5th Sunday after the Epiphany

The Sermon on the Mount is beautiful and frustrating, inspiring and overwhelming – a tour-de-force of Jesus’ vision of the Kingdom of Heaven. And by that I don’t mean, “Reality as it only exