(Homily for Gayton Road Christian Church's Sunday Worship on February 5, 2017, Epiphany V)
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Fight or Flight…
Ancient Judea in Jesus’ time would have looked a little bit like our world today. Social unrest and uncertainty plagued the Jewish people. Why? Because of the Roman Empire. The Roman Empire cast a shadow over just about every part of Jewish life: the ancient Judeans paid taxes to Rome; the Roman soldiers wandered their land at will; and there always lingered in the background the threat of imperial retaliation if the Judeans did anything amiss.
The Jewish people were divided about how to live their lives in such a world. On the one side were the militant nationalists, the folks who believed that God was waiting for them to take up arms, like in the stories of their ancestors. On the other side were the pious isolationists, the folks like the Pharisees who believed that they needed to get their hearts right with God, and eventually God would deal with Rome the way God dealt with any oppressor.
If we take a couple steps back from the situation, we can see that the ancient Judeans were acting out the typical response to danger or trouble: the “fight or flight” response. Some Judeans wanted to fight the problem head-on. Others wanted to flee from it, to find refuge in the comfort of a like-minded community. Perhaps the uncertainty that our nation faces today, leads to a similar response among us. On the one side are the fighters, the shouters, the willful folks who struggle over power. On the other side are the self-righteous, the wise guys, the folks who have all the answers but only ever talk to themselves because the other side wouldn’t really understand.
…Or Something Else Entirely?
Into such a world, Jesus comes and proclaims to those who would follow him, “You are the salt of the earth” (5:13). But what does that mean?[1] Is Jesus advocating the fight or the flight, or something entirely different? Another way of asking this question, might be to ask: What is the relation between salt and its world? How does salt get on with its fellow foodstuff?
Allow me to share my own experience of salt:
Ode to Salt
“Dear salt,
“You make french fries finger-licking good.
“Because of you, I chomp recklessly on my corn on the cob.
“I wouldn’t have thought caramel could be improved, but you improve it.
“I remember when my mom taught me to scramble eggs for the first time. Those eggs would have been nothing without you.
“You make a heavenly ham. (The town Smithfield is surely indebted to you.)
“You make a savory, slurp-worthy soup.
“You and vinegar make an exceptional duo.
“With your help, I was able to eat all those vegetables my mom insisted I eat.
“There’s hardly a food that can’t be improved with a touch of your divine stuff.
“Once when I was younger, I thought you were so good that I could eat you all by yourself. But I discovered the opposite. You are not so good on your own. What you’re good at, is making other foods better. Making them more themselves. You draw out their natural flavors. You unlock their hidden tastes.”
Salt: Not Self-Superior, But Selfless
That is my personal ode to salt. I imagine you could write one yourself. Chances are, it would sound similar. Of course, your ode might feature some different foods: pretzels, beef, potato chips…margaritas? I don’t know! The salient point is, your ode would not praise salt alone. It would praise salt for the many other foods that salt enhances. It would give glory to God not solely for salt, but for all the many salted foods that you enjoy.
All this to say, salt is rather selfless. It cannot claim glory for itself. It can only reveal the glory of other foods. You’re probably familiar with the advertising formula: “We didn’t invent the product, we just made it better.” A similar slogan could be said of salt: “Salt didn’t invent any food, but just a touch of it can make almost any food better.”
When we look at ancient Judea, or our own world, we see plenty of folks who think their way is simply better than any other way. Whether they fight against others, or take flight and seclude themselves in the comfort of their own kind, they do it with a sense of superiority. Even if they are facing dark times, they maintain a triumphal tone.
In fact, Christians have even interpreted today’s scripture in such a self-superior, triumphal way. All that talk about being “the light of the world,” being “a city built on a hill,” has been taken to mean that we are the world’s savior, whether the world knows it or not. But I’m not sure that’s what Jesus is saying.
I don’t think Jesus is proclaiming that his followers are better than everyone else, but rather that his followers have a responsibility. Light does not rule or conquer or reign superior to other elements of the world. It gives itself to the world; it enables and empowers. It shows the beauty of other things. Salt is not a food enjoyed alone; it is not a food that can claim superiority over other foods. It gives itself to the world of food; it enhances and enriches. It showcases the wonderful tastes of other foods. It brings out their naturally good flavors.
Losing Ourselves, Finding Ourselves
What does this mean, though, for people who are light and salt? Are they nothing more than a function, a role, a task? Do they have no identity themselves? Perhaps that’s what the disciples are wondering, because Jesus follows these metaphors with a word of explanation. “Don’t think I’m doing away with the scriptures,” he says, referring to the law and the prophets that tell the distinct history and identity of the people of Israel. “I’m not abolishing them but fulfilling them.” In other words, he’s suggesting to his followers that their identity—told in all its glorious detail in the prophets and the laws of their ancestors—is not erased in being salt and light. Rather, it is somehow fulfilled.
On the face of it, this is confusing stuff. Although Jesus demonstrates a deep respect for the traditions of his ancestors, he and his followers will occasionally disregard them. Thus he will later choose to heal on the Sabbath, which some will consider a transgression of the law; but for Jesus, life is more important than the letter of a law. So which is it, Jesus? Are you for the law or against it?
Jesus responds with a hearty “Yes” to the law—even going so far as to say that only when we follow the law with all our heart will we find the kingdom, and ourselves in it (cf. 5:20). Over the next few chapters, though, we discover that Jesus interprets the law differently than many of his fellow Judeans. He interprets the law not according to its letter but according to the spirit that inspired it. And what inspires the law, according to Jesus, is love. All of the law hangs on two commandments, he will later say: Love God and love each other (cf. Matt 22:37-40).
It is this love, I think, that gives us our saltiness. For love brings out the natural flavors of our world. Love believes and hopes in the greatness of each different taste. And love is patient, bearing and enduring all things, knowing that the best flavors take time.
In a world that lives by “fight or flight,” Jesus calls us to neither. We’re not called to win, to triumph, to overpower all the other tastes in the world. We’re not even called to be right, to think ourselves the best flavor out of all the flavors. We’re called to be salt, to be sprinkled all over the world, bringing out the natural goodness in our neighbors as in our enemies.
To be salt is to lose ourselves for the sake of other flavors. And according to Jesus, it is only in doing so that we will find ourselves (cf. Matt 10:39)—and a whole new world.
Prayer
Inspiring God,
Whose love draws out
Our deepest and best flavors;
Whose light illumines
The beauty in all creation;
Even as we savor your love,
So may we share it
Among the dullest and darkest places.
Amen.
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[1] Salt would have been a rich metaphor in Jesus’ time even as it is today. In the ancient world, salt was used to flavor foods and to preserve them; it was also rubbed on newborn children, sprinkled on sacrifices, used to seal covenants. Cf. Kathryn Matthews, “Letting the Light Through,” http://www.ucc.org/weekly_seeds_letting_the_light_through, accessed February 1, 2017.
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