This is a guest post by Linda Ricke.
I live in rural north Florida. My home is nowhere near Miami Beach or Disney World. It’s a few minutes from the Georgia border and a million miles from Key West. I live in what’s known around here as “the Baptist Belt.” Our parish has around 100 members, and it’s the only Catholic church in our county. We have one Mass each weekend, and we share a priest with the county to the east. Daily Mass is 30 miles away.
We’ve lived in bigger cities. We’ve gone to churches with thousands of members and beautiful architecture and the money for a varied and enriching music ministry. One of our churches even had a pipe organ, which certainly sent its prayerful strains directly to heaven.
We now worship in a rather nondescript parish built as inexpensively as possible in the 1970s. But my husband and I have never felt more fed in our Catholic faith than we do in this tiny little church where we know almost everyone. We have community. I love the ritual of the Mass, but I’m learning that the Body of Christ is in his people, and here I really feel like one of them.