Salt, Light, and Looking Ahead

Matthew 5:13-20

[Jesus said,] “You are the salt of the earth. But if salt has lost its taste, how can it’s saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything, and is thrown out and trampled underfoot. You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill can not be hid. No one lights a lamp and puts it under a bushel basket, but places it on the lampstand where it gives light to all in the house. Let your light shine before others, therefore, 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 and the prophets, for I have not come 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. And whoever does them and teaches them, will be called great in the kingdom of heaven. For truly I tell you, unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.”

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I got to spend a couple of days this week at the annual reunion of the Wabash Pastoral Leadership Program, in Crawfordsville, which is always a real boon for my spirit and sense of call, and reminder of why church work and ministry matters so much in the world, these days – and the impact we can have when we get it right.

For those of you who don’t know/remember, the Wabash Pastoral Leadership Program is a Lilly Endowment-funded endeavor that gathers small groups of Christian clergy from around Indiana for a two-year program of study, learning, and travel, that connects pastors with each other and with civic leaders from around the state to broaden the scope of what congregations can accomplish in the world, in whatever context they find themselves. For those of you who’ve been around awhile, you might remember that I was part of the first cohort of the program back in 2009-2010. (I would spend a few days, every other month at Wabash College and take a couple of international trips thanks to the program.)

Anyway, the program hosts annual reunions for the pastors who’ve engaged it over the years, and that’s where I was for about 48 hours last week. As part of it all, some of our colleagues shared, with the rest of us, some of the work they’ve been up to in their various settings and communities.

A couple of pastors in New Albany teamed up the past couple of summers to establish a ministry of “cooling stations,” hosted by a handful of churches in their town … places where house-less people and families – rather than hiding in the public library or wading in the creek on the edge of town to keep cool – could find air-conditioned shelter, safety, and water when the temperatures reach 100 degrees or more. This is what kingdom welcome and hospitality looks like – on earth as it is in heaven.

Another pastor’s congregation does the opposite. Over at West Morris Free Methodist Church on the westside of Indy, they have a very traditional 60,000 square foot building with a sanctuary that seats close to 1,000 people, though they only worship about 40, these days. So, they removed all of their empty wooden pews, filled their space with tents, and house nearly 80-100 house-less people when temperatures are too dangerously cold to sleep outside. What used to look like this:

now looks like this:

Of course, they feed them and care for them in other ways, too. It’s still very obviously a sanctuary, maybe more now than ever before, and this is what the fullness of the kingdom tastes like when we get it right.

A friend from my own cohort – Kent Ellet, the Pastor at the Speedway Church of Christ and his congregation – have bought and rehabbed three houses in recent years on Alton Avenue, near their church. They’re working on their fourth, as we speak. Once they are ready, they rent these houses at half the cost – or less – to individuals and families who need stable housing and other support, in order to get back on their feet after all manner of struggle, difficulty, bad luck, and whatnot. My friend Kent calls this ministry the “Alton Alternative” and it is a light of grace, sitting high on a lampstand, shining brightly for all in those houses – and their surrounding neighborhood, and now all of us – to see.

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 was trying to get them to think differently about the kind of light and flavor their faith brings to the world around them. And, I happen to think, he was inviting them to get creative about that for a change … to wonder differently about what kind of difference they might make … to imagine ways their faith was inviting them to be a blessing for the world.

“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 that? 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 a 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 others.”

Now, I happen to think 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, especially when I think of the very unique voice Cross of Grace is in our community.

No one else is welcoming, advocating for, and hosting events that support our LGBTQ+ friends, family, and neighbors. No one else is preaching and teaching and hosting ministry that supports anti-racism and racial justice the way we do.

We have $45,000 to give away from our Building and Outreach Fund grants thanks to our generosity over the course of the last year. (Please spread the word to your favorite non-profit organizations to apply for those grants before the end of March.)

And I hope, as we continue to wonder about this building project that’s on the horizon we’ll get creative about all of this salt and light stuff in ways my Wabash friends have done.

And just to get your wheels spinning, you should know I have started a conversation with our schools about a reading program for kids in our area for whom English isn’t their primary language. For those of you who know about the HOSTS program that already exists in our elementary schools, imagine that but for immigrant kids who speak Spanish or Haitian Creole. (I just learned we are blessed to have literally hundreds of them in our school district.)

