The band’s Bandito tour served as a stunning case study for what corporate worship could be.

In the world of Twenty One Pilots’ allegorical concept album Trench, depression, anxiety, and the like take the form of “bishops” who rule the captive city of Dema. Pitted against the bishops are the Banditos, Dema escapees who live in the wastelands (“Trench”) outside. The album provides a narrative framework for the invisible war we wage in the hinterland between our ears. And with this summer’s Bandito Tour, Twenty One Pilots crafted an experience that allowed us to verbally and bodily affirm the truths of that narrative, as well as larger truths that Christians share. While the concert I attended was by no means a worship service, it was a stunning case study in what corporate worship can and should be.

The Bandito Tour is presented as an extension of the world of Trench. The concert began with drummer Josh Dun seemingly striding straight out of the “Nico and the Niners” music video and onto the stage, torch still in hand. Frontman Tyler Joseph then materialized in full Bandito gear—camouflage highlighted with strips of yellow—and the opening cry of “Cover me!,” from “Jumpsuit,” cuts through the applause. As he crossed the bridge, a shower of yellow confetti trickled down, recalling the petals the Banditos throw to hide Joseph from the bishops in the music video. “Jumpsuit” flowed into “Levitate,” with Joseph singing and dancing on and around the burning car from the Bandito camp portrayed in that video. Moreover, most of the crowd was dressed in some interpretation of the Bandito uniform (camo, bandanas, yellow tape), extending the narrative verisimilitude beyond the stage and throughout the stadium.

Having established our place in the storyline of Trench, Joseph then went out of his way to remind us that we were in a room full of fellow Banditos. Time and again, he stepped back and allowed the audience to carry the music. Unprompted and unaccompanied, we launched into the lyrics of “Stressed Out” as soon as the instrumental intro concluded; the band even disappeared for the entire rendition of “Truce,” leaving the audience to sing alone.

The goal, however, was not simply to get us singing. The band had particular words for us to say, words hand-picked to impress truth on our hearts. In “Stressed Out,” Joseph handed the hook to the audience, calling, “What’s your name?” and receiving back the chant, “My name’s Blurryface and I care what you think.” The song thus became a communal confession, an opportunity to expose the insecurities that Blurryface represents. In “Bandito,” Joseph went silent as his Banditos repeated the refrain, “Sahlo Folina,” the code word that Banditos “cry out in Trench when we are in need.” Then, in “My Blood,” he led us in answering this cry for help, splitting the audience in two and directing us to sing the refrain to each other: “Stay with me, no, you don't need to run. / Stay with me, my blood.”

What’s more, the crowd’s participation was bodily, as well as vocal. Joseph waded into the pit and sang the first half of “Holding on to You” while quite literally holding and being held up by the crowd. Presented thus, this song about clinging to faith in the midst of suffering became an anthem promising faithfulness to each other.

The show climaxed with “Trees.” Dun and Joseph close every performance with this number, both held up by the crowd and each playing a bass drum, audience and performers symbolically one. The lyrics are a cry for someone (most likely God) to reveal themselves: “Why won't you speak where I happen to be … I want to know you; I want to see; I want to say hello.” The song began gently and grew to a passionate finish; when the final drop hit, it was accompanied by an explosion of yellow confetti. The soft trickle of yellow which began the show was now a thick and driving rain. As the music crescendoed to its end, the phrase “I want to say hello” became simply a joyous repetition of “hello!,” transforming an expression of longing into a cry of welcome. Our vulnerability was met with acceptance, our isolation drowned in community, and our pain eclipsed by the promise of victory.

Joseph and Dun took the stage that night to lead us in a process of communal creation which would point us toward that which is most real and most beautiful, and which would equip us to hold on to that vision after the music faded. It struck me that corporate worship does the same.