Sermon for the Fifth Sunday of Epiphany

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By the Rev. Alanna Sullivan
Associate Minister and Director of Administration 
Memorial Church of Harvard University

(The following is a transcript of the service audio)

May the words in my mouth and the meditations of our hearts and minds be acceptable in your sight, oh God, our rock and redeemer. Amen.

So friends, I was hoping we could take a moment to situate ourselves. This lectionary year we have been following the Gospel of Matthew, and during the Season of Epiphany, we have been hearing about the beginnings of Jesus' life and ministry. We've heard stories about Jesus' baptism, the start of his ministry, the calling of the first disciples. And last week we heard the opening of Jesus' most famous speech, Sermon on the Mount. And it begins with the Beatitudes, some of the most loved and most shared words from the gospels. The Beatitudes describe a state of blessedness, a blessedness that Jesus' followers are invited to manifest and to enjoy. The blessedness of those who are hunger and thirst for righteousness, of those who are pure in heart, the merciful, the peacemakers, the blessings of the Beatitudes are so profound and so precious that we might begin to think that the blessed ones are too good for this world and are only fit to live in heaven.

The Beatitudes of read in isolation can sound like a creed of some pure and isolated sect. And if we only read the Beatitudes and not the words that follow, they can sound like the blessings bestowed on someone who is so heavenly minded that they are of no earthly use. And yet Jesus immediately follows the Beatitudes with a pungent and peculiar image. "You are the salt of the earth. If salt has lost its taste, how can it saltiness be restored? It's no longer good for anything, but it's thrown out and trampled underfoot." Jesus has laid out the extravagant feast of the Beatitudes and he adds these words like a pinch of salt as the final flourish before a meal is served. And indeed, the be Beatitudes do sound different. They taste different after these words have been added.

Jesus makes two declarative statements in our passage this morning. "You are the salt of the earth and the light of the world", and he offers these statements as facts of the present. He doesn't offer them as suggestions or hope for the future. We don't hear get salty. You will be salty or light up, become the light. Jesus assures us that we already have all that we need for the journey to follow Christ. Author Debbie Thomas puts it this way. "Jesus is telling us who we are. We are salt. We're not supposed to be salt or encouraged to become salt or promised that if we become salt, God will love us more." The language that Jesus uses is a statement of our identity. We are the salt, we are that which will enhance or embitter, soothe or irritate, melt or sting, preserve or ruin. For better or for worse. We are the salt of the earth and what we do with that saltiness matters. Matters a lot. Now we all know no single metaphor, salt, light, clay, sheep, branch, dove, soil. None of those can encompass all of what it means to follow Christ.

Yet I think we will miss the profoundness of what Jesus is saying here if we don't take it seriously. So let's play with the metaphor a bit. What is salt useful for? First, salt adds flavor and dimension to any dish. It's distinctive and can't be replicated. And although salt is unique, it really doesn't do much on its own. It's meant to be shared, poured out, and when it dissolves into the other ingredients, salt brightens , enhances and balances a dish. So how does Christ call us to flavor the world? At times life can feel bland and dull, and the world needs spice as much as a pot of stock needs a pinch of salt. We all need zest and joy and Christ calls us to enliven, deepen, and enhance the lives of those around us. We are meant to reflect something of the one who once said, "I came that you might have joy and that your joy might be complete." Jesus describes the kingdom of God as a party and we are meant to resemble the early followers of Jesus who were so full of exuberance.

Second, salt is versatile. It's used for all sorts of purposes. Nowadays, we use it for melting ice, rinsing sinuses, easing, swelling, cleaning wounds. And in some cases we value salt for its edginess, it stings, it burns, it irritates. We appreciate how it cuts through the muck and the gunk. Following Christ certainly isn't easy. It's even hard at times. Barbara Brown Taylor once described genuine faith as having both a center and an edge. Each is necessary for the soul's health. And to fill the center, one needs to feed the edges. Salt makes us thirsty, leaves us parched, can be hard to think about anything else. The psalmist sings of their yearning for God and God's justice as a thirst for God's righteousness. And the road to relief comes when God is the center of everything one does. The host of every gathering, the object of every lesson, the source of every outreach, the reason for every decision, the center of every celebration.

Third, salt is precious. In the book Salt, A World History, Mark Lansky reminds us that from the beginning of civilization until about a hundred years ago, salt was one of the most sought after commodities in human history. This is easy for us to forget in our modern context. Leviticus tells us that salt was central to the ritual life in ancient Israel. Every animal sacrifice that the priest made was seasoned with salt. And salt was mixed with the incense that burned in the tabernacle as an offering to God, Israelites would seal covenants with salt, believing that the element represented endurance and faithfulness. Newborn babies were rubbed with salt as a sign that they were set apart for holiness. And Jesus had firsthand knowledge with the importance of this common yet very valuable commodity.

He grew up in a village where the local fishermen relied on salt to preserve their catch. And throughout the Roman Empire, soldiers were sometimes paid in salt. In fact, that's where our English word salary comes from. Salt was essential and treasured throughout the ancient near East and beyond. So let us remember that when Jesus delivers the Sermon on the Mount, he's not addressing the powerful and privileged of the day. He is speaking to the people that society has disregarded, has neglected, has persecuted. The poor, the meek, the mournful, the sick, the crippled.

And then here comes Jesus with this radical reassurance that despite what the world tells you, you are a blessing. You are worthy, you are cherished. Furthermore, there is nothing you need to change about yourself to become God's beloved because you already are. Scholar Amy Lindeman Allen puts it this way, "Each of us, each of our neighbors, both far and wide, is indispensable to God's covenant relationship with God's people, indeed with God's creation itself." So as I said, no single metaphor can capture all of what it means to follow Christ. Yet I am struck by the fact that Jesus keeps pointing to the most ordinary of objects to describe the most extraordinary of all realities.

Whether it being using everyday images such as salt of the earth or light of the world to describe discipleship or using the most common of elements, water, bread, and wine, to represent God's ever unfolding mercy, steadfast love and peace that surpasses all understanding. Christ reminds us again and again that the distance between this world and the kingdom of God is a lot shorter than we think. God can transform the most ordinary objects, the most basic of lives, the most broken of people into something holy. And thanks be to God for that good news indeed.