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When every “t” was crossed and all bubbles
filled, I sighed in relief. Final exams were finished and
summer had commenced! I traveled through the flat plains of
central Indiana to the rolling hills of southern Ohio, where
within a few days I would do what I was destined—no, made—to
do…or at least loved to do in the summer. I was a flagger
for ODOT, the Ohio Department of Transportation. And although
some contend my job could be replaced by a bucket of sand,
my work was worthy of every taxpayer’s dollar. Okay, maybe
that is an exaggeration. But after having worked for ODOT
for four summers, I looked upon my final days of flagging
with disbelief! Had I spent that many days in the hot sun?
Had I gained that many experiences with people, some whom
had less than a high school education? And had I really learned
that much about life?
But this was my last day! I
was allowed to be sentimental; I was allowed to reflect. But I was assigned to litter detail
with the most incompetent summer student I had ever worked
with. Folks,
it’s not that hard. And yet for Gizmo, it seemed like rocket
science. Gizmo was not like other summer students. He kept
to himself. I perceived him to have no drive, no direction,
and the boy seemed just plain crazy. But being the veteran
flagger that I was, I always spent time talking with Gizmo—but
only minimal conversation and, of course, just the basics.
On my last day I convinced Gismo that we
needed to travel every mile, every road, every stretch of
the county—not to pick up litter, but to get one last chance
to view the countryside. With his positive affirmation, we
headed out in the yellow pick-up. And with a radio that didn’t
work even on good days, we were forced to converse. This time
things were different. On this day our conversation was heavier
and I began to discover a Gizmo that was deeper than the façade.
This young man dreamed of being a philosopher, and his thoughts
were profound. We talked about life; we talked about death.
As we passed the small white church on the
hill in South Perry, I pointed to it and said, “That’s my
church. I am the pastor there.” He sat silent for a moment,
so I felt I needed to explain. I thought maybe he had never
met a female pastor before. I told him all about the United
Methodist Church and our openness to ordaining females. He
stopped me in mid-sentence, looked at me with caution, and
said words I will never forget: “Rachel, I didn’t even know
you where a Christian!”
Are we worth our salt?
Salt is
such as simple thing. Pour it onto our hand and it seems so
white, so pure, and yet if it seeps into the slightest wound,
it burns like hell. Gizmo’s words serve as a painful reminder
that the world is watching. People are looking! And yet does
the world really understand who we are? I am convinced that
the kingdom of God exists between purity and pain. There is
the human Jesus, suffering on the cross, yet divine and blameless—so
white, so pure—yet if Christ seeps into your slightest wound,
it burns like hell. We exist in this reality. Simultaneously
we are called into an identity that is marked by the righteousness
of God and the suffering of Christ. Is it about you? Is it
about me? No, it’s about God!
That’s what the Sermon on the Mount is really
all about, right? Understanding ourselves in relationship
to God and to the community around us. Verse 13 of Matthew
5 begins with Jesus’ declaration to the many who followed
him: “You are the salt of the earth!” Salt? Yes, salt. A substance
our doctors warn us against, and yet seems so vital to the
flavor of life. Why salt?
According to the Roman adage, “There is nothing
more useful than sun and salt.” Useful. In Jesus’ world, salt
was highly valued. As a substance, salt was filtered into
all avenues of life.
The Greeks and Jews sometimes used salt in ritual sacrifice.
Others used salt in food
preservation. Still others perceived salt as the means
to flavor.
The Romans termed salt to be “the purest
of things.”
Perhaps Jesus’ declaration, “You are salt,” was filled with
notions of purity. Purity is a hard word for all to handle,
and even harder to maintain. And yet this characteristic of
salt cannot be separated from salt’s other functions: preservation
and flavor. Used as a preservative, salt causes what would
otherwise be rotten meat to have an extended shelf life. William
Barclay notes:
Plutarch has a strange way of putting that… Plutarch says
that meat is a dead body and part of the dead body, and will,
if left to itself, go bad; but salt preserves it and keeps
it fresh, and is therefore like a new soul inserted into a
dead body. So then salt preserves from corruption.”
Ah, there
is the connection from preservative to purity. Salt wards
against the bacteria that would otherwise spoil the meat.
Salt preserves a person from corruption.
But then
there is flavor. In both the modern and ancient worlds, salt
served as a substance designed for flavoring food. Flavor
coupled with purity mixed with preservation, brings forth
life. Jesus’ plural declaration, “You all are the salt of
the earth,” places Christian identity within the boundaries
of community, but it is experienced in the world.
Jesus does not stop there. He gives a “what if” scenario.
What if you lose your taste, what happens then? Can salt lose
its taste? What is food like without salt? Every couple of
years, my parents would buy a couple of pigs purposed for
meat. That meat would be processed and turned into the most
tasteless sausage I had ever experienced. Before I was in
college, I thought that most sausage was unseasoned. My dad
did not like any seasoning in the sausage, so it came packaged
plain and flavorless. Praise God, real sausage—or at least
the sausage I eat—is salted.
What is food like without salt? Some can eat it. I
can stomach it. But I prefer it with a little salt.
What is the point of unsalty salt? Jesus says it’s good for
nothing. “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
under foot.” There are various meanings for Jesus’ illustration.
Jeff has learned that in the first century, tasteless salt
was utilized to patch roofs—and if trampled, the temporary
patch would fold under a person’s weight, rendering the salt
useless. Used throughout Palestine, salt served as the foundation
for outdoor ovens. Salt was laid under the tile floor of the
oven. After the salt had perished, the tiles were lifted and
the salt thrown into the street. Flavorless salt in the street
is worthless, and yet salt full of flavor in the street brings
life.
We are the salt of the world. But are we pure?
Do we preserve? Do we have flavor? Purity comes in many forms.
First we must understand that purity is beyond us, yet not
beyond God. God works among us and through us! It is God who
transforms. It is God who allows for change. But we serve
as God’s agents of change. Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount serves
as a direct challenge to us. We are to “be” salt, or at least
to “be” salt with God’s help.
But without purity, it is difficult to do God’s
work. I am not pure, so I must tell myself not to worry, the
purity is from God and always coupled with grace. As good
Methodists, I am sure we are all journeying toward perfection.
But in order to experience a purity that lasts, there must
be preservation. This is a journey—a climb through the valley,
over the mountain, only to experience another valley.
Preservation is key! The road is long, the hill is
high, and we must be wearing our hiking boots. Preservation
coupled with purity is about spiritual discipline. Spiritual
discipline is a phrase that will make every seminarian queasy.
God calls Christians to a life of discipline. It is not just
about reading one’s Bible or praying at meals, but it is about
centering one’s life and total existence on God. What does
that look like? Well, a multitude of things, all of which
take time and life. Time is life and life is all about flavor!
So was I unsalty? Perhaps. Gizmo and I spent the remainder
of our drive talking about his perceptions of what it meant
to be Christian, and my understanding of who I was in Christ.
Christ and salt serve as a healing agent, yet if Christ
seeps into a wound, much like salt, it burns.
But Gizmo told me stories of people who created wounds
and who were not in the healing business. These Christians
determined that being the salt of the earth was about separation,
judgment and personal righteousness. If we are the salt of
the earth, that means we live on the earth, we live in the
earth, we love the earth. We are not separated from creation.
Rather we are creation. In the same way, we are not
separated from humanity by what we do, rather the distinction
comes with who we are. Yet even in Christ we are always human,
and thus connected to all humanity. Gizmo noted that many
Christians have only a single characteristic of salt—perhaps
purity, perhaps preservation, but rarely flavor.
Flavor is something that we lack! The Christian
journey is not about a mournful existence. There is suffering,
but there is joy. There is pain, but there is peace. Do people
experience our joy? Oliver Wendell Holmes once said, “I might
have entered the ministry if certain clergymen I knew had
not looked and acted so much like undertakers.”
One of my friends, Kristy, is working this summer
at a church in North Carolina, doing something similar to
what I am doing here. Although she is having a good experience,
there is one comment that a parishioner has made—not to her,
but to her mother—that has left her puzzled. They said, “Your
daughter is too excited about the ministry and too happy all
the time. Someone needs to teach her about the realities of
life.” If you knew what I know about Kristy, you would know
that she has experienced some brutal realities about life
and yet is full of joy! I say she has flavor. Jesus declares,
“You are the salt of the earth.” Part of that saltiness is
flavor!
Did Gizmo find me lacking flavor? What about my purity,
coupled with preservation? Or did he not understand who I
was because of those he had experienced? It was probably all
of the above. Flavor coupled with purity
mixed with preservation, brings forth life. If we are the salt, we bring forth life into the
world. Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount serves as words of wisdom
for a journey. The journey is long. It is every day, all day.
Journeys are funny things. They shape who we are and, moment
by moment, what we do. Frequently I ask myself, “Rachel, are
you a Christian?” Then be pure. “Rachel, are you Christian?”
Then preserve life. “Rachel, are you a Christian?” Then be
full of Christ’s flavor! Flavor
coupled with purity mixed with preservation, brings forth
life. “We are the salt of the earth!”
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