Didache 10
On this World Communion Sunday we also begin our fall reading of The Didache, a training manual used by some of the house churches in the first century. It’s a happy accident. World Communion reminds us that all Christians around the world are connected through our faith and our common practice of the Lord’s Table. The Didache communities were connected to the churches across their known world through those who traveled from community to community, being hosted on their way through town. They had a vision of those who followed Jesus being the true “Kingdom of God” which overlay the Roman Empire. They were connected to one another in a reality that was greater than the world of their time and they celebrated unity every time they celebrated Eucharist.
The words they used over the bread repeated this vision of unity: Just as this broken loaf was scattered over the hills as grain, and having been gathered together, became one; in like fashion may your church be gathered together from the ends of the earth into you kingdom. They celebrated connection.
In our day communion has become a ritual remembrance. We eat a bite of bread and drink a thimble of juice to represent a meal. In the first century communion was a meal. It started from the last meal Jesus shared with those who traveled with him. That was a Passover feast – a celebration of their roots in a history woven with the action of God. God who set them free from oppression and made them a people. It was a feast among friends who spent time together creating a new way of living in community, setting people free from the horrors of political occupation by treating each other as family.
The first century house churches recreated this meal, some as often as every evening. They gathered to eat together – potluck. They shared what they had with each other and with followers of Jesus passing through. They talked about their day – how they had put the teachings of Jesus into practice. How they had showed love to neighbors and how they dealt with challenges posed by difficult circumstances. They ate bread and drank wine – not a tiny bit, but enough to really sustain themselves. They were filled with food and with spiritual food, and they remembered that Jesus promised to join them at the table whenever two or three gathered.
On World Communion we gather bread that represents the world. We gather it in much larger quantities than we need for communion. I always hope that you’ll take a bigger piece, enough to remember that we’re eating together. (And we put the leftovers out for coffee hour, when we really do eat together.) And we remember our connection to people who gather at tables in every time zone, praying in every known language. We will never meet most of these people, but in our commitment to Jesus we are one people.
I’m intrigued by the last line of today’s reading: And turn toward the prophets allowing them to eucharistize as much as they wish. The official name of Holy Communion is Eucharist, a word whose root is “give thanks.” When we celebrate communion, we give thanks. Often that gets lost in our solemn practice. It would be more authentic if we came singing and dancing down the aisle in great joyful enthusiasm. First century followers were more on board with the thanksgiving part, because they saw this meal as a promise that one day the world would be overturned and they would feast in Jesus’ kingdom. It was a foretaste of revolution and freedom.
In Didache communities, the prophets were often people who had come to them from other cities. They were people who had been broken by the political and economic system of the times. They may once have been farmers or craftsmen. They had tried unsuccessfully to make ends meet, unable to pay high taxes to Rome and large rents to landowners or lenders. Some may have lost family to executions or to the practice of selling children you couldn’t afford to feed into slavery, where they would be fed and clothed for life. The payment would have gone to pay off debt. They would be left with nothing, at the mercy of communities who gave them a place to sleep and let them eat. So why would they be called on to give thanks at the end of the meal? Perhaps because the meal envisioned a world in which poverty and oppression was overthrown. Jesus promised in his reign there would be food and shelter and joy. Perhaps because gratitude is healing. When you have lost everything, it takes time to begin to see some good in each day.
I was thinking about this passage this week and watching for ways to be grateful – for a break in traffic when I had to turn onto Bygland Road early in the morning. For the warm sweet taste of hot chocolate at the football game on a cool night. For a chance to connect with family. When life is busy and a bit overwhelming, small moments of gratitude settle us and remind us that there’s more to life than daily distractions.
Sometimes life today is a bit like the first century for people. These are hard economic times for many. I’m grateful for the ways we can lift that burden for a few. In many place in the world life is dangerous – warfare and political oppression are realities. Even in our own country immigrants have reason to fear. Just like our spiritual ancestors, we acknowledge that life isn’t what God envisions for people. We hope for a better way, trusting in Jesus’ promises, trying to create a more just and loving society guided by his vision. And we reach out to those who share that vision across national boundaries and language barriers. We remember what we hold in common, what unites us in spite of many divisions. We celebrate our common dream that we will sit together at a table of joy and life, and we commit ourselves to work toward that vision every day. That is a reason to give thanks. That is a reason for great joy.