As a parent of four adult children, I often reflect on the children’s younger days. I lovingly yearn for the Sundays ago when I could look down the pew and see them lined up in prayer. These days I pray that my children remember their faith, and pass it on to their own children.

Two events inspired the reflection that follows. About four years ago my adult married son with 3 young children came over to the house, flopped on the couch, and said, “Mom, remember when we would all come home from school or work, gather in the kitchen, do homework, prepare the meal, pray, eat, play, pray, and go to bed?” I said, “Yeah, I remember. I sort of had something to do with all that.” He said, “Mom, I want that. I want that so bad.” (He and his wife work different shifts and many evenings are spent on sports, piano lessons, scouts, etc.)

Also about four years ago my former boss with whom I would meet at about 4:00 p.m. twice a week for briefings, and after being interrupted many times because my cellular kept ringing during our meetings, asked me, “Did you notice that your whole family seems to check in with you about this time?” I said, “Yeah, I guess it’s routine. It’s the time they get home from school or work.” He said, “Hmm … 4:00 p.m. – the hour of Eucharist – the time for gathering.”

The Gathering Rite

It’s that time. The school bus pulls up to the stop. The pleasant sound of voices thunder towards the front door, cross the threshold, and fill the home with resonance. There are coats to hang, book-bags to put away, clothes to change, and shoes to kick off. Changeover, transition, conversion: leaving one place to enter a new. It’s that time. There are stories to tell: here’s a skinned knee; here’s a bruised ego; here’s an A on a history test. It’s that time: there are pots to fill, potatoes to peel, the table to set. “Don’t bump your sister; she’ll spill the soup.” “Pass me that towel.” “Get the milk from the fridge.” It’s that time. “Dad’s home. It’s time to eat.” Bustle turns to hushed expectation. Longing, loving, gathering, coming together – and we begin: Bless us O Lord, and these thy gifts...

What is it that brings us together from work, from school, from play, to gather us as a unit, a family, an assembly? Is it the joy of coming home? What is it that allows us to kiss a skinned knee, embrace a bruised ego, and rejoice in another’s accomplishment? What is it that encourages us to pick up our roles, each according to our abilities, for the good of the whole? Is it a sense of family? But, we’re a motley group. Is it the expectation of a meal? But, the preparation is half the fun! Perhaps it’s that time – the moment – the present presence.

A group of five thousand (not counting women and children) once pulled up to a stop for a time, a moment, a presence. I’m sure there were stories to tell: a skinned knee possibly. It was a motley group – the human race. They were met by the One who cures; the One who longs, loves, gathers, and brings together – even before the expectation or preparation of the meal – the gift of presence. But indeed, there was preparation: bring, sit down, recline – and we begin: “Blessed are you, O Lord our God, Ruler of the universe, who brings forth bread from the earth.” (Ber 6:1)

What is it that brings us together on Sunday morning coming from all directions – greeting one another even before we park our cars? Such a motley group – the human race. What allows us to pour through the doors and resound with joy as we embrace bruised egos and applaud the week’s accomplishments? We long, love, gather, come together – to be united in the name of the Lord. The meticulous liturgy-coordinator runs about complete with checklist and clipboard. The sacristan brings bread and wine to the gift table while scouting out gift bearers. There’s a group of servers in the corner gathered for a quiet prayer. Greeters are at the entrance and the choir is at the rear. From one end of the church to the other, it’s that time – changeover, transition, conversion. Leaving our shortcomings behind we gather together in the name of the Lord. The bustle unfolds to hushed expectation, and we begin: In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.

It’s that time. The trumpets sound. The human race – that motley group pours over the threshold into the last day, leaving one place to enter a new. It’s the gathering rite – the time – the moment – the present presence. There are stories to tell; no more skinned knees. Expectation unfolds to be united in the Lord. Bring, sit down, recline, begin: Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord.