Sermons

To Be Salt and Light

Good morning, and welcome. It’s good to be here with you all. It is pretty great to see you here this morning. Especially after snow and parking wars all over the District and a wind today that is Gaakaapiganeyaneyaakwadin (bone-cracking cold) kah-cop-akwa aqua-din. [Ojibway] 

This is our second week walking through the beginning of one of Jesus’ most famous sermons, the Sermon on the Mount. Last week, we heard Jesus address an audience largely made up of people who were sick or afflicted. Surrounded by folks in trouble, he presented them with a map of God’s blessings. The poor in spirit, those who mourn, the meek, those hungering for righteousness. He pointed to blessings, blessings, and more blessings. 

Now Jesus pivots toward instructions for living. He gets specific. He gets personal. He says to this crowd of people who have been pushed to the margins, who have been told they don’t matter: “You are the salt of the earth. You are the light of the world.” Not “you could be” or “you should try to be.” You are. 

Let that sit with you for a moment. Jesus looks at people the world has dismissed and says: God has made you, and blessed you, for a particular role in creation’s redemption. 

His image is salt and light. Even in very small quantities, both can make a big difference to a much larger whole. A pinch of salt brings a dish’s flavors to life. Salt is one of the few spices that can enhance and bring out other flavors. It doesn’t dominate; it reveals what’s already there. And light? Even a little bit of light from a single candle can light up a room. A candle is visible from more than a mile away. One small flame can pierce the darkness for 1.6 miles. You don’t need to be a lot to make a difference. You just need to be present. You just need to show up as who you are. 

But Jesus goes further. He warns that salt can lose its flavor and light can be hidden. If salt loses its taste, it’s useless. If you hide a lamp under a basket, it serves no purpose. This isn’t about judgment—it’s about living out our purpose and stepping into what we’re meant to do. 

I think about communities where people are being asked to produce papers to prove they belong. Where brown and black bodies are being surveilled, detained, and controlled by systems that echo the old slave patrols of this country. A legacy of de-humanizing that continues to include the leader of our country disparaging President and Michele Obama as less than human, with a vile racist trope. One we must continue to denounce, and not let slide. 

This is not new. This is the original sin we have been handed down, and it is the one we are called to repent of. To turn away from. To refuse to participate in. 

Later today we will be part of a gathering that is our annual meeting, it is where we come together and do the work of the church, we will elect new leadership, pass, amend or reject bylaws, clean up mistakes by the rector and do the work of the church and we do it with an established heart, with kindness, and clarity. I see salt. I see light. I see people refusing to be hidden under a basket. 

And then Jesus says something that might sound strange to our ears: “Do not think that I have come to abolish the law or the prophets; I have come not to abolish but to fulfill.” 

What does it mean to fulfill the law? 

One of the most important ideas in the ancient world of the Gospels was this notion of “fulfillment.” The Gospel writers often write of scripture being “fulfilled” in and through contemporary events. When something is “fulfilled,” it’s truly embodied, incarnated, filled out, brought to life. When we “fulfill a responsibility,” we perform it—we give it form—like an arm sliding into a perfectly tailored, beautifully embroidered sleeve. To fulfill the law, then, is to embody its essential features, to “fill out” and exemplify its meaning, spirit, and substance. 

Jesus isn’t interested in hollow religious practice. He’s interested in the heart of the law—love of God, love of neighbor. In Isaiah, we hear the prophet confronting the community directly, contrasting hollow, hypocritical religious practices with truly faithful ones. Fasting, prayers, rituals—they mean nothing if we’re still oppressing workers, if we’re still ignoring the hungry, if we’re still turning away from our community. 

In the same way that the psalmist says, “Their heart is established and will not shrink,” we, too, are called to establish our hearts and see a place where we are to truly step into the full value of our community. We are called to speak our truths to one another and to see one another with the eyes of justice, love, and community. Wherever we are on our spectrum of belief. 

That is what it means to fulfill the law. That is what it means to be salt and light. 

So I ask you this morning: how are we fulfilling the law? How are we being salt and light in a world that desperately needs both? 

Are we discerning what we can do and not do? 

Or are we hiding our light under a bushel? Are we letting our salt lose its flavor because we’re too afraid, too comfortable, too convinced that someone else will do the work? 

We feed people here, we fold and bring underwear, we use our building for people to stage protests, we write letters to prisoners, we show documentaries, we go to court, and we try to learn about a world that would be easier to turn away from. We call into question so much of this broken world, and we hope that our efforts make this a better place for all. 

Last week, 59 faith leaders were arrested at the Hart Building trying to have our Senate decide not to continue the funding of ICE. As those almost 60 leaders sat down on the floor, they sang: “You are not alone, you’re not alone, together we will achieve liberation. No estás solo, no estás sola, juntos lograremos la liberación.” They were arrested, and others showed up to support them upon their release. Standing in the cold, getting them to warm places, and handing them something to eat. That is salt and light too. 

This is a counter-cultural stance that changes us as we change the world. We see more, we reach out further, and we are hopeful. We are called to bring more light, more love, more goodness into it. We are called to discern how we can protest what is happening, or support those who can and do what we must to protect the most vulnerable. Being salt and light is not passive. It is not polite. It is not safe. It is world-changing. You are the salt of the earth. You are the light of the world. So let your light shine.

May it be so.

Amen