There is a peculiar sound that only clergy can hear. It’s the collective rustle of bulletins as the congregation discovers — at the same moment you do — that the order of service has gone rogue. One minute you’re confidently leading “The Gloria,” and the next you’re five hymns deep in a parallel universe where the Nicene Creed has migrated to the announcements and “All Things Bright and Beautiful” has been replaced with a solo from last Easter.
It happens innocently enough. A misplaced cut-and-paste, a printer jam, or a heroic volunteer typing away at midnight on a Saturday with holy intentions and slightly unholy caffeine levels. The next morning, chaos meets liturgy, and the saints of God — undaunted — soldier on.
I once recall a Sunday when the bulletin declared with bold confidence that our opening hymn was “The Day Thou Gavest, Lord, Is Ended.” A touching choice — except that it was 10:30 a.m. and the day had most decidedly not ended. The organist, ever the professional, whispered, “Shall I play it anyway?” I nodded gravely. “Let’s confuse them early,” I said.
And then there was the morning when a line from the Prayers of the People mysteriously merged with an old announcement. The congregation earnestly prayed for “the sick, the suffering, and anyone still looking for volunteers for the pancake supper.” (To be fair, both lists overlapped somewhat.)
But beneath the laughter — and it’s important to laugh — there’s something beautiful about those imperfect Sundays. They remind us that the Church is not a production but a people. The Spirit is not derailed by typos, nor is grace cancelled by an out-of-place hymn. Sometimes the holiest moments come when the priest loses their place, the readers improvise, and the congregation giggles through a page-turning adventure in liturgical flexibility.
In those moments, we rediscover that worship is not about flawless choreography but about showing up together — bulletin or no bulletin — to praise, pray, and perhaps hum the wrong tune for the right reasons. The Lord, I am certain, smiles at our efforts. After all, if God can work through fishermen, shepherds, and prophets with stage fright, surely He can handle a misprinted collect or an absent offertory hymn.
So the next time the bulletin doesn’t match the service, take heart. You’re not witnessing disaster — you’re witnessing the living Church at play. Laugh a little. Sing boldly, even on the wrong verse. And remember: the grace that holds us together is far stronger than the staples in any bulletin.
A Prayer for When the Bulletin Doesn’t Match the Service
Gracious and patient God,
You are never surprised when our plans go sideways —
even when the hymn numbers don’t.
Thank You for smiling upon our well-intentioned chaos,
for blessing our misprints, our missed cues,
and our moments of holy confusion.
Teach us to laugh kindly,
to forgive quickly,
and to worship freely —
even when nothing seems to match but Your mercy.
Remind us that every muddled Sunday still sings Your praise,
and that Your Spirit moves just fine
between the lines and beyond the margins.
In all things — planned and unplanned —
make us grateful, joyful, and ever open
to the grace that doesn’t need a bulletin.
Through Jesus Christ our Lord,
Amen.