I’m fascinated by the examples of these communities that are found in the places of origin of their tradition, even as the center of gravity of that tradition has shifted elsewhere: to Antioch, to Rome, to Constantinople, to Moscow, to Wittenberg, London, and so on.

I’m similarly fascinated by British Methodists. Methodism exploded along the American frontier and grew to enormous proportions along with the country. It was far more successful in the United States than it had ever been in the United Kingdom. And yet, it was there that Methodism got its start. And so I’m a little fascinated by British Methodists.

I had occasion to sit down and talk with a British Methodist colleague some years ago. He was the head of Methodist campus ministry in the UK and was attending a UM campus ministry conference here in the US. He was a lot of fun to talk to and at one point I asked him a question I’d been wondering: what is the reputation of Methodists in the UK? That is, what do they think of us in the country where it all got started?

“Oh,” he replied. “Mostly we’re seen as being against things.”

I knew what that meant.

It’s not a new complaint. The Roman historian Tacitus describes the Christians as having a “hatred of humankind”—because of their reluctance to get involved with anything that they thought of as idolatrous. And in ancient Rome, all the fun stuff was idolatrous in one way or another. And so, to Tacitus’ mind, the Christians had a “hatred of humankind.” They were “against things.”

We’d probably say something like “wet blanket” or “killjoy” or “buzzkill.” You can almost imagine an ancient conversation in that modern style:

“Are you going to the arena tonight?”

“Yes, can’t wait.”

“Is Titus coming with you?”

(sighs) “No. He says it’s too violent, disrespects the divine image in every person.”

“Divine image? The gods themselves sanction these games!”

“Yeah, about that: he says those gods aren’t real and he doesn’t want to be involved with anything where they’re venerated or worshiped.”

“Gods, what a killjoy.”

And certainly, that’s our image in the popular culture. We’re the downers. The ones who are against things. The boring, bland, un-fun ones. Sure, Homer Simpson can be annoying, but given the choice, most would rather hang out with him than with Ned Flanders.

II. THE TEXT

Which is why it’s so interesting to me that we are commanded to be the exact opposite of bland. We’re taught to be salty.

“You are the salt of the earth,” Jesus says, in today’s reading from his Sermon on the Mount in Matthew’s gospel.  “…but if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything, but is thrown out and trampled underfoot.”

This is a curious passage because it’s a familiar one to us—“salt of the earth” has been an idiomatic phrase in English since the 14th Century—that we don’t really understand. I mean, the phrase in English means something like “a good and honest person.” “Do you know Jim? That guy is salt of the earth.”

But is that what Jesus means here? “You are good and honest”? That doesn’t quite seem to mean what Jesus means by it. And even if he did, why would saying salt of the earth mean that?

There’s a tradition of salt-related imagery in the Bible.

Salt is used as an element of sacrifice:

Lev. 2:13 You shall not omit from your grain offerings the salt of the covenant with your God; with all your offerings you shall offer salt.

Ezek. 43:24 You shall present them before the Lord, and the priests shall throw salt on them and offer them up as a burnt offering to the Lord.

It’s used as a sign of loyalty and covenant fidelity:

Ezra 4:14 Now because we share the salt of the palace and it is not fitting for us to witness the king’s dishonor, therefore we send and inform the king,

Num. 18:19 All the holy offerings that the Israelites present to the Lord I have given to you, together with your sons and daughters, as a perpetual due; it is a covenant of salt forever before the Lord for you and your descendants as well.

It was used as a sign of community: eating together was known as “sharing salt.”

It was used as a sign of purification:

2 Kings 2:19–22 • Now the people of the city said to Elisha, “The location of this city is good, as my lord sees; but the water is bad, and the land is unfruitful.” He said, “Bring me a new bowl, and put salt in it.” So they brought it to him. Then he went to the spring of water and threw the salt into it, and said, “Thus says the Lord, I have made this water wholesome; from now on neither death nor miscarriage shall come from it.” So the water has been wholesome to this day, according to the word that Elisha spoke.

And of course, it’s used as a seasoning:

Job 6:6 Can that which is tasteless be eaten without salt, or is there any flavor in the juice of mallows?

Col. 4:6 Let your speech always be gracious, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how you ought to answer everyone.

As a seasoning is the meaning we’re most familiar with, for sure. At least, it’s the one I’m the most familiar with.

III. FLAVOR

You may not have noticed, but Lent is only a few weeks away and those who observe a Lenten fast will decide what they’re going to give up this year. Historically, Christians gave up things like meat and eggs (hence the pancakes on Shrove Tuesday using up the last of the lard and eggs). More recently, Christians give up things like chocolate, a fact that was the main plot point of the wonderful movie Chocolat about a woman named Vianne who opens up a chocolate shop in a small French town at the outset of Lent, scandalizing everyone.

Giving up chocolate is not difficult for me. I like chocolate. But I can live without it for six weeks. Easy.

But ask me to give up chips and crackers—that’s something else altogether. I don’t have a sweet tooth; I have a salty tooth. I love salty snacks. Not to bring up Homer Simpson twice in one sermon, but there are definitely times I’ve agreed with him when he said, “I wish I were hope with a big bowl of potato chips. Mmmmmm… potato chips.”

