"If It's Not About Love, It's Not About God"

 

One of my favorite college professors made an observation that I understand much better now than I did when he said it. Back then, it scared me.

“Your lives are brimming with possibilities,” he declared. “Right now, as young adults, you have before you a much wider range of possibilities than you will have at any other time in your lives. Each choice that you make from now on, each decision, will take you down one road, and carry you away from other roads. Throughout our adult lives, the paths narrow, and it’s difficult, if not impossible, to force them back open again. This isn’t a bad thing. It’s just the way that it is. So decide wisely and carefully,” he advised, “and rejoice in the full range of choices now before you.”

His joy-filled words of possibility filled my young heart with worry, rather than with gratitude. I didn’t like the idea of my choices ever diminishing. I could imagine myself choosing the wrong path at some point, and watching doors slam around me to trap me in my mistake. I could imagine myself on the stage of one of those old TV game shows. Hidden behind Door Number One was fame and fortune. Behind Door Number Two was grief and failure. And behind Door Number Three was boredom and failed potential.  I didn’t know which scenario was behind which door, and I had to choose! I only had one choice, one choice that I had better get right. The clock was ticking. The annoying music was playing. The buzzer was going to sound. What if I made the wrong decision!?

Perhaps some of our younger listeners today can identify with my anxiety? And those adults who attended the parish retreat yesterday can also perhaps feel the pain on a communal scale? We looked back yesterday on our past as a parish, and we could clearly see many diverging paths in our journey as a parish. We could see how choices made years ago played a role in who we are today. I don’t think that I was alone in being somewhat daunted by the looming choices that lie before us in our own time. Do any of you feel like you are standing right now, knees shaking, on the stage of “Let’s Make a Deal?”  The ominous-sounding words of our lesson from Sirach today ring in my ears, “Before each person are life and death, and whichever one chooses will be given.”

Yikes! Jesus doesn’t console us in today’s Gospel, either. It sounds like Jesus is telling us that if we don’t do a bunch of totally impossible things, then we “will be liable to the hell of fire.” This Jesus doesn’t sound like the Jesus we Episcopalians know and love. He sounds more like a totally desperate parent, so upset with us that he blows his top and grounds us “until we’re 35?!” What’s going on? Does Jesus really threaten us with punishment if we do human things like “lust in our hearts,” or remarry after divorce, or go back on our word, or get angry? How can that be?

Before we can reflect on what Jesus might be saying to us today, we’re going to need to confront his scary and bizarre words. We’re going to need to take a moment to get past the image of Jimmy Carter lusting in his heart. To get past worry about our second marriages and our oath-taking. To get past any fear and indignation over all the talk of hell in these lessons!

 First of all, we can’t weasel out of the difficulty of Jesus’ words by claiming that Jesus is telling us that God’s laws don’t matter.[1] Or that Christian laws are better than those picky old Jewish ones. Remember, Jesus said in last week’s reading that he has come not to abolish the law and the prophets of Israel, but to fulfill them. He has come to reflect the law of Moses in its fullness, to embody the heart of it.

What do the law and the prophets say? How do we sum them up? As a good Jewish teacher, Jesus knows: You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, and strength, and your neighbor as yourself. God’s law, as Jesus embodies it, is all about loving relationship in community—loving relationship with one another, intertwined with loving relationship with God.  As our Presiding Bishop likes to put it: “If it’s not about Love, it’s not about God.”

Let’s look at some of Jesus’ unpleasant examples: Murder is bad. That seems like an easy one. But in a healthy community, is it OK for people to hate and abuse each other, if they stop short of murdering them? Of course not. When we vilify someone, when we disrespect someone with hateful words, we’re still harming them, still doing violence against them. Hatred and abuse don’t create the healthy community that God desires for us. Remember, Jesus says, if it’s not about Love, it’s not about God.

What about the one that always makes us sit up and pay attention ... Sex! Yes, adultery is a sin. It can injure or destroy important relationships. But what if we participate in a community in which we objectify and leer after one another all the time? Are we off the hook just because we don’t act on our pursuit? Isn’t it better to strive to eliminate the distorted ideas and habits that fail to respect the dignity of other human beings? Remember, Jesus says, if it’s not about Love, it’s not about God.

What about this divorce stuff, Jesus? These days, we can probably all agree that divorce is messy and painful and to be avoided when possible. I’m divorced, and I know firsthand the pain that it can cause. I know firsthand the pain that these verses can cause us, too. What I didn’t know until I studied this passage, though, is how the circumstances surrounding the pain of divorce have changed. In Jesus’ day, women couldn’t divorce their husbands. Only men could do the divorcing. And men could do it simply by saying, “My wife doesn’t please me anymore.” And poof, the husband could leave his wife in poverty and move on to the next wife. It was abandonment, pure and simple. So of course, in a healthy community, you’re not going to have the more powerful partner callously abandoning the most vulnerable on a whim. Today, thank goodness, we’ve made a little progress, at least. There are some economic and legal protections in place for both spouses. So I’m not sure that Jesus would have talked about divorce in his sermon if he had spoken at the Boulder Bandshell in 2023. I bet he would have picked something like racism or homophobia, instead. I can hear him now, full of his shocking exaggerations.

