Going to post this every Sunday in the hopes that critics of the Catholic Church would at least be informed about what we do and don’t believe.
In a typical Sunday Catholic Mass, we say the name of +Jesus 12 times,
“Lord” 19 times,
God 15 times, and
phrases like “lamb of God” “Holy Spirit” “Father” or “Christ” another ≈20 times
The congregation says the name of Mary TWICE, once in reference to her giving birth to Jesus, and once asking her and all the angels and saints (“and you, my brothers and sisters”) to pray for us (“pray for me to the Lord, our God”), unless her name is mentioned in the Gospel reading.
The first half of Mass is about God’s word (Old Testament, Psalm, New Testament, and Gospel readings); the second half is entirely about Jesus’ sacrifice on the cross for our sake.
The Mass is the pinnacle and purpose of Christian faith, and the Eucharist is the source and summit of life. There’s nothing more important in Christian practice.
@MyaView2@adelethelaptop …& if that Authority can provide clarity on those things, it can provide it on ALL things.
Matt 18:16
Acts 15
1 Tim 3:15
Even the canon of scripture needs an authoritative voice saying “this is inspired, this is not.”
Hence, the Catholic Church is the one to settle disputes
@MyaView2@adelethelaptop …I don’t believe the Holy Spirit would allow confusion on essential articles of faith and salvation, like baptism, holy communion, “works” etc
There must be clarity on those, and therefore there must be a way to get an authoritative answer on those…
The waiters dropped their trays and ran. I reached for where my sword would be.
A pack of them was closing on one table in the corner, clapping in rhythm, moving as one. Years of war read it at once: a coordinated strike. A man sat at the center. They had come for him.
I rose to defend a stranger.
Then they began to chant. "Happy... birthday... to... you." A war hymn. Slow, deliberate, sung straight into the face of the marked man — who, to his great credit, did not run. He sat. He let them come. A warrior's death.
(I will admit it. My eyes stung. I did not know his name. I saluted him anyway.)
I joined the line. I clapped. I do not abandon a man in his final hour.
I clapped harder than anyone. When they reached the part where the whole house must sing the name, I sang it loudest, though I had only just learned it was "Greg." I sang GREG like it was the last word I would ever speak.
A waiter leaned toward me. "Sir, do you... know Greg?"
"I do now," I said. "We have stood together."
They brought out fire. A single candle, on a small cake, carried like a sacred flame. So it was true. The end had come. I bowed my head.
Greg blew it out himself. Calm. Unflinching. He put out his own pyre with one breath, and the whole house cheered his courage.
I have never respected a man more.
I stood and applauded until my hands hurt. I would have carried him out on my shoulders. A waitress had to gently explain that Greg was, in fact, turning thirty-one, and was going home after this. Alive.
A man should be honored as if every year were his last. That is the only way to deserve the next one.
They have asked me not to sing at the other tables.
So tell me, America — when the drums come for a man and he does not run, what do you call that, if not the bravest thing in the room?
@LightCSV@BishopJaxi You said something about the laity receiving the blood, which is not even remotely related to this discussion
You repeat lies and think it’s a dunk
It’s dumb
@EddieJamro84189 It’s not as hominem, I’m saying you are actually mentally slow if you think there’s a connection between the outfits
He isn’t bound by any rules, so, no.
@rockreborn22@patristicpill I do in fact; daily.
And Catholics worldwide hear it proclaimed in every Mass every single day
You have no authority. You have only your opinions
I fear you’re on the wide road