Because salt is where it’s at. Oh, I can eat the salt-free potato chips and pretzels, but I like the salty ones more.

And over the years I’ve come to realize just how great salt is as a seasoning. There are few dishes that can’t be made more delicious just by a little salt and maybe some pepper. And I’ve come to understand just how much even a pinch of salt can add to a recipe.

What would it be like if we were like that to someone? What would it be like if Christians were to the world what salt is to my taste preferences. If instead of thinking we were bland or killjoys, down on everything and everyone, if when people saw us coming they’d say, “Mmmmm. Christians.” Well, maybe not “Mmmmm.” Maybe, “Yay! Christians!”

So, it seems that Jesus is definitely appealing to the sense of flavor and the taste that salt adds to food when he tells us “You are the salt of the earth.” And that it is in this sense of bringing flavor that he warns us against losing our saltiness.

A. Losing Flavor

Now, this brings up an interesting question. How, exactly, does salt lose its saltiness? As far as I know there is no chemical process that can do this. And Jesus must surely have known this—not the chemistry exactly—but the fact that salt doesn’t ever become unsalty.

Except that salt can lose its saltiness—if it becomes too diluted, too mixed in with other things.  If it becomes impure.

Now, any time the word purity comes up from the pulpit, there is cause for concern. And so it’s important to ask, what, exactly, are we supposed to keep pure and not dilute?

And that’s where the next part of the passage comes in.

B. Light

“You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid. No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.

“You are the light of the world.”

It’s an interesting thing to tell someone: you are light. What does it look like to be light?

No one can see light, really. We’re not conscious of seeing photons rolling by in waves (or in particles—it’s very confusing). But light is what helps us to see everything else. When those photons bounce off of objects in the world we can see them. The pulpit here. The altar rail. The red carpeting in the sanctuary. The kids squirming in the front pew wondering when this sermon will be over. Light helps us to see these things, but in the end all we’re really seeing is the light.

In the same way, no one can see love. Not even with night-vision goggles or infrared scanners. No one can see love. But love is what helps us to see everything else. When we see our beloved, for example, we see that person illuminated by love. But in the end, all we’re really seeing is the love. [2]

So here’s where this all comes together. We are called to be flavoring in the world and not to lose our saltiness. That we do by staying pure—keeping that purity of heart, that purity of love. When we keep that purity of heart, that purity of love, then we are able to shine that love into the corners of the world to illuminate them in the light of love.

It’s a love that brings flavor to life, not blandness. A love that brings zest and excitement, rather than dread and boredom. This is the work we’re called to.

IV. THE MISSION

And this is the important point—our task as Christians is to be the salt of the earth, the light of the world. The salt and light do not exist for themselves but for the world. We do not hoard the salt and shine the light for our own sake, but for the world’s. This is the point made in the passage from Isaiah we heard earlier:

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, and to break every yoke? Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover them, and not to hide yourself from your own kin? Then your light shall break forth like the dawn, and your healing shall spring up quickly; your vindicator shall go before you, the glory of the Lord shall be your rear guard. Then you shall call, and the Lord will answer; you shall cry for help, and he will say, Here I am.

Loosing the bonds of injustice, letting the oppressed go free, sharing food with the hungry, bringing the homeless into our homes, covering the naked—then your light shall break forth like the dawn.

If we would be the light of the world, we must be the salt of the earth. To be that salt, we share the undiluted message of love, justice, grace, and hope that God has shared with us.

V. END

At the heart of the Christian proclamation about Jesus is that Jesus is the Immanuel, “God is with us.” That means, that at the heart of the Christian proclamation is a startling claim: that God is not removed or apart from our lives and experiences, but comes to us in the midst of our lives, in the midst of the good and the bad, into the midst of the world.

That’s the power of the teaching of the Incarnation. God’s presence with us in the midst of the world through the person of Jesus Christ.

As followers of Christ, we’re supposed to do likewise. We’re not called to be a people removed from the world, we’re called to be the flavoring of the world. We’re not called to be off in our own little parallel world, we’re called to shine a light into this world, to help people to see it as God intends.

The primary focus of the light—as with all light—is not to be seen but to let things be seen as they are.

These powerful metaphors of salt and light mean that mission is inherent to discipleship. As one commentator notes:

In the metaphors of salt, light, and city the [Jesus of Matthew’s gospel] strikes a death blow to all religion that is purely personal and private.[1]

Christianity is not an esoteric, secret society. We are not a club. In the words of John Wesley, “The gospel of Christ knows of no religion but social, no holiness by social holiness.” We are not here for ourselves but for the world.

If we do this right, we will no longer be identified with killjoys, haters of humankind, buzzkills, and people who are “against things.” If we do this right, we become that seasoning to life that changes everything. We become that light that helps people to see love, hope, and justice at work in their world. We become as ubiquitous and as present as saltshakers are on every table in every restaurant on the planet. If we do this right, we can truly be as Jesus told us we were—salt and light; we can be the means by which the world may “taste and see.”

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