“It says in the baptismal covenant that you are to respect the dignity of every human being. But I say to you, “Rip out your tongue if you utter a racial or ethnic or homophobic slur. Cut off your leg if you walk away from defending the precious personhood of any of my children. It is better to be mute and lame than to fail to love your neighbor.”

 

Remember, says Jesus, if it’s not about Love, it’s not about God.

Jesus’ tough judgment-talk is meant not to condemn us, but to grab our attention. Jesus is actually trying to break our “if you do this, then God will do that” logic by totally exaggerating it. Jesus wants us to sit up and listen, so that we might be shaken up enough to change and grow. He wants all of our safe foundations, all of our logic about what is fair, to crumble before God’s crazy, abundant love for all of creation. What Jesus offers us at the heart of all rules is a love so great that it envelops all of our choices and transforms them.

Yes, Christian life is full of difficult choices, for us as individuals and as communities. As one preacher writes, “Jesus does not come to help us escape this world in its brokenness, sin, and suffering. He comes to help us live more fully in it. He comes to make us more fully human. [This passage in the] Sermon on the Mount is not just about keeping the Law; it’s about protecting the relationships that make us more fully human.”2

Looking back at my reaction to my college professor’s advice about choice, all those years ago, I can now recognize that my fear came from my desire to be perfect, to be right. I was afraid of “messing up” by choosing wrong. Perhaps that’s part of our fear about the future of St. Ambrose, too. We don’t want to “mess up” this wonderful community, to make the “wrong” choice. So we stand still. For Jesus, though, it’s not about avoiding error. It’s not about taking the easy way out. It’s about living as loving—and fallible—human beings. It’s about living in right relationship with God and with one another.

 Can we at St. Ambrose help one another to choose the hard thing? To choose life. To choose love. To choose true humanity, in all of its vulnerability. To choose the Life that corrupt power cannot hold down. To choose the Love that prejudice and hatred cannot silence. To choose the Life that lifts up those who have been cast down. To choose the Love that builds community. And to rejoice with one another at growth and transformation. Being in community is oh-so-messy, but it is indeed the one true path to Life, with a capital “L.”

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[1] In the exegesis of this entire passage, I am indebted to the work on the Epiphany 6 texts found at https://www.saltproject.org/progressive-christian-blog/2020/2/9/heart-to-heart-salts-lectionary-commentary-for-epiphany-6.

[2] Randy Harris, "Fully Human." Found at https://day1.org/weekly-broadcast/63ced9bf6615fb4112000055/randy-harris-fully-human

All Y'all are the Salt of the Earth

In Kentucky, we’d say it this way: "Y’all are the light of the World!" "All y’all are the salt of the earth!" That’s right, Jesus is talking to all of us, no exceptions.

          The image of light is an easy one for us. We’ve been using it since before Christmas, lighting Advent candles and Christmas tree lights, talking about the bright star that led the wise men to Bethlehem. “Christ, be our light!” we’re still singing every Sunday for our song of praise.  It's comforting to think about the warmth and joy of light, shining forth like love from a smiling face. We know that God wants us to shed light on the needs of the world and to direct God's love into the shadows. "Put it under a bushel? No! I'm gonna let it shine!" we sing.

But salt?  Why salt, Jesus? What does it mean to be "salt" for the world? If God is into condiments, why not ask us to be something that tastes better, like sugar? Or cinnamon? Even pepper would have more spice and flair than plain old salt.

          In order to help us think about salt today, Deacon Jan is going to pass out salt dough to any interested children and adults. While you listen to the sermon, feel free to play with this salty play dough. Feel it, squish it, mold it, smell it. But beware. Salt isn't altogether harmless. This dough is much too salty to eat, so you don't want to taste it. If you have a cut on your hands, this dough will sting. It will also cling to your skin--your fingers might feel crusty after you hold this salt dough for awhile. But be courageous and take some anyway! God knows, creation is always risky business. As you play with this ball of dough, imagine that you are God, creating people of salt. How does God want to use your very own saltiness for the healing of the world?

          Like light—and unlike sugar and cinnamon--salt is everywhere, and it’s essential to life on earth. Plants, animals, and humans all need some salt in order to live and grow. All over the world, for thousands of years, people have been preparing salt for use by evaporating ocean water or digging salt deposits out of the earth. Regular table salt is pretty inexpensive these days, but salt used to be so valuable that people used it instead of money to buy what they needed. The word "salary" comes from the Latin word for salt. Outrage over a tax on salt helped start the French Revolution. In times of war, armies would fight and kill to take over the salt supply of their enemies. To be salt, is to be precious; it is to be essential for life. All y’all are the salt of the earth.

