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Baptist, Baptist, Baptist, Baptist, Church of Christ, Baptist, Baptist, Baptist. Oh! A Methodist Church! Baptist, Baptist.

(I don’t own the rights)

On the drive to Mass down here on the southern North Carolina coast, there are many church buildings. The only Catholic Church in a 40 mile radius has to hire policemen to skirt traffic into the gigantic parking lot on Sundays.

The “built it and they will come” theory shows its fruits every Sunday here amongst the abundance of Protestant churches.

Don’t mistake me, I’m glad to be surrounded by so many church buildings. It is wonderful to pass physical reminders of Christian faith constantly.

A few weeks ago, I met someone who mentioned that he doesn’t go to church in Richmond because the pastor at the Methodist church he visited couldn’t compare to his church back home. When he returns home, his mother “makes him” go to church, but the Richmond pastor just “doesn’t do it” for him.

As he told me this, I felt immediately grateful for being Catholic. I don’t have to shop.

I can go to Mass everyday of the week. The source and summit of the Church founded by Christ is the Eucharist, which He gave to us at the Last Supper. Saint Paul and early apostles write about the Eucharist for which they gathered to share.

As long as there is a priest on the altar, I can share in the true Communion feast with other Christians. The priest, ordained in the same line of priests that has existed since Christ started His Church and chose His priests, is a vessel for the Holy Spirit to transubstantiate the bread and wine in that moment.

When I go through the line and the Eucharistic minister tells me, “This the Blood of Christ,” I know it is True.

Before I go to receive the Eucharist, with my brothers and sisters, I pray, “I am not worthy to receive You, but only say the Word and I shall be healed.” I mean it with all of my heart.

And I thank God that I don’t need to church shop to be healed.

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