadier than it had been in weeks. We talked it over, and by the end of the call, we'd made a decision: we'd attend Mass at the Society's chapel that Sunday.

That choice changed everything. From the first Latin Mass we attended, with its solemn chants and reverence, we felt a connection to the faith we hadn't realized we'd been craving. The doubts that once kept me awake at night faded, replaced by a certainty that grew stronger with each visit. There's been no looking back since.

James Fitzhenry is a Traditional Catholic author of books about Roman Catholic saints and heroes. Personal favorites of Industrious Family include El Cid: God's Own Champion and Pelayo: King of Asturias. Those who had a stumble upon Tradition and now attend the Traditional Mass like James are celebrated in our new music video "Trad Seats". Give it a listen and share your story in the comments now!