On Friday, I devoted myself to the baking of bread. I had started a pound of pre-ferment on Thursday, and in the morning I weighed and added the other ingredients to the mixing bowl — flour, water, and salt. I devoted myself to measuring, blending, kneading, and waiting. With a good, active pre-ferment it usually takes about three hours for the community of microorganisms to turn the whole batch from a sticky mess into smooth, bubbly, and bouncy dough. They were doing all the work while I was catching up on a couple of podcasts.
Ezra Klein was talking with Sheila Liming, who teaches at a college in Vermont. He told her about his surprise when reading
this recent study by Cigna that found that about almost twice as many adults aged 18 to 24 reported feeling lonely versus seniors aged 66 and older. So 79 percent of young adults and 41 percent of seniors. And by the way, 79 percent of young adults feeling lonely — I mean, that’s really bad. And you can attribute some of this to the pandemic. But this structure of young adults feeling lonelier than the elderly was consistent in pre-pandemic research, too.
So you teach college students, as you mentioned. I’m curious what you observe about how people in that age group, which I think are canonically and stereotypically understood as the most social, what kind of trouble they’re having socializing, not socializing — how you understand the particular loneliness epidemic among young adults.
She quickly responded, “Oh, they’re having a ton of trouble,” and she talked about some of her observations. Then she described a typical scene:
I think about what an average college classroom is like these days when I walk into the room before the start of class. And generally, when I walk into the room at the start of class, and there’s a lot of young people, and they’re getting ready to start class, it’s dead silent. And everybody’s staring at their phones. And I don’t blame them. And what they’re doing is they’re talking to people most of the time. They’re talking to someone who is somewhere else who is going to have a conversation with them, who’s going to talk with them about their day, who’s going to help them process whatever’s going on in their life. And 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.[1]
The two continued to share other observations and findings about trends in our culture that drive fragmentation, isolation, and loneliness. The third voice that was present for me, was Luke. He writes about the community of believers that emerges on Pentecost.
They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers.
Another way to translate this is
They were constant in their attention to the teachings of the apostles, the fellowship, the breaking of bread, and the prayers.[2]
They were constant in their attention to four things. I can listen to a podcast while I’m kneading the dough, but if I do it while I’m measuring the ingredients, it’s highly likely I will either follow the conversation and mess up the dough, or attend to the dough and miss parts of the conversation. They were constant in their attention to four things, Luke insists.
Who were they? Luke is writing about Pentecost, about the Spirit that inspired, empowered, and directed the mission of Jesus, that same Spirit being poured out on the disciples. Luke is writing about one of the apostles, Peter, proclaiming salvation in Jesus, the crucified Messiah whom God raised from the dead, and the Spirit was moving, breathing, nudging, weaving—and those who welcomed Peter’s message were baptized, and that day about three thousand persons were added. Three thousand in a day—Awe came upon everyone because many wonders and signs were being done through the apostles! Wonders and signs indeed. But think about that for a moment: three thousand Jews from all over the known world, men and women, young and old, rich and poor, speaking different dialects, eating different foods, with different interpretations of Torah, all with their own personalities, preferences, attitudes, fears, prejudices—three thousand in a day!
Day by day, as they spent much time together in the temple, they broke bread in their homes and ate their food with glad and generous hearts.
Think about those doing the cooking day by day, or those coordinating which believers would meet in which house, or who would bring what to the potluck. And just when all of them were beginning to learn the names of those sharing dinner with glad and generous hearts, newcomers would show up at the table—because daily, Luke writes, the Lord added to their number.
And 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.
“No doubt there’s a touch of idealization in Luke’s presentation,” comments one scholar.[3] For hundreds of years, interpreters have proposed that Luke offers his readers “a symbolically idealized portrait of communal life,” writes another. And “idealized”always implied exaggerated, hyperbolic, in reality short-lived, limited in scope if ever actually attempted, a state of affairs that looks extremely attractive, yet utterly unrealistic or beyond our reach. “So much tempts us to dismiss these verses as quaint,” comments Matt Skinner, “even as we claim to yearn for such conditions as a sign of God’s reign among us.[4]
But not all have given in to that temptation, not all are giving in to it. Luke’s utopian vision of what the church might be in its finest realization has inspired monastic movements, liberation theologies, experiments in communal living, and countless other, everyday moments of daring to live out with others—difficult others, complicated others, lovely others—God’s vision and promise of life.
Luke paints for us a quick image of fulfillment at the dawn of the church’s mission. He doesn’t write a set of rules or design the one, true structure for Christian living—he paints possibility. This is what the Spirit of Christ can do; this is what our witness to the reign of God can be—the reign of God that Jesus lived and proclaimed in his earthly mission and confirmed with his death and resurrection. The reign of God can be reflected in our life, in our proclamation, in our service, in our mission and witness because the Spirit who inspired, empowered, and directed Jesus, now inspires, empowers, and directs his disciples.
We are easily frustrated in our attempts to build community that represents an authentic embodiment of the gospel, a community where love becomes real because Christ is known. We are easily frustrated because we see what we’re up against in our culture, in our relationships, in our own hearts. What Luke wants us to know and remember is that we’re not left to our own devices in building true community or in pursuing justice or in seeking fullness of life. The Spirit of the risen Christ is present and at work in any situation we may only be able to look at with frustration or fear.
I keep thinking about the sad reality of 79 percent of young adults feeling lonely. And the professor walking into her classroom, and instead of the happy hum of chatter and laughter, there’s everybody staring at their phones in dead silence. Remember what she said?
I don’t blame them. … They’re talking to someone who is somewhere else who is going to have a conversation with them, … who’s going to help them process whatever’s going on in their life. And 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.
We’re afraid. We’re afraid of being judged. We’re afraid of being rejected. We’re afraid to drop our kids off at school. We’re afraid to accidentally knock on the wrong door or go up the wrong driveway and get shot. And we’re afraid to ask our neighbor to be considerate and not shoot his gun in the yard, so the baby can sleep. We’re afraid he might say, “I’ll do what I want to in my front yard,” and show us what he means – or worse, show our babies.[5] We’re afraid. We’re also sad; and furious; and exhausted; and numb.
What are we to do? I do my best to listen to Luke, who writes,
They were constant in their attention to the teachings of the apostles, the fellowship, the breaking of bread, and the prayers.
The words are breathing, I can hear the Spirit whisper. They were constant in their attention not to four or more things, but to one thing, and it changed everything. They were constant in their attention to remaining open to the Spirit of Jesus; open to the love that drives out fear; love that is patient and kind; love that doesn’t insist on its own way; love that rejoices in the truth. They were constant in their attention to the Spirit who opened the Scriptures and their minds, and who continually drew them into newness of life with strangers, inspiring them to be generous and fearless in what they did with their time, their food, and their possessions. I hear them inviting us to join them.
[1] https://www.nytimes.com/2023/04/18/podcasts/transcript-ezra-klein-interviews-sheila-liming.html
[2] Luke Timothy Johnson, Acts (Sacra Pagina), 56.
[3] James Dunn, Beginning from Jerusalem, 196.
[4] Matt Skinner https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/fourth-sunday-of-easter/commentary-on-acts-242-47-2
[5] https://www.cnn.com/2023/04/29/us/cleveland-texas-shooting/index.html