Salt and light
You are the salt of the earth. You are the light of the world.
That’s what Jesus says in today’s Gospel. It’s what he tells the crowd that gathers around to hear him speak on a mountainside in Galilee. And it’s what he says still to us today.
You are the salt of the earth. You are the light of the world.
He doesn’t say “you should try to be” or “someday you might become” or “here’s a goal for you.” He says you are. Right now. Today. You are salt and light.
Salt preserves food from spoiling. It gives flavor to things that are bland. Light reveals what’s hidden. It guides the traveler who has lost his way. It shines out even from far away.
We are salt. We are light.
But is this just a metaphor? How do we live into this identity that Jesus gives us?
Today’s Gospel passage immediately follows Matthew’s version of the beatitudes, Jesus’s litany of what it means to be blessed. And I think that gives us some hints.
Blessed are the poor in spirit, Jesus says. They are salt. They are light.
Blessed are those who mourn. They are salt. They are light. And they will be comforted.
Blessed are the meek. They are salt. They are light. And they will inherit the earth.
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness. Blessed are the merciful. Blessed are the pure in heart. Blessed are the peacemakers. Blessed are those who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness.
They are salt. They are light. And theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
The beatitudes aren’t a spiritual “to do” list. They’re a picture of what the kingdom of God looks like. The kingdom of God is a place where those who mourn find comfort, where mercy is given and received, where peace is made real, where justice is acknowledged as worth some struggle and sacrifice.
And, as Jesus says, if you truly live that sort of life, you won’t be able to hide. Others will see it, just as they see a light in a darkened room. Others will taste it, just as they taste salt in even a simple meal.
People notice when you mourn with those who mourn. They notice when you work for justice or make peace or show mercy in places where mercy is scarce.
But this sort of life isn’t about showing off how good and holy you are. It’s about living into God’s call. It’s about shining a light that reflects something beyond yourself.
After all, we don’t usually look directly at lights. The light enables us to see the things it illuminates.
We don’t usually eat salt on its own. We allow it to bring out the flavors of the dish it’s added to.
To live this way isn’t always easy. But to live this way is to be blessed.
Jesus’s call is radical, but it isn’t new. It echoes through the prophets and across the centuries. You can hear it in Isaiah, which is our reading this morning, and which we’ll hear again in just ten days on Ash Wednesday.
“Is not this the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free?”
“Is it not to share your bread with the hungry,” to house the homeless, to clothe the naked, and to care for those close to you?
Isaiah knows what we know: that acts of justice and mercy aren’t easy. Loosing bonds, freeing the oppressed, feeding the hungry, housing the homeless: this isn’t light work. And Isaiah doesn’t promise ease. He does promise that God will guide us in the work God calls us to do. He promises that God will sustain us.
Fast in such a way, Isaiah says, and “your light shall break forth like the dawn,” and where you go, God will go with you.
The calls we hear today are worth reflecting on as we look ahead to the season of Lent.
Lent invites us into a different kind of fasting than we often imagine. Not the temporary self-denial of giving up chocolate or coffee, but the ongoing work of loosing bonds and sharing bread. Not a six-week sprint, but a lifelong practice of being salt and light.
Isaiah and the beatitudes teach us the shape of the kingdom of God. This is hard, slow work. Some days we’ll get it right. Many days we won’t. But even when we fail, Jesus says “You are the salt of the earth. You are the light of the world.” And even a little light can pierce the darkness. Even a little salt can season a meal.
[Note: the cover image for this posting is a montage of a few of the cover images from our Little Steps series.]