Pastor Cogan has ideas about Cross of Grace hosting a summer day camp for kids who can’t afford the kinds of camps many of us send our kids to when they’re not in school.

Maybe we could be a cooling center … or a warming station … or let our parking lot be a safe place for people living in their cars to park for the night.

We could certainly host more and bigger special events for places like The Landing.

We could host more 12 Step meetings; expand our food pantry operations; you get the idea …

All of this is about not getting bored – or becoming boring – or losing our flavor – or letting our light dim – or hiding it under a bushel basket of complacency or apathy or selfishness or comfort or safety or whatever tempts too many Christians to stop doing God’s bidding.

All of this is about being as inspired as we are unsettled by those words from the prophet 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 bread with the hungry; bringing the homeless poor into our house; covering the naked, and all the rest.

So let’s pray about and plan a future together, full of hope about the ways we can salt the earth and light up the world – with all that Isaiah promised and all that Jesus embodies:

• hope that our light – that the light of God – will break forth like the dawn;

• hope that our healing – that the healing of humanity – will spring up quickly;

• hope that our vindicator will go before us, and the glory of the Lord will have our back;

• hope that we will call and God will answer;

• hope that our needs will be satisfied even in parched places;

Let’s be hopeful – and full of faith – 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 for a world searching for home.

Amen

A Feast for a Weary World

Isaiah 25:1-9

On this mountain the Lord of hosts will make for all peoples
   a feast of rich food, a feast of well-matured wines,
   of rich food filled with marrow, of well-matured wines strained clear.
And he will destroy on this mountain
   the shroud that is cast over all peoples,
   the sheet that is spread over all nations;
he will swallow up death for ever.
Then the Lord God will wipe away the tears from all faces,
   and the disgrace of his people he will take away from all the earth,
   for the Lord has spoken.
It will be said on that day,
   Lo, this is our God; we have waited for him, so that he might save us.
   This is the Lord for whom we have waited;
   let us be glad and rejoice in his salvation.

O Lord, you are my God;
   I will exalt you, I will praise your name;
for you have done wonderful things,
   plans formed of old, faithful and sure.
For you have made the city a heap,
   the fortified city a ruin;
the palace of aliens is a city no more,
   it will never be rebuilt.
Therefore strong peoples will glorify you;
   cities of ruthless nations will fear you.
For you have been a refuge to the poor,
   a refuge to the needy in their distress,
   a shelter from the rainstorm and a shade from the heat.
When the blast of the ruthless was like a winter rainstorm,
   the noise of aliens like heat in a dry place,
you subdued the heat with the shade of clouds;
   the song of the ruthless was stilled.

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It was Friday, July 17, 2015. I was in Chicago, Little Village if you know the neighborhoods. Every Friday I went to the Marie Joseph’s house of hospitality and spent time with the men who lived there. All of them were immigrants awaiting court dates and paperwork, waiting for the right kind of visa or documentation. Some had lived in the house for a couple years, waiting; others just a few weeks.

When I walked into the house on that Friday, my mouth watered at the smells coming from the kitchen. This was a regular occurrence; Food was always being made and shared. I followed the delicious scent of spices and smoke coming from the kitchen that filled the house. Habbi, who is from Rwanda, was standing over a hot stove. I asked how I could help and the only thing he wanted me to do was test the food, which was fine by me. I started to realize, though, the vast amount of food Habbi was preparing; pounds of chicken, a giant pot of beef in a thick stew, multiple pots of rice, salad with vegetables from the garden out back. Habbi was a big man, but there was no way that was all for him!

So I asked him, “Habbi, what’s all this for?” With sweat gleaming from his brow he told me that today was the beginning of Eid, the celebration that occurs at the end of Ramadan, a month of fasting and prayer for Muslims. He continued, “many in the house went downtown to pray and they will be hungry when they return.” The food was almost complete when the men who were Muslim in the house came back, drenched in sweat, and in obvious need of water and food. To their surprise, Habbi, a Christian from Rwanda, had prepared a feast big enough for the whole house to join.

