"Light and Salt" given Feb. 5, 2017

"You are the salt of the earth." Jesus told them. "You are the light of the world."

Notice. He did not say you ought to be light or salt. He did not say that you ought to become these things. Neither did he say that you ought to be like salt or like light. He simply told them that you are to be light, you are to be salt. Not an imperative or even a command or an invitation. Not a simile, or even a metaphor. It was a simple affirmation, a straightforward statement of fact. Present tense. You ARE salt. You ARE light.

Jesus apparently didn't feel that it was too terribly necessary for him to explain those statements. In the first place, he was drawing on the historic teaching and preaching tradition of the Hebrew faith. Salt and light were images commonly used by the rabbis in their teachings as symbols for the Law. But more than that, Jesus didn't explain what salt and light meant because he didn't have to. Any of his listeners could have told you what light meant, what salt meant to them. They are basic. They are both absolutely essential to human life.

Can you imagine living without light? The next time you blow a fuse or trip a circuit breaker, think about living in darkness all the time. I’m reminded me of the Summer of 1995, when our Parsonage was literally without light or any power, on the same night that began the heat wave in which over 500 people died in Chicago. I’m sure many of you could mention similar experiences.

Forget about fans and air conditioning in Summer. Forget about central heating in Winter. Was there ever a time when the power lines that feed your home were down for a few minutes, or hours, or even days? Try to imagine not having electricity at all—ever. Imagine day to day life in a drafty-in-the-Winter, stifling-in-the-Summer, one- room, mud-and-straw, hut in First Century Palestine.

Imagine if your sole defense against the surrounding darkness every single night was a shallow pan of olive oil with a single, flickering, wick floating in it. Think about how afraid you'd be of the night. Try to envision the demons and devils that your imagination would conjure up to populate the darkness of the outside world. Imagine how precious that little lamp would be to you. It would literally transform your life--make it worth living. It would show you the truth about your world, banish the unknown, conquer your fears, give you confidence and hope.

John in his Gospel says that Jesus did all those things for humanity, that He was The True Light. And in the same way, Jesus Himself says in the Sermon on the Mount that we-- his followers are also light—the light of the world. We are the hope of the lost and lonely. We reflect his light, and in so doing, illumine the way of eternal life. The light of our lives may well be the only Bible that some folks in this world will ever read.

We are the ones, who by the light of our faith, will conquer the demons of hatred and prejudice and violence in human life. We are the ones, who by the light of our love, can bring confidence and hope and offer the healing and wholeness that Christ brings to the broken-hearted, the grieving, the addicted, the despairing and sin- sick. We are the ones, who by the light of our witness, can banish the unknown and show the world the truth about this man Jesus and his teachings. We are the ones. We are light.

Can you imagine living totally without salt? Some of us may be on salt-free diets, but the truth is, no diet can ever be 100% salt free. We may not realize it, with all our modern day efforts to combat high blood pressure and arterial sclerosis; but a certain, miniscule amount of natural salt is absolutely necessary to human life. As necessary as carbohydrates, or protein, or vitamins, or minerals, or even water.

In the ancient world, all food did not come pre-salted as it does today. Salt was a precious commodity, sought and mined, bought and sold, transported by ship or caravan, just like gold or precious metals. Salt was used for far more than flavoring your scrambled eggs. In those days before refrigeration, salt was needed to preserve food-- by curing it. Salt also served to transform food--as a fresh brisket becomes a corned beef, or a head of cabbage is transformed into sauerkraut by immersion in brine--salt water.

In the same way Jesus says we, by our mission and presence in the world, are salt. We are the ones, who by the salt of our mission, will find ways to feed the hungry, shelter the homeless, bring hope to the abandoned and imprisoned. We are the ones, who by the salt of our love, can flavor and transform the lives of the aged, inspire the young, fill the empty existence of the searching.

We are the ones, who by the salt of our involvement and commitment, are preserving the earth from nuclear holocaust and/or ecological collapse. We are the ones. We are salt.

