If you were to close your eyes and picture a sanctuary, what would come to mind? Would it be the comfort of your home, hidden from the stares of passersby? The nearest park, where you’re free to watch the squirrels scamper away while the cool breeze caresses your cheeks? A cemetery, where the sounds of silence are accompanied by the rustling leaves? Or perhaps your sanctuary lies in the loving embrace of someone who accepts you with open arms. And if you’re a practicing Catholic, that sanctuary might be the nearest church. In a practice that I jokingly refer to as “church-hopping,” my parents and I stop by several churches…