Let Us Break Bread Together On Our Knees
By Rev. Daniel A. Smith
November 08, 2009
Twenty-Third Sunday after Pentecost
Lessons: Acts 2: 42-47
Our reading from Acts today gives us a window into another first church, small “f,” small “c.” As in, the very first Christian community ever, a new community of Christ gathered less than two months after the crucifixion and resurrection. They were still grieving the loss and violent execution of their beloved rabbi. They were still astonished by the mystery and joy of the resurrection. They were still shocked by the events of that first Pentecost day. They were in awe of the signs and wonders of what the Spirit of our living God had unleashed in their presence. So what did they do with all of this decidedly raw emotion? They came together from all walks of life to live with a common purpose. These early Christians kept gathering, kept meeting, kept growing in depth and breadth and devotion to God. Through Jesus and through the gift of the Holy Spirit, they knew they had found the life that is really life, the way that was Christ’s way, that way of pouring their lives out for one another and for God. In J.B. Phillips’ beautiful 1958 translation of verse 46 and 47 of our text, “day after day they met by common consent in the Temple; they broke bread together in their homes, sharing meals with simple joy. They praised God continually and all the people respected them.” While some have said that Luke’s depiction here may merely an idealized notion of that very first church, the fact remains that he’s talking here about real people who were making real decisions about real questions. What of my life am I willing to share? And what can we accomplish together with God to make the world a more just, caring and peaceful place? Out of all of their real life pain, and grief, and ongoing persecution, and because of those signs and wonders of God’s living Spirit in their midst, they found themselves able to place the needs of their first church community on the same plane as the needs of their own lives and families. They found themselves sharing meals, and all things in common, with simple joy, and with glad and sincere and truly generous hearts. Whether ideal or real, this is a heartbreakingly beautiful picture of what first churches can be like.
I’m guessing most of us have heard the hymn that’s connected to this passage and that we’ll be singing together shortly. Let us break bread together! Though it’s almost always sung as a communion hymn, it’s based first and foremost not in the story of the last supper, but of these first suppers shared in the early Christian community. I asked Peter if he thought it would be weird to sing it today, on this non-Communion Sunday. He didn’t mind in the least but he did tell me a funny story that circulates amongst church music directors and the like. Most of us know the lyrics by heart. “Let us break bread together on our knees. When I fall on my knees with my face to the rising sun, O Lord, have mercy on me.” Apparently, a soloist once belted out a slightly modified version to a packed congregation, singing “when I fall on my face with my knees to the rising sun, O Lord, have mercy on me.” What I want to know is whether the soloist blew it on the second verse that’s about drinking wine together! It’s good to laugh about this song now, perhaps to find a simple, even mundane, joy therein.
The fact is that this song finds its roots in yet another first church, one even more steeped in grief, suffering, and persecution than the community in Acts. When we turn to the hymn later, I invite you to notice the sentence at the bottom of the hymnal page that explains that this song was originally an African-American spiritual used to call slaves in Virginia to secret gatherings. Imagine for a moment that first church, and imagine that sharing of lives, and that hunger to be fed by a simple song of praise and hope. Imagine sharing that bread and cup holding all things in common, their doing whatever they could to sustain God’s promise of freedom and the hope of everlasting joy! Sometime after the trials of the Civil War, yet another first church, the very first churches of Black Episcopalians are said to have added the communion verses, for it was the Episcopalians who were known to worship and pray together on their knees and kneeling benches. Truth be told, I’ve never felt much of a draw to the Episcopal church but I do think it would be an incredibly powerful experience for those who are able to pray on our knees sometime, together, right here in worship, even without the benches.
There is a theme that courses through these various first churches. When lives and pain and sorrows are shared, gladness, and generosity and joy are never far behind. As someone once said, “shared pain becomes half the pain” and “shared joy becomes double the joy.” It doesn’t happen all at once, but as in Acts, it happens day after day, week after week. When people recognize a sense of common humanity, when we know in our hearts that we all have moments on our knees, what follows are those deeper questions…What does it mean, really, to share our lives together? What more can I share of my life that will help lead us all to the life that is really life?
In this First Church, I’m glad to say that we are already asking these questions. Like earlier faith communities, we too recognize in our own ways those great equalizers of grief, pain, and suffering. We know those moments that draw us out of ourselves and into a deep and heartfelt reliance on each other and on God. Right now, in this community, we are dealing with a larger than usual portion of grief and illness. We are helping each other through existential crises and economic crises and through the pain of historic divisions, racial and otherwise, that continue to weigh on our hearts. And we too come together, day by day, week by week, earnestly desiring to break bread together. The more we can do so together, especially on our knees, the more we too can live into the life that is really life – the life that despite all appearances assures that we are all equal in God’s sight, all precious and all beloved by God. We too continue to ask “what can I share of my life, and through our sharing what can we accomplish together?”
