“Breaking bread” is one of those biblical phrases,
like “putting words in someone’s mouth”
or “going the extra mile,”
that has woven its way
into the English language
and is often used
without any awareness of its source.
It originates in our Gospel reading for today—
“he was made known to them
in the breaking of bread”—
and recurs in the book of Acts
as the name for the sacred meal
that we today call the Eucharist or Mass.
like “putting words in someone’s mouth”
or “going the extra mile,”
that has woven its way
into the English language
and is often used
without any awareness of its source.
It originates in our Gospel reading for today—
“he was made known to them
in the breaking of bread”—
and recurs in the book of Acts
as the name for the sacred meal
that we today call the Eucharist or Mass.
In our culture, even those
with no knowledge of the Bible
use this phrase to speak
of a particular kind of eating.
No one speaks of “breaking bread”
when eating alone,
for the phrase suggests shared food.
And we tend to use it for
particularly significant and meaningful
instances of eating together:
perhaps a meal in which you bond with a new friend,
perhaps a meal at which you reunite or reconcile
with someone you have not seen in a long time
or with from whom you’ve been estranged.
To break bread is to find a unity
in the midst of brokenness and separation,
a meal of intimacy and companionship.
Hidden in this phrase “breaking bread”
are the Gospel values of generosity and justice,
of mercy and reconciliation,
and above all of solidarity and sacrifice.
with no knowledge of the Bible
use this phrase to speak
of a particular kind of eating.
No one speaks of “breaking bread”
when eating alone,
for the phrase suggests shared food.
And we tend to use it for
particularly significant and meaningful
instances of eating together:
perhaps a meal in which you bond with a new friend,
perhaps a meal at which you reunite or reconcile
with someone you have not seen in a long time
or with from whom you’ve been estranged.
To break bread is to find a unity
in the midst of brokenness and separation,
a meal of intimacy and companionship.
Hidden in this phrase “breaking bread”
are the Gospel values of generosity and justice,
of mercy and reconciliation,
and above all of solidarity and sacrifice.
But when a phrase like “breaking bread,”
and the notions of solidarity and sacrifice
that it enshrines,
are cut off from their Christian roots,
they can become only distant echoes
of the true promise of the Gospel,
echoes that might be misheard
or, even worse, manipulated.
Separated from the story of salvation—
the story that Jesus unfolds
for the confused disciples
on the road to Emmaus—
the solidarity and sacrifice of broken bread
might come to mean something quite different,
and even opposed,
to the Gospel of Jesus Christ.
Christian notions of solidarity and sacrifice
can be used to bless and sanctify
other sorts of costly human undertakings
that do indeed unite people
but which are at odds
with the bread of peace
that Jesus breaks with his disciples.
The writer Antoine de Saint-Exupéry,
best known for the classic book The Little Prince,
was an aviator who lost his life
in the Second World War.
Reflecting on the way in which
armed conflict can give meaning and unity
to those who fight on the same side,
he wrote, “Men can, of course,
be stirred into life
by being dressed up in uniforms
and made to blare out chants of war.
It must be confessed that this
is one way for men
to break bread with comrades
and to find what they are seeking,
which is a sense of something universal,
of self-fulfillment.
But of this bread men die” (A Sense of Life).
Antoine de Saint-Exupéry knew firsthand
how easily one might mistake
the feeling of solidarity attained in warfare
for the unity of God’s kingdom,
the sacrifice made to the nation
for a sacrifice made to God,
breaking the bread of death
for breaking the bread of life.
Unless you’ve been living
in a remote monastery
or in an underground bunker
(both of which might seem
like sensible life choices these days),
you are no doubt aware
of the furor that has been stirred up
by Pope Leo’s remarks concerning peace,
in particular his questioning of
the justification of the war in Iran
and his statements that
“God does not bless any conflict.
Anyone who is a disciple of Christ,
the Prince of Peace,
is never on the side of those
who once wielded the sword
and today drop bombs.”
The ensuing furor has included
the U.S. President taking to social media
to criticize the Pope as “weak on crime,”
to claim that Leo supports a nuclear-armed Iran,
and to take credit for Leo’s election as Pope,
as well as the Vice-President cautioning the Pope,
“If you're going to opine on matters of theology,
you’ve got to be careful.”
Speaking for myself,
I have no idea what to make
of the President’s remarks
(except to say that they are false),
and while I certainly agree
that one ought to be careful
when opining on theology,
I hardly think the Pope needs
to be reminded of this
by the Vice President.
The general reaction
of the Pope’s critics has been
that he ought to stay in his lane
and not meddle in politics.
But I think this criticism betrays
a profound misunderstanding
both of the nature of politics
and of the role of the papacy.
Politics is not some
amoral sphere of statecraft
where the will of the majority
(much less the will of the executive)
determines right or wrong,
good or evil.
From the right to life
to the economy
to foreign policy,
our politics must be subjected
to moral evaluation and judgment.
And the role of the Pope
is to aid us in making that moral judgment.
The role of the Pope
is the role we see Peter exercising
in the book of Acts:
to bear witness to the risen Jesus,
who is the king who lays claim
not to some small sliver of our lives
but to the whole of life,
to matters of wealth and poverty,
of peace and war,
good and evil,
life and death.
The role of the Pope
is to ensure that the Word of God
is not a series of faint cultural echoes
that sanctify the schemes of men
but the two-edged sword that penetrates
“even between soul and spirit,
joints and marrow…
able to discern reflections
and thoughts of the heart.”
The role of the Pope
is to help us see the difference
between breaking the bread of death
and breaking the bread of life.
is to aid us in making that moral judgment.
The role of the Pope
is the role we see Peter exercising
in the book of Acts:
to bear witness to the risen Jesus,
who is the king who lays claim
not to some small sliver of our lives
but to the whole of life,
to matters of wealth and poverty,
of peace and war,
good and evil,
life and death.
The role of the Pope
is to ensure that the Word of God
is not a series of faint cultural echoes
that sanctify the schemes of men
but the two-edged sword that penetrates
“even between soul and spirit,
joints and marrow…
able to discern reflections
and thoughts of the heart.”
The role of the Pope
is to help us see the difference
between breaking the bread of death
and breaking the bread of life.
Pope Leo is not telling us
that we cannot be good Catholics
and good Americans at the same time.
But he may well be telling us
that being a good Catholic
might have to redefine
what it means to be a good American.
He is telling us that
if we break bread with Jesus
so that our eyes are opened
to his presence with us on the way,
we might have to walk that road differently
than we did before.
As Leo’s predecessor of blessed memory,
Pope Francis, put it:
“we who share this Bread
of unity and of peace
are called to love every face;
to mend every tear;
to be, always and everywhere,
builders of peace.”
“we who share this Bread
of unity and of peace
are called to love every face;
to mend every tear;
to be, always and everywhere,
builders of peace.”
So let us pray for our Pope Leo,
let us pray for our President and nation,
and let us pray that God,
the compassionate,
the merciful,
might have mercy on us all.
let us pray for our President and nation,
and let us pray that God,
the compassionate,
the merciful,
might have mercy on us all.