But, Jesus reminds us, salt can lose its' flavor, its' integrity, its' identifying quality. That doesn't always happen all at once, but gradually. So gradually in fact, that those to whom it is happening will not recognize they are changing. Later, they will not be able to identify a single moment when they lost their saltiness--their faith, or hope, or commitment. It's not usually an intentional loss--more of a drifting away.

It's as if the moisture of conflict or inertia or apathy, combined with plain disuse over time leaked into the salt shaker and congealed the salt. And when that happened, it became a hard mass that would not shake out into the world. And when that happens, asks Jesus, what good is it?

Or says our Lord, look how easy it is to lose your initiative in mission and take up a posture of defense against the world. Look how easy it is to shut out pain and suffering of this dirty, sin- sick earth and build a fortress--a beautiful city on a hill where you can be protected from the abuse and controversy that true faithfulness and witness will invariably bring. There on the hill you can be safe, among your own kind, peaceful--for a time.

But sooner or later your increased visibility will bring the world, knocking at your door. Sooner or later you'll begin to squabble among yourselves. Sooner or later you'll begin to stagnate. Sooner or later you will have to deal with the challenges and need lying just outside the church walls—just across the parking lot.

You can put your light under a bushel basket. You can try to hide it from the hostility and trials of the world. Certainly that will reduce the chance of your light being blown out. But you'll pay a price, says Jesus. The price for such protection is a return to the darkness. If no one else can see your light under your bushel, you won't be able to see it either.

Salt the earth. Light up the world. Jesus tells us up there on the mount. His way is a way of mission and compassion. His way is the way of witness and benevolent involvement in the life of this world and its' peoples. His way is a way of risk and initiative in hopeful trust that the Creator's praise will be increased and the coming of God's Holy Realm of Shalom will be hastened.

Christ's way is not an individual way to solitary holiness. We are indeed called as individuals. And we each of us commit our lives to his service individually, to be sure. But the way of life of Jesus is always a way lived in community. You can't be a believer alone. Sure you can be a hermit, or go on solitary retreat for prayer and devotional time, but that is for renewal—not a life style.

Even monks and nuns from contemplative orders live together and come together for worship and corporate prayer. Christ's way of life is not a way of self—not self-isolation, not self-interest, nor self-involvement, nor self-aggrandizement, nor self-defense. To try to walk that way, to live your life that way is to abandon Christ and his teachings all together.

The life of faith is life in community. Why? Because only in community do we learn and grow and practice the real stuff of faith—mercy, love, forgiveness, service.

We are salt. But not stuck in the shaker. We are light. But not hid under a bushel. We are his followers. But not apart from one another. We are His church. But not stuck up on a hill far away somewhere.

We are to touch lives--through ordinary acts of kindness and compassion to those whom we encounter in our day to day lives. As well as through the supporting ministries of missionaries who go where we cannot go in His name. We are to feed his sheep--through benevolences and food pantries and soup kitchens abroad and in our own cities. We are to shelter the homeless--through ministries like PADS and Habitat and work-mission trips and whatever other programs we can participate in or support from Rockford, to Lindenhurst, to Chicago, or Haiti, or Moscow, or Cairo.

We are to heal the broken ones-- through hospitals and counseling centers and healing ministries, and disaster relief our denomination supports around the world. We are to transform our society--through our votes, our giving, our advocacy, our organizing, our influence on leaders, our involvement.

We are to minister--in our giving, our caring, our listening, our praying, our reaching out to sisters and brothers in need. We are to witness to the transforming power of Christ's Gospel—not only through the everyday living of our lives, but as foster parents, and tutors and child advocate. We are to prepare the world for His return. We are to illumine and flavor and preserves and transform it, in Christ's own Holy Name.

Let us pray.

           Loving Christ, we hear your affirmation that we are light and salt. We know that as your disciples we are a part of your redeeming work in the world. Too often we fall silent before injustice and stand by when confronted by wrong. Too often we hide our light. Too often our lives are flavorless. Forgive us, Lord Christ, when we fail to be who we really are. Help us to speak and act out our witness of love and justice in your name. Free us in your Gospel to offer ourselves in service and love to this, your world. Amen.