Apparently, those members of the first church in Acts didn’t need to think too hard about how much to share or give. As the story goes, they gave it all in knowledge that God was their only richness. Without wanting to discourage any of you from doing this, we may need some alternative ideas for how to go about discerning just how much of our lives to share, and how we can make this first church look more like that first church, and how we too might become such a living outpost of God’s kingdom. Asssuming that most of us are not ready for that deep end of giving it all away, myself included, we can still find in this passage a principle that can guide our giving, a principle of equal sharing. Did you notice the egalitarian structure in this passage – no haves or have nots, everyone in it together, everyone giving the same thing, which was everything. Allow me to get really practical for a moment. Imagine that we all gave x percent, the same percent, of our gross income. Clearly, this is not a novel idea. Religious communities have encouraged tithing 10 percent since biblical times and even before. For now though, I’m not as concerned about the number 10 as I am in the principle of proportionately equal sharing. Regardless of what we make in a year, whether its $2000, $20,000, $200,000 or more, imagine one common percentage so that all can be equal givers! I confess I never though of that equalizing aspect of a tithe until I considered my own pledge in light of this passage. I realize I’m painting an ideal picture, one that may well stretch our 21st century minds more than the picture in Acts. But for those of you who haven’t yet tried pledging with a percentage in mind, I’d encourage you to do so and see it how feels. Just to try imagine what it could feel like, say in a few years, if we were to set a collective goal of x percent, let’s call it 10, that we could come to this place and come to this time of year knowing that everyone was carrying an equal share. Can we imagine the ways that such a commitment and a collective spiritual practice could transform the way that we see ourselves church and indeed the way come to this table and break bread together. Absent the possibility of giving it all away, we’re left with giving some, giving what’s left, giving whatever feels right, which leaves all kinds of curious wiggle room. Percentage giving, on the contrary, could be a way for us all to fall on our knees and praise God with faces to the sun! All in together, no one ahead, no one behind, no giving whatever’s left, but all giving off the top, the very first fruits of their being in response to the God who calls us to life in community.
Nancy and I made a commitment to each other a few years that we would start giving a percentage. We’ve been increasing the percentage ever since so that we can now give 10% of our combined gross income. It hasn’t been easy, we’re still carrying debt and not socking away as much for the kids college. But we’re still, even now working on setting aside money, beyond the 10, for other organizations that are near and dear to heart. Its been a practice, that comes day by day but we love doing it. We know its good for us. Far from its feeling like a burden or obligation, it’s one of our most profound and liberating joys. Am I asking you all to go and do likewise? Maybe! But for now, I’m far more interested in our thinking together, and maybe even talking together over a meal, about how such a practice could transform our community, and how it could be one way to make this first church look more like those other first churches that have led us here. Falling on our knees, professors and store clerks, doctors and students, artists, non-profit execs and the homeless, coming together, sharing our lives, giving the same proportional amount. Can you imagine the justice and joy, the beauty and perhaps even the radical counterculture pride we could feel in being part of such a vision? Can you imagine the life that is really life that we could foster, through more support for the homeless men in our shelter, for our parish relief fund, for going green and becoming fully accessible, for partnerships across the city and planet, for an alternative worship that could grow and feed and deepen devotion, and add breadth to our community and diversity. By the grace of God we are already changing people’s lives and changing the world, so can you imagine what more of this life that is really life we could co-create with God and share with the world if and when we are attentive to this first church vision of equality? I know the commitment is there whenever we are willing to fall on our knees, to acknowledge our common humanity, and our common hunger for God. What follows out of our sheer gratitude for these bedrock things is an unbreakable sense of shared joy, generosity and purpose for our lives.
As you consider what your pledges will be for this year, whether a tithe, a percentage or perhaps some other amount you are discerning with our God, I invite you to sing this song in your hearts. Let its simple invitation wash over you. Remembering that first church in Acts, this first church and the first church of our future. Fall on your knees, face to the sun and pray those same questions: “what can I share of my life that will lead us all to the life that is really life?” If you aren’t already doing so, consider your pledge a spiritual practice with the power to change and deepen your life and the life of this community. Day by day, sing out! Day by day, break bread. Day by day, share your life ever more generously, until you find you are on your very knees, and there you will find a gratitude and joy sublime, in communion with God and with those around you. Let us do it together and let this place continue to be a household of joy, filled with glad and generous hearts.