“When our church family gathers to worship on Sunday mornings in Kansas City, my brothers and sisters on the East Coast are already singing. What’s more, the entire eastern hemisphere is already into their Sunday evening and some are even easing their way into the wee morning hours of a Monday.”

I’m only thirty, but I’m old enough to remember when breaking news didn’t come via the refresh of a Twitter timeline. Often, newsworthy items were delivered from television newsdesks and, as a kid not grasping the weight of those moments, I couldn’t help but feel slightly annoyed as a show or baseball game was interrupted. Within moments, the newscaster would sign off, our parents would scurry to the phone and we’d be welcomed back to a show, movie, or ballgame “already in progress.”

I always felt as if I’d missed the best parts.

If I’m not careful, that sinking feeling can pervade my Sunday thinking, too. I’m stunned each week when I stand alongside other brothers and sisters to worship God together, but not for reasons you might expect.

Occasionally my mind wanders to things going on elsewhere – away from the melodies being sung and the words being preached. Herein is my confession, I suppose. But in these moments, I’m not given much to lunch plans and the possibility of an afternoon nap. Instead, I’m struck by the reality that what we’re a part of each week as believers in the western world is a worship gathering not of our own creation, but rather, the next bit in a worship service that’s already in progress.

We’ve arrived on the scene and we’re fashionably late. In fact, when our church family gathers to worship on Sunday mornings in Kansas City, my brothers and sisters on the East Coast are already singing. What’s more, the entire eastern hemisphere is already into their Sunday evening and some are even easing their way into the wee morning hours of a Monday.

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