A little self-introduction is probably in order. I’m Gary Hall, a priest for over 46 years in this diocese and elsewhere. I retired in 2016 as dean of Washington National Cathedral, and I’ve also served in my time as seminary dean, parish priest, and English teacher, and my wife Kathy has been with me every step of the way. I’m a longtime friend of our bishop and your former vicar, John Taylor, and I’m a relatively new colleague of Linda Allport, who shares leadership with me at Bloy House, the diocesan theological school. My wife Kathy and I are happy to be with you this morning, and I know you eagerly await the arrival of your interim vicar in a few weeks.
You at St. John’s begin a leadership transition right in the middle of the season of Epiphany, a time when the church celebrates and reflects on how we manifest God in the world. The Greek word epiphany literally means “manifestation”. The season observes the manifestation of God’s glory first in Jesus, then in the church, then in the world, then in us. It seems we cannot talk about God’s glory without finally mentioning ourselves.
Today’s Gospel [Matthew 5: 13-20] begins with a commonly misunderstood saying from Jesus. “You are the salt of the earth.” Now I don’t know about your family, but in mine we used the phrase “salt of the earth” to describe people who were, well, pretty average, or at least not special. “She’s the salt of the earth” was probably not a fashion-forward compliment back in the day.
But when, in Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus tells his companions they are the “salt of the earth” he is saying almost exactly the opposite of our common understanding of that phrase:
You are the salt of the earth; 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.
It’s clear, when you listen closely, that Jesus uses salt to denote something that gives flavor to the otherwise dull foodstuff we might apply it to. In his 2003 bestseller Salt, the author Mark Kurlansky tells a fascinating tale of the role that salt has played in human society. It was prized not only for its savor but also its use as a preservative. And in ancient Israel salt even had a religious role. As Kurlansky explains,
Salt was to the ancient Hebrews, and still is to modern Jews, the symbol of the eternal nature of God’s covenant with Israel . . . Loyalty and friendship are sealed with salt because its essence does not change. [Mark Kurlansky,Salt, p. 6]
When Jesus describes his followers as “salt of the earth” he therefore must mean that they are both precious and special. Just as salt is necessary for human life, Jesus’s companions are vital to the life of the world.
The same holds for his next comparison:
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.
Those of us of a certain age remember Ronald Reagan’s use of the phrase “city on a hill” to describe the United States. It is a term he borrowed from the 17th century Puritan John Winthrop, who in turn took it from this Gospel. When Jesus tells us that we are the “light of the world”, he means that our job is to light the world up just as God has done both in creation and in the life and ministry of Jesus.
Okay; these are interesting comparisons. What do they mean for you and me?
While it is true that Jesus is concerned with each of us as individuals, he also cares deeply about the group that he has gathered around him. When Jesus addresses the crowd in this passage, he uses the word “you” in its plural form. So yes, we individually and collectively are the salt of the earth and the light of the world. Salt without savor is useless. Lamps under bushels don’t shed much light.
Why do these distinctions matter? For a couple of reasons.
When we say that God created us in God’s own image, we mean that each human being represents some unique aspect of the divine. When we say that human beings are precious, we also mean that both together and separately we show forth some aspect of God that is revealed nowhere else. One of the problems we have in the church is that we tend, in Anglicanism’s greatest theologian Richard Hooker’s words, to “overpraise the sacred”. It’s not just that the Bible and church and the sacraments are holy. It’s also that we ourselves are holy. We are holy because God is holy. We are holy because, each and together, we embody some aspect of God.
What Jesus is saying today, then, has real implications for us both separately and as a community. We are the salt of the earth. We are the light of the world. Our task, as followers of Jesus, is to claim and live out that aspect of the divine image that we alone embody as our unique contribution to God’s work in the world. Your task, as a follower of Jesus, is to know and accept yourself in all your wonderful particularity. God doesn’t need you to try to be someone else. God needs you to be who you are.
If you think I am overstating the case here, hear again two things Jesus says at the end of today’s Gospel passage:
First,
Do not think that I have come to abolish the law or the prophets; I have come not to abolish but to fulfill.
And,
For I tell you, unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.”
Remember a while back I quoted the author of Salt saying that salt was sacred to ancient Hebrews because it symbolized “the eternal nature of God’s covenant with Israel”. Accepting our nature as both salt and light is not just good lifestyle advice. Accepting our nature as both salt and light is, in some sense, our sacred duty. The people who challenged Jesus, the “scribes and Pharisees” in Matthew’s language, were religious conformists. They represented that unfortunate tendency we all have to make people march in religious lock step. They were scandalized by Jesus because he and his companions lived free lives which challenged that conformity and looked suspiciously like a violation of Jewish law.
But what Jesus shows here is that nonconformity, living not in imitation of others but out of what Thomas Merton called one’s “true self” is in fact the highest kind of faithfulness there is. Living this way is actually a fulfillment of, not a deviation from, God’s commandments. That’s why Jesus says that we who follow him are called to a higher righteousness. It’s easy to follow a rule book. It’s harder to live authentically. But living and acting out of one’s true and deepest identity are what following Jesus is all about.
This is true for you and me and all of us who seek to follow Jesus. We are each called to know, accept, and love ourselves as we are, and to use the actual gifts we have to embody our true selves as we engage our families, our work, our church and our world. And what is true for us individually is also true for us as a church community. God doesn’t need St. John Chrysostom to look and act like any other Episcopal church. God needs this congregation to live into its real, beloved identity as it is—with all its joys and gifts, with all its quirks and complications.
You all are now at the beginning of a transition in clergy leadership. These moments can be fraught, because so much of a congregation’s identity can be caught up in the identity of its leader. One of the drawbacks of our tradition is that we can be a bit “priest-centric”. As you begin this interim time between vicars, remember Jesus’s words to his companions. You are the salt of the earth, the light of the world. You have something as a church to offer that no other church has. Your job in these months is to talk and listen to and love each other, to rediscover what it is that makes you both salty and illuminating, and to imagine how you might bring savor and light to the people both inside and outside these walls.
This time may seem like a bummer, but it is really sacred time. Use it to discover again what makes you unique. In doing so, you will be fulfilling God’s purpose and stepping up to that higher righteousness that Jesus both offers and demands of those of us who follow him. You are the salt of the earth. You are the light of the world. Accept it. Claim it. Live it. And, most of all, enjoy the discoveries you’ll make on this wild and sacred ride. Amen.
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