Don't Stop Meeting Together

Back-Row Theology on Communal Worship

Don’t stop meeting together with other believers, which some people have gotten into the habit of doing. Instead, encourage each other, especially as you see the day drawing near. -Hebrews 10:25 (CEB)

From where I sat in the back row, my children in tow, I could see the worship space clearly.  It’s not often I get to be a back-row pastor, but this was one of those days.  I had no official duties in worship leadership at my church, so I had the pleasure of simply worshipping God alongside the church family I have come to love.   

We all stood as the song began and I noticed Jimmy rising to his feet a couple rows away.  He was holding his two preschoolers - one on each arm, lifting them high so they could see the worship band on stage.  The children peeked at the stage but then snuggled in close, heads on Dad’s shoulders.  Those shoulders carried heavy stress in his weekday life, and I could see him let it go with a deep breath. Somehow the peace that settled on him settled on me as well.

I heard Melanie harmonizing with the worship leaders, and I realized she was just a few seats from me, across the aisle. She was sitting instead of standing as her usually hyperactive toddler slept in her arms.  Melanie’s beautiful voice carried across the aisle to me, a lullaby of love.

The couple a few rows in front of me stood straight and tense, shoulders bunched, elbows in, hands tightly clasped in front of them.  They had just dropped their child off at college for his freshmen year, and I said a prayer for the strangeness they must be feeling without their kid beside them.  Yet they were surrounded by friends, I saw, safely cocooned in this tender moment by the church family who would see them through.

My eyes fell on the visitor I met moments earlier, and I wondered what brought her to church.  There’s always a reason behind someone’s sudden solo appearance.  After all, it takes courage to worship among strangers.  Has there been grief in her life or new heights of stress?  Was there an accident or a diagnosis or a move or divorce?  Or perhaps Jesus was simply working on her heart, prompting her to seek him among his Body, the Church.  There’s no use wondering, I told myself.  She’ll eventually share her reasons, or she won’t.  But at present, she was there, with us; so I silently prayed she would find what she sought.

Photo by NATHAN MULLET on Unsplash

What am I seeking this morning? I wondered. The thought honestly startled me.  Glancing around at these people (my people - as I often describe them, either lovingly or with exasperation, depending on the moment) I realized I was seeking this.  This unique sense of connection that I can only find in communal worship.

The Apostle Paul coined a word for it.  He called it koinonia, and while we translate this word to “fellowship” or “communion” it means so much more.  Koinonia is a mutual belonging.  It is “community” in the truest, highest sense of the word.  It’s being connected to another through the bonds of Christ.  It’s being knit together into the same metaphorical body, so that you depend on, care for, and feel genuine affection for one another.

Koinonia was what I was seeking in that back row, and I marveled at its glorious oddness as I surveyed the people of God in worship.  Those of us in that room were not strangers, nor were we besties.  We weren’t all blood relatives, but we were a family of sorts.  All children of God, all brothers and sisters in Christ, all bound up together by the power of God’s presence among us.  It’s a mystical connection, this worshipping body.  This koinonia.  As we pray and sing and ponder the Scriptures together, the Holy Spirit unites us, knitting us together like tendons connect bones, loosely but securely tying us in a flexible yet lasting bond.

Sometimes it overwhelms me, this koinonia. Sometimes it manifests as a sudden deep love for these people who worship side by side with me each week.  Yes, even that person whose personality grates against the nerves.  Yes, even that person who does not vote the way I do.  These people in this community at this moment are a part of me and my connection to Jesus, and that’s an awesome, frightening feeling.  For to be connected in Koinonia is to be tied down, responsible to and for others.  I can’t just worship God alone week after week, because this church is my tether to the Spirit at work in the world.

But to be connected in koinonia is also to be set free.  For it means we’re in this mess of a world together.  It means the weight of living is a shared load. We do not face its trials alone. We face them with that dad swaying with his kids, with that mom singing her sacred lullaby, with that couple staring into the empty nest, with that visitor who needs God’s presence in koinonia just as much as I do.

The song came to an end and I realized I had stopped singing minutes before.  How marvelous, I thought, that the church kept singing when I stopped. Even when I lost myself in back-row theologizing, the church did not lose sight of me. Their singing carried me - wandering mind and all - into the mysterious presence of God. That’s the beauty of koinonia. Whether we know it or not, we’re always carrying each other to Jesus.

You see, with all its scandals, failures, and political schemes, it is still a beautiful Church.  Be hopeful.  God is still here.