Jesus knew about the spiritual importance of salt. In the Hebrew Scriptures, salt is used to seal the deal in covenants and is sprinkled on Temple sacrifices. In many cultures, salt is thought to keep away evil spirits, and spilling salt is considered bad luck. If you take a close look at Leonardo daVinci's famous painting of the Last Supper, you'll see salt spilled on the table. It's right in front of Judas--a clue that the disciple Judas will soon betray Jesus and turn him over to be crucified. To be salt is to play a part in banishing evil and spreading goodness. All y’all are the salt of the earth.

Today, salt has several uses. First, of course, it seasons our food. Have you ever accidentally left the salt out of a recipe? I have! Without it, most things taste pretty awful. Before scientists invented medicine to fight high blood pressure, my grandmother had to live off of unsalted rice and vegetables in order to keep her heart healthy. The story of this unpleasant diet made such an impression on her family that it became a tale that was passed down for generations. If Jesus wants us Christians to be salt, perhaps he wants us to add our own special richness to our encounters with others. Perhaps he wants us to nourish others with the depth of all that we are and all that we have. All y’all are the salt of the earth.

Too much salt is almost worse than too little, though, isn’t it? Some restaurant chefs these days seem to love to pour the whole salt shaker into their dishes .... Perhaps it’s easier to use a ton of salt than to imaginatively mix together a variety of spices, but too much salt makes things inedible. As another preacher points out, “salt fails when it dominates.” And we Christians can be that kind of yucky, dominating salt. People call Christians out these days “as the salt that exacerbates wounds, irritates souls, and ruins goodness.  We are considered arrogant, domineering, obnoxious, and uninterested in enhancing anything but ourselves.  We are known for hoarding our power — not for giving it away.  We are known for shaming, not blessing.  We are known for using our words to burn, not heal.”[1] This is not what Jesus ever intended when he said, “All y’all are the salt of the earth.”  

Salt is also used to clean and preserve things, though. Have you ever poured salt into a frying pan to clean up burned food off the bottom? It works as well as any scrub brush. Have you ever eaten country ham? It stays fresh without having to go in the refrigerator because of its salt content. Perhaps Jesus sees us Christians as the salt that will clean our world's polluted air, land, and waters. Or as the salt that will scour our institutions of their lies and corruption. Or as the salt that will preserve the dignity of every human being. All y’all are the salt of the earth.

Salt is used to melt things—like the snow on roads and sidewalks. With some special salt, dangerously slippery ice becomes safe to travel on. But to be used, salt has to be dissolved in or scattered on something else. We throw and scatter road salt over ice. We dissolve salt into water to pickle our cucumbers. Perhaps Jesus sees us Christians as the salt that melts hatred and fear, making others feel safe and loved as we all travel in the ways that God prepares for us to walk in.[2] Or perhaps Jesus sees us as the salt that loses itself in the world, seamlessly sending out he flavor of God’s goodness, the salt that avoids clumping safely together. All y’all are the salt of the earth.

If you and I are salt, we are each our own special kind of salt. Some of us might be heavily processed "table salt," ground down very fine to be measured and sprinkled on the world. Some of us might be crunchier Kosher salt, less strong in flavor. Maybe we grains of Kosher salt need to join together in larger groups to salt the earth with our goodness. Some of us might be big grains of sea salt or Himalayan pink salt—less pure and dainty than table salt, wearing our true colors and imperfections for all to see, with a loud, cracking impact on the world around us. Some of us might even be the "smoked sherry and Spanish olive-flavored salt" that I bought at the store once—fancy and complicated, imparting a truly original flavor to the blandness of our world.

Jesus lifts us up in all of our varied kinds of saltiness. There's only one kind of salt that Jesus doesn't want us to be—and that's the kind that sits in a pretty bottle in the cupboard, admired for its perfection, yet still unopened, still untasted. Salt that remains wrapped in protective plastic is not sharing its saltiness with the world. In Greek, "to lose flavor" is an expression that can also mean, "to become silent" or even "to speak foolishly."[3] When we remain silent while others are mistreated, we are salt that has lost its taste. When we manipulate someone in order to make ourselves look better, we are salt that is speaking foolishly. When we fail to act on behalf of those in need, we are salt that has become useless. When we practice religion without practicing justice, we are hopelessly flavorless. As the prophet Isaiah makes clear, no matter what kind of salt we are, we must be healing salt. We must be salt that pours itself out for the healing of the world, the repairing of the breach, the restoring of streets to live in.

So ... What small, precious, essential, full-voiced, life-giving, saving thing did God create with your salt dough this morning? How does God want to use your very own precious saltiness for the healing of the world?

 

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[1] Debie Thomas, “Salty,” Journey with Jesus, found at https://www.journeywithjesus.net/essays/2515-salty.

[2] Carolyn Brown, Worshiping with Children, found at http://worshipingwithchildren.blogspot.com/2014/01/year-fifth-sunday-after-epiphany-fifth.html.

[3] Ulrich Luz, Matthew 1-7; Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2007), 203, note 1.