Epiphany 5A
Matthew 5:13-20
"YOU
are the light of the World!" Jesus tells us. "YOU are the salt of the
earth!" he proclaims.
We've been talking about light since
before Christmas, lighting Advent candles and Christmas tree lights, talking about
the bright star that led the wise men to Bethlehem. Our Epiphany bulletin board downstairs is
covered in golden stars that tell us how we can "Let 2020 shine!"
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, the teens are going to pass out bags of salt dough to any interested
children and adults. While you listen, 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. 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 is 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.
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 da Vinci'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.
Today, salt has several uses. First, of
course, it seasons our food. Have you ever accidentally left the salt out of a
recipe? 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 the spice of kindness to our encounters. Perhaps
he wants us to nourish others with the depth of all that we are and all that we
have.
Salt is also used to clean and preserve
things. Have you ever poured salt into a frying pan to clean burned food up off
the bottom? It works as well as any scrub brush. Have you ever eaten country
ham? It's very salty because the ham is preserved with salt. That's how it
stays fresh without having to go in the refrigerator. Perhaps Jesus wants us
Christians to be the salt that will clean our world's polluted air, land, and
waters. Or the salt that will scour our institutions of their lies and
corruption. Or the salt that will preserve the dignity of every human being.
Finally, as you noticed this weekend, 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. Perhaps Jesus wants us
Christians to be the salt that will melt hatred and fear, making others feel
safe and loved as we all travel in the ways that God prepares for us to walk
in.[1]
If you and I are to be salt, I imagine
that we are to be 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 this "smoked
sherry and Spanish olive-flavored salt" that I bought at the store
yesterday—fancy and complicated, imparting a truly original flavor to the
blandness of our world.
Jesus encourages all of our varied 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."[2] 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. No matter what kind of salt we are, we must be healing
salt, salt that pours itself out for the healing of the world, the repairing of
the breach, the restoring of streets to live in.
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 saltiness for the healing of the world?
