Eat Bread and Die: The Violent Conditioning of Sacrifice

by Jeniffer Revell

Image of Sage Revell pretending to peel potatoes.

I was in the kitchen the other day, down to my last five potato pieces. I paused, trying to decide: should I cook three now and save two for when the family’s hungry later?

It was such a small, everyday moment. But then a scripture flashed in my mind the story of the widow and the Prophet Elijah. And suddenly, I wasn’t just thinking about potatoes. I was thinking about generational sacrifice. About how we’ve been conditioned to give until we have nothing left.

If you’re unfamiliar, here’s a quick version of the story:

A prophet, Elijah, comes to a widow and asks for food. The woman is starving she literally says she’s gathering sticks to prepare her last meal for herself and her son before they die. Elijah tells her, “Make me something first.” She does. And then, according to the story, her jar of flour and oil never runs out. She and her son live.

It’s taught as a story of faith. Obedience. Divine reward.

I used to read and listen to preachings of this story growing up, in many variations, and I thought I would always sacrifice, because I would get a miracle if I did. But in that real moment, when I felt a smidge of what the widow was going through, I thought to myself:

Eat bread and die???!!

And I let out the biggest laugh, interrupting the sound of the boiling pot. I said to myself—and to the listening potatoes that woman is crazy!

Why was this poor woman expected to give her last to someone who outranked her spiritually? Why does holiness always seem to demand our exhaustion?

Eat Bread and Die: The Script They Gave Us

It hit me while cooking—this story isn’t just a religious fable. It’s a blueprint. It’s the social contract so many of us are expected to follow without question:

Give your last to leadership, church, nonprofit, job.
Hell, give your last to the government—and get taxed while you’re at it.

We’re told that this sacrifice is righteous. That God will reward us.

But what if it’s not divine?
What if it’s conditioning?
What if it’s a setup?

This Isn’t Just About Potatoes

I started thinking about how often we, the Black community, are told to give from our lack. To pour out even when our own cup is dry.

We’re told it’s virtuous. But it feels like violence.
A slow starvation of our dreams, rest, and joy.

And it’s not just in scripture. It’s in the systems.

They take from the poor to protect the powerful.
They underfund our schools, then guilt us into volunteering.
They glorify struggle as strength while ignoring sustainability.

Eat bread and die? Nah.

Faith Without Burnout

Let me be clear: I believe in giving. I believe in generosity, in mutual aid, in blessing others with what you have.

But giving your last every time isn’t generosity. It’s depletion.

Sometimes the holiest thing you can do is keep something for later.

We also have to remember that we have resources in our community.
And if not that, we have resources in our lineage of knowledge that we can pull from in our DNA.

So no I won’t break myself open to prove my love or my faith.

That’s a new kind of faith. One rooted in preservation, not poverty.

Back to the Kitchen

So I cooked three potatoes and saved two. That was my sermon.

Not one about reward or suffering. Just one about being alive long enough to cook again.

And maybe that’s the real miracle not dying after the bread, but living to say:

“I have enough. And I deserve to keep some, too.”