Cum Panis

Acts of the Apostles 2:42-47

They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers.

Awe came upon everyone, because many wonders and signs were being done by the apostles. All who believed were together and had all things in common; they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need. Day by day, as they spent much time together in the temple, they broke bread at home and ate their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God and having the goodwill of all the people. And day by day the Lord added to their number those who were being saved.

To give you a little context for today’s passage, the apostles are in the honeymoon phase. These are the earliest days of the Christian movement—the grief of Jesus’s death and ascension has subsided, and the apostles have been gifted with some of Jesus’ healing gifts—they’re living together, they’re preaching and teaching together, they’re healing and giving together, and they’re breaking bread together every single day. As it mentions in this passage, they still spend a great deal of time praying in the temple, so this is before any real tensions have arisen between these new Jesus-following Jews and the fully Torah-abiding Jews. They’re living in harmony with those around them doing good deeds and bringing awe and joy to people. It’s written just before this passage that they’ve gone from about 115 members to 3,000, and after this passage, it’s written that they’ve hit 5,000. As Maggie mentioned in Bible Study the other day, this sounds downright utopian. This humble and giving Christian church growing by hundreds by the day, with seemingly very little pushback, just living together in harmony.

Well, Luke, the writer of Acts, may have been romanticizing just a little, but this was indeed a good time for early Christians. Numbers weren’t yet big enough to get that much attention, but they were growing and getting along with those around them and doing legitimately amazing things—healing and giving to those who needed it, all while living together communally under the principles of humility and Love that Jesus taught them.

Just imagine if all of sudden we could let go of all our responsibilities this world forces upon us, and just live and learn and preach and help those who need it. It wouldn’t be too long, I don’t think, before there wouldn’t be many who would need all that extra help and mutual aid! It strikes me that it could result in some kind of lovely utopia! The dream of the 60’s, everyone living on self-sufficient communes, working for the greater good—but it didn’t pan out in the apostles’ day; it didn’t pan out in the idealistic and passionate 60’s back-to-the-land movement—you know, the one that brough Bernie and Ben and Jerry to this fine state.

But don’t worry—this isn’t a sermon about despair or how nothing will ever change. This is a sermon about how we can start thinking differently and change the world in small ways, life-giving ways. This is a sermon about how sacred and moving something as simple as breaking bread with one another can be.

We read this same passage at Dinner Church on Wednesday, and there was a short essay called “The Manna Way” about the early days of Communion I read that I loved so much—to quote from the essay,

…Jesus came up with an idea—something so simple, so clever, that the disciples could practice it every day, and the Romans would have no idea what’s really going on. And this is it. Whenever they eat together, they do three things. Thank. Break. Share. It was so simple, but it’s the opposite of what the oppressors do, which is: Take. Hoard. Consume.

The essay goes on to talk about how radical this action was in Jesus’ day, and those in power today still seem to hold onto those sinful principles of “take, hoard, consume,” so breaking bread together can be just as radical today.

In my research for this sermon, I discovered that the word companion comes from the latin cum panis, which means “with bread” or “bread sharer.” In our passage for today, the apostles are doing four things together—they are praying, they’re teaching and discussing, they’re doing good deeds for people in need, and they’re breaking bread together. They’re true companions, doing these things daily, coming together, sharing all their possessions and resources—that’s what it means when it’s written that they had all things and common—and doing the work that Jesus taught them to do and prepped them for before he left this world.

Now again, imagine if we had the abilities to break bread together daily, to discern the word of God daily, to do nothing but give to those who need it. What a world we would live in. But there are some things we can probably work do almost daily. We can make it a point to break bread together daily, or at least, more often than we currently do. And we can recognize such a simple thing as giving ourselves sustenance and sharing that sustenance with others as a sacred act, even when we’re not technically gathered around a communion table. When Luke talks about breaking bread together in the book of Acts, he doesn’t specify if he means that he and his companions, the other apostles are actually partaking in the sacrament of communion, or if they’re just eating a regular meal together—and this is probably because there was no differentiation between the two. Everything these apostles did was in the name of Jesus, they lived and breathed Jesus and the Holy Spirit 24/7. When they broke bread together and ate a meal, they were both eating food from God’s perfect earth, and they were partaking in the sacraments, always having Jesus and the works he taught them to do on their minds. There was no separation.

We live in a world now in which not only do we have precious little time to worship together on Sundays, not to mention taking extra time to do good works outside of church and worktime, but even in our home and social lives, breaking bread together, sharing meals together, has become increasingly less and less common. This is for all the reasons we’d expect by now—longer workdays, workdays that sometimes never end, feeling just too exhausted or burnt out to spend much time making a meal and sitting down with your loved ones, not to mention the ease of getting takeout and fast food, (though less so here and rural Vermont— and while I do still miss the Philly food scene, I have enjoyed honing my cooking skills a little more since moving here). And of course, one of the biggest factors is the now ever-present problem of isolation. Some researchers have actually compared the health problems that can come along with isolation to the dangers of smoking cigarettes.

But the difference between smoking cigarettes and the isolation that we generally have a little more control over one—while smoking is an addiction, it’s something you can kick. But the isolation so many experience today is one that has been exacerbated by the way our country is run, by the hours we work, by the money we need to survive, which seems to be continue to increase, unlike wages. And this leads so many to ditch something that generations before us really valued—sitting down to a meal together. And even more than that, preparing a meal together. Who has the time or the energy?

A couple days ago I listened to a New York Times interview, actually with a professor in at Champlain College, Sheila Liming, who just wrote a book called Hanging Out: The Radical Power of Killing Time, all about how something as simple as hanging out in person with one another has become so difficult to do. At one point, she talks about how when she walks into her classroom, it’s dead silent—because instead of interacting with one another, her students are texting with far-away friends on their phones. She elaborates on this and says,

…I don’t think it’s a lack of a realization that they could have the same conversation with the person sitting next to them. I think it’s more about a fear of the risk that comes from doing that — that there’s this kind of public exposure that’s going to happen, or you’re going to be judged in the act of trying to start a conversation with somebody you don’t already know yet.[i]

She goes on to talk about how there’s sort of a harmful comfort that comes with predominantly interacting with people online— if you find yourself disagreeing with someone or getting frustrated, you can simply close your laptop, block a number or a screen name, or a social media profile (and don’t get me wrong, sometimes we can and should do this for our own mental health), but in general, you can avoid uncomfortable situations on the internet. But of course this isn’t possible when you’re talking to someone face-to-face. And so it makes isolating ourselves a lot easier than possibly finding ourselves in uncomfortable situations. I mean, folks on Zoom right now, if they hate what I’m saying, they can just close their laptop, and I’ll never know, no harm no foul, right?

And now let’s think about what the apostles were doing, and how they were living—they were living, not just in community with one another, but also going out into the wider community and helping and healing, conversing and teaching. And then they were breaking bread together. Sometimes with just themselves, but sometimes with others who were attracted to their message and actions. And in turn, they were learning from one another and creating new connections and growing their communities. And this was a risk. Not only was it a risk when it came to gaining the attention of oppressive Roman rule, though that will certainly come; but there also those kind of risks we can all avoid if we don’t step out of our comfort zones or our internet bubbles—risks of social faux pas, of social rejection, of awkward interactions. But it didn’t matter to the apostles—because interacting with and helping one another, engaging this this kind of deep and relational interactions, this was so much of Jesus’ ministry. And I know those kinds awkward social interactions of social rejection things can indeed feel icky or cringey in the moment, they’re worth the risk of just connecting deeply with one or two people.

This, I think, has been one of the goals in doing Breakfast Church and Dinner Church—it gives an option for an intentional time of not just being here on Sunday mornings and listening to me, but listening to one another— sharing stories and ideas and questions and laughs over simple soups and breads. It creates this intimacy that I think is really missing in a lot of churches these days. It creates an intentional space to break bread together, to share in God’s many gifts— of food, of community in Christ, and of Love.

It's not just churches, though—one article on the disappearance of eating together points out that fewer and fewer dining room tables are being sold, especially in wealthier economies; as well as serving dishes, and even plates. But as one article in the Atlantic states, it’s not that people don’t want to eat together—it’s that they can’t. The author, Amanda Mull writes:

They’ll subscribe to delivery ingredient boxes by the millions, buy a staggering number of Instant Pots and air fryers, and make the internet sometimes feel like one giant recipe swap. It isn’t that they’ve gotten lazy or gluttonous. The very structure of American life has changed to make the basics of stability difficult to attain, down to something as simple as eating with your partner or child, or having a partner or child at all. The problem of dinner is far larger than what you’re going to eat.[ii]

But this is where places like our faith community can come in—there’s this concept of third spaces, another important societal function quickly disappearing thanks to our grueling work culture, the internet and social media, and of course the pandemic—this is a phrase that was coined by sociologist Ray Oldenburg in the late 1980’s, and it refers to a space that’s not your first space—home, or your second space—work, but a third space in which we gather with others, friends, acquaintances, strangers alike. I would love to go into the theory of third places in detail, because I love it, but we’re nearing the end of the sermon, so… I won’t. But ultimately, a third place is someplace where people can gather with no obligation—they don’t have to be there. They want to be there. It’s a place where conversation is the main activity, where there are regulars, but newcomers and strangers are welcome. It’s a place without pretention where people can truly feel at home away from home.

Church, I want this to be a third place. I think it is for many of you, and that fills my heart with joy and hope. But I think we can find ways to break bread together more often; I think we can find ways to expand our radical hospitality and welcome. I think we can start to work towards an earth as it is in heaven by working on building our own little utopia right here. Around tables. With conversation. With understanding. With true companionship in Jesus’ name. Amen.

[i] https://www.nytimes.com/2023/04/18/opinion/ezra-klein-podcast-sheila-liming.html

[ii] https://www.theatlantic.com/health/archive/2019/10/work-its-whats-for-dinner/599770/