Grace at the Start: How Moving Communion Changed Our Worship and Our Community

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Some of you might find the change I’m going to describe surprising, while others may wonder why it’s a big deal at all. Either way, I want to tell the story of a shift we’ve made in our worship service—not to convince you it’s the right way, but to share what it’s done for us and how it reflects the kind of community we’re becoming. For those who live nearby, consider this your invitation to come and experience it for yourself.

This past year, we moved communion² to the very beginning of our service. Traditionally, communion is at the end, after confession, readings, the sermon, and the creed. That’s the structure I was taught and have followed for much of my ministry. But we’ve been learning something new about how this meal can shape us when it becomes the first thing we do together.

Theologically, communion is an open table in our community. There are no prerequisites—no right beliefs or perfect confessions required. Moving communion to the start of worship reflects that understanding. It’s the act that gathers us and invites us into deeper connection, not something we earn or build toward. It’s a meal where everyone belongs from the outset, centering the radical hospitality that we believe is at the heart of the gospel.

Practically, this change has also made our worship more participatory. Many of the children in our congregation help serve communion, and placing it at the beginning ensures they are fully engaged from the start. Afterward, they head to their own time in children’s church, returning later for prayers and blessings (we’ve introduced annointing with oil and prayers for healing in this space) at the close of the service.³ This rhythm not only honors their role in our community but also reshapes how we all enter into worship—with an open, shared act of grace.

But this shift isn’t just about making worship flow better or rethinking traditions. It’s also about who we are as a congregation. For us, worship is the practice that grounds everything else we do—our mutual aid efforts, our partnerships with neighbors in need, our work for justice in the world. Communion at the start of the service reminds us that we don’t come to the table to be filled for ourselves alone. We come to be nourished by the body and blood of Christ for the sake of others, to be strengthened in our shared calling to love and serve.

This change has been meaningful for us, but it’s not a one-size-fits-all approach. Still, it has made me wonder: What does communion mean in your community? How does its place in worship reflect who you are and what you’re called to be in the world?

If you’re nearby, I hope you’ll join us one Sunday to experience this pattern for yourself. And if you’re planning worship elsewhere, I hope this story sparks reflection on how worship and justice can meet in your own context. Together, at the table and beyond it, we’re shaping a life of faith that turns outward in love and solidarity with the world. I’m of the opinion shaping such shared life together is one of the most revolutionary acts of all.

1. I know, the picture is not of communion but I figured being able to see where we are in some of the

2. The sharing of the bread and wine (we use gluten-free bread and juice so as to make the meal accessible to all) as the body and blood of Christ.

3. We’ve also introduced a weekly practice of break-out conversations after the sermon so the message of the Word is communicated not just by the preacher but by the whole community.