Scattered and Gathered

Renewed Appreciation for the Drama of Liturgy and Worship

I confess, sometimes I prefer to stay at home on Sunday. At times, I prefer to be alone, especially after being maxed out relationally through the workweek. But there is something in gathering together that allows me to be carried by the community of faith—the present congregation and the communion of saints, past, present, and future.

Any given Sunday, different people bring all of themselves or fragments of the week as we congregate. We land on the steps of the Evangelical Lutheran Church of Geneva from different parts of the city (and even further) as well as different stations of life. I had two weeks of intensive work with colleagues. Others may have been struggling with illness or family situations. Youngsters wrestling with school. But we all come together, hear the same words, and allow them to address us. Once scattered, now gathered—and we will be re-scattered back out into the world again after the benediction.

John August Swanson. Take Away the Stone, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN

Today, the gathering of the church begins with the colorful cover art of the church bulletin drawing me in: many people gathered around a tomb, full of activity within the frame, and tears here and there. At the side, Jesus is embracing the resurrected Lazarus. I couldn’t help connecting it to the film I watched the night before—a new, visually stunning version of Frankenstein, in which the creator asks the creature for forgiveness. A theme of forgiveness was already what I was carrying as I arrived.

The prayer of lament and confession carried me deeper. The response from Psalm 130: “Our souls wait, and in your word we hope,"—drew me in. And as I confessed my sins and my lament, I held onto the corporate closing:

There is forgiveness with you; with you there is steadfast love; with you is great power to redeem. In you, gracious God, we hope.

Imperfectly, I stumbled with the hymn that followed. I love Luther’s paraphrase of Psalm 130. I admit I couldn’t follow the ancient melody (this is when I miss a good contemporary worship tune). Yet the words still rang:

In you alone, O God, we hope and not in our own merit.
We rest our fears in your good word and trust in your Holy Spirit.
Your promise keeps us strong and sure.
We trust the cross, your signature inscribed upon our temples.

The words carried me even when the music didn’t. When we are gathered in worship, we don’t have to be fully present for it to hold us. We are still carried into the drama of God’s movement toward us and our movement in response.

The words of absolution are what liberate me weekly: “You are forgiven." I need to hear it externally, spoken over me, where grace touches me. During the word, I am receptive to a phrase that might resonate. It doesn’t matter whether the sermon is great—though we are richly fed in my church. Some Sundays I’m fully present; there are moments when my mind wanders. Either way, I’m open to the Spirit’s lead.

And then the meal—the weekly Holy Communion. This is my body given for you. This is my blood shed for you. The real presence of Christ at the table is received physically—tasted, not only heard—when we gather around the circle. As I returned to my seat, I had encountered Christ through the taste of the wine and touching the bread, not only through words. This embodied moment conveys Christ’s presence in a profound and yet mysterious way.

And then the sending. We will be scattered back into the world, back to the struggles and trials and actions of the week. But then the rhythm turns again, and we return. We are not simply dismissed. We are gathered to be sent. I love the whole liturgical movement from the world into God’s presence through corporate worship and then back into the world again to fulfill our calling and vocation.

This weekly gathering connects the personal to the communal. My morning prayer and journaling is a gathering of one; Sunday worship is the gathering of many. Both send me back out. I need both time alone and time with others before God—the solitude and the assembly, the daily rhythm and the weekly drama. Because we are never truly alone, and the ever-reforming church continues as we participate in God’s transformative work. God is at work, and my presence with others serves as a reminder that it's not our effort. Together we can affirm God’s work among us. That’s why one of my favorite moments in the worship service is “Go to love and serve the Lord.” Yes and Amen! We have received grace, and we are renewed—to live, to love, and to serve again.

Note: This entry is the sixth post in my Lent 2026 series. Previous posts include Blessing the Dust, Moving Forward While Reading Backwards, The Heartbeat of the Week: Pray and Work, Words That Stay With Me, and Seven Movements of Renewal.