I sat at the table with 12 or so men from at least 10 countries: Every shade of brown; Christian, Muslim, Buddahist, and nothing. All sitting around the table, enjoying a feast I won’t forget.

Nothing provides comfort or gives us hope, even, like a feast. They help us celebrate major holidays, weddings, funerals and everything in between. What was the last feast you had? What was served? Who was there? What was the celebration? Yet there doesn’t feel like too much to celebrate these days. If you haven’t seen the images and heard the reports about what’s happening between Israel and Hamas, it’s harrowing.

The brutality is unforeseen in the region. Hamas using hostages of all ages as shields and bargaining chips, the indiscriminate killing, the lack of concern for civilian life is nothing short of evil. The blockade on water/electricity/food is inhumane. Israel will continue to be relentless in their response, as a ground invasion is prepped at the Gazan border. The pictures I can’t get out of my head are of parents, tears streaming down their faces, wondering where their children are and if their alive.

And because of this, all week I’ve struggled with the violence that abounds in this text. Isaiah praises God for laying waste to a city, destroying it till it’s a heap, never to be rebuilt. Undoubtedly many have tried or will try to make a connection between this text and the strife in the Holy Land. Some even will say this is good news.

Yet, context is always helpful. This passage is often called an apocalyptic text, meaning it deals with the end of time, because it doesn’t refer to a specific event or moment in time. And while there is no explicit reference to what city is laid ruined, the text is clear; it was one that was ruthless against those who were weak, poor, and vulnerable. That’s why God stepped in, to shelter those who needed refuge.

However, what follows the destruction is the vision of hope and promise of peace our weary world needs now more than ever. After God brings low and humbles the ruthless and proud; God also raises them up to the mountain top, where God has prepared a feast. “On this mountain” Isaiah says, “The Lord will make for all peoples a feast” full of the best food and drink imaginable.

But if it's a feast, what's the celebration? It’s that War, violence and death are no more! The veil of mourning that weighs down all people and nations, God has finally removed. And while guests open wide their mouths to eat the finest of food, God does the same, swallowing up death forever. And those same people with tears streaming down their face because they don’t know if their child, spouse, or loved one is dead or alive, God sits beside them at the table, wiping the tears until they fall no more.

It is this promised feast that gives us hope in such times of unthinkable violence. You might say “that sounds too good to be true! It’ll never happen.” And in our lifetime it may not.

But I know for certain that hospitality and fellowship between radically different people is possible; Habbi’s feast showed me that. We all know that true acts of love and forgiveness are possible through Jesus Christ; we’ve seen and experienced them firsthand. So I have to believe that somehow, the grace and love of God, made known to us in Jesus Christ, will one day bring together Israelis and Palestinians, Russians and Ukrainians, people of all nations at a feast where food and fellowship abound and tears and death are no more. It seems too good to be true, but it’s that how the grace and love of God work?

So until that day, what can we do over here, in the safety and privilege that we have. I can think of three things:

First, as Paul suggests, in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God: requesting an end to the violence, liberation for those held in bondage, and justice for all. In the words of Rabbi Sharon Brous, we must “dare to hold the humanity, the heartache, and the need for security of the Jewish people while also holding the humanity, the dignity, and the need for justice of the Palestinian pe

ople. For too long, these two have been set up as incompatible, but this is a false binary. The only liberation will be a shared liberation. The only justice is a justice for all.” So for all of that, we pray.

Secondly, give to Lutheran World Relief or Lutheran Immigration and Refugee Services. Aid is needed and the need will grow. People will flee from both Palestine and Israel and need a place to go. These organizations help in both those areas.

And lastly, protest all of this violence and war with a feast! Practice what it will be like at that great banquet on the mountain. Invite and sit with people who are different from you. Make lavish meals full of good food as signs of hospitality and abundance. Come to this feast that Christ has prepared for you in which we experience the fullness of his grace and receive a foretaste of the feast to come.

There are too few feasts and far too many wars. And had it not been for that feast in Chicago on a hot Friday afternoon, I would say the promised feast in Isaiah is too good to be true.

But there I experienced a portion of what it might be like when God makes that feast for all people and we sit together in peace with tears wiped away saying, “this is the Lord for whom we have waited; let us be glad and rejoice in his salvation.”

Amen.