Yesterday was World Communion Sunday — one of my favorite days in the church year. It’s the Sunday when Christians around the world, in every language and tradition, share bread and cup together. We may not all eat the same kind of bread — some break tortillas, others pass pita or challah or sourdough — but it’s the same table, the same love, the same Jesus.

In Sunday School, our kids talked about meals — how each of us brings something special to the table. They planned a pretend picnic, naming what they’d bring: fruit, sandwiches, cookies, laughter. The joy of that simple game held the whole gospel truth: when we all bring what we have, the feast becomes complete.

Later in worship, I watched small hands reach out toward the Communion table, curious about the plates and cups that hold such mystery. We talked about how this isn’t just any table. It’s the table where Jesus reminds us that we belong to Him — and to one another. That’s what Paul meant when he said, “We are one body.” Not uniform, but united. Not perfect, but connected.

This year, as I held up the bread, I thought about how many different hands were doing the same thing that morning — across time zones, across languages, across the divisions that so often define us. In a world obsessed with drawing lines, Communion keeps drawing circles.

Maybe that’s what makes this Sunday holy every year: the quiet reminder that faith is a shared meal, not a solo performance.

So today, whether you’re breaking a baguette in a cathedral or sipping juice from a paper cup in a church basement, know this — you belong at the table. You are part of the feast.

🕊️ “Because there is one loaf, we who are many are one body.” — 1 Corinthians 10:17