Matthew 5:13-20
[Jesus said,] “You are the salt of the earth. But if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything and is thrown out and trampled under foot.”
“You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hidden. No one lights a lamp and places it under a bushel basket, but on a lamp stand where it gives light to all in the house. Therefore, let your light shine before others so that they might see your good works and give glory to your father in heaven.
“Do not think that I have come to abolish the law or the prophets; I have come not to abolish but to fulfill. For truly I tell you, until heaven and earth pass away, not one letter, not one stroke of a letter, will pass from the law until all is accomplished. Therefore, whoever breaks one of the least of these commandments, and teaches others to do the same, will be called least in the kingdom of heaven; but whoever does them and teaches them will be called great in the kingdom of heaven. For I tell you, unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.”
I want to show you a quick little video of a prank I saw recently online. It happens kind of quickly at the beginning, so in case you miss it, you should know that, when this mother asks her husband and son to try her new chili recipe, they don’t see her cover a heaping spoonful of salt with a little bit of chili and a couple of beans before spoon-feeding it to them to get their opinion.
SALT PRANK VIDEO (A wife and mother tricks her husband and son to try her “new chili recipe,” and feeds them each a spoonful of salt, covered up with a small bit of chili. They pretend it tastes fine and refuse to tell her it’s terrible.)
The tag line on the video said something about how far men would go to avoid trouble … even, apparently, about something as small and insignificant as a terrible tasting batch of chili.
When Jesus tells the crowds on the hillside in this morning’s Gospel that they are the salt of the earth and the light of the world, he wasn’t talking about chili recipes or practical jokes. He was trying to get them to think differently about the kind of flavor their faith brings to the world around them. And, I happen to think, all of it has more than a little bit to do with their willingness or unwillingness – and ours – to engage a bit of trouble for the sake of the kingdom along the way.
“You are the salt of the earth,” he tells them. “But if salt has lost its taste – if you have lost your flavor – what good is it? What good are you? What are you doing here? What’s the point of it all?”
“You are the light of the world,” Jesus says. “Like a city on the hill… like a lamp on a stand… like a beacon in the night. Don’t cover yourselves up… don’t hide under a basket. Let your light shine so others can see what you’re up to; so people know what God is doing through you… and for you… and for the sake of the world.”
I think the reason mainline denominations of the Christian church in the world are struggling these days – failing to reach younger generations, I mean, or to connect with those cynical about who we are and what we’re up to – is because we’ve lost some of our taste, some of our saltiness, some of what adds flavor and zest and zip to the world around us.
What I mean is, so many talk about the generosity and abundance of God, but too many are looking to collect on that, to benefit from that themselves, rather than to give it away. Too many live, quite notoriously, with clenched fists and closed wallets.
The Church uses words like “mission” and “outreach” but consumes itself with itself too much of the time, worrying more about buildings and budgets and butts in seats than about leaving what’s comfortable… living in the world… seeking out, finding, and really loving our neighbor.
For generations, mainline denominations like Lutherans, Episcopalians, Presbyterians and the like, have been singing – like we did last Sunday – “Red and Yellow, Black and White, they are precious in his sight, Jesus loves the little children of the world,” but our churches aren’t getting any more colorful than we were when I first learned that song when I was in Sunday school.
And I don’t mean to rain on our parade here this morning. We have so much to be glad about and plenty to celebrate and even a little to be proud of when it comes to how we do Church here, in this place, and when I think of the very unique voice Cross of Grace is in our community.
But do you know that I’ve had three conversations, in as many weeks lately, with people in our neck of the woods, who were SURPRISED to know about Cross of Grace’s stance and wide welcome to the LGBTQ+ community? And that others have been equally surprised to learn about the very faithful, deliberate work we’ve tried to do here in recent years where racial justice and anti-racism are concerned?
It makes me wonder, under what kind of chili are we hiding our salt? And why? Why are what I – and so many of you – believe to be some of the most faithful and uniquely gracious things about our ministry, NOT things that more people out there – to whom it would matter most – even aware of?
So, I can’t help but be as inspired as I am unsettled by those words from Isaiah this morning – words that surely inspired and unsettled Jesus, too… all of that stuff about loosing the bonds of injustice; about letting the oppressed go free; about sharing my bread with the hungry; bringing the homeless poor into my house; covering the naked, and all the rest.
It’s all stuff that surely inspired and convicted Jesus to encourage people not to worship and practice their piety at the expense of their flavor … not to hide their light … not to keep their good works and good deeds to themselves – or make them too much about themselves – but to let it all shine for the sake of a world that needs to know it comes from the very heart of our God.
Because see, I think we can be too much like that mom with her salty chili or like that father and son who choke it down, pretending everything is just fine.
Because the truth is, the salt of God’s grace can be hard to serve up and share and even harder to swallow, sometimes, if we’re honest about it.
Because it means that when we see what’s happening in the world around us – as far away as Yemen and Ukraine, and as close to home as Memphis and Main Street – we’re supposed to call out its ugliness plainly and refuse to choke it down without saying or doing something to make it better.
It means we challenge each other to give more sacrificially, sometimes – more than feels safe or wise or fiscally responsible, even – because we have resources that most people in the world, statistically speaking, simply do not have.
It means we welcome, care for, and love, even, those the world refuses because so many of us have received welcome, care and love – by God’s grace – that we don’t deserve any more or any less than anybody else.
It means we do the hard work of being vulnerable to the mercy and forgiveness we proclaim, as much as we hope to change the world with that same mercy and forgiveness.
And we do all of this with hope – this salting the earth and lighting the world, I mean – we do it with hope for what Isaiah promises and what Jesus embodies: that our light – that the light of God – will break forth like the dawn; that our healing – that humanity’s healing – will spring up quickly; that our vindicator will go before us, that the glory of the Lord will have our back; that we will call and God will answer; that our needs will be satisfied in parched places; that, as God’s people, we will be known and seen and received, like a spring of water for the thirsty, like rebuilt ruins for those in need of refuge, like a firm foundation for those who can’t stand on their own; like a repairer of the breach for the broken among us, and like a restorer of streets to live in to a world searching for home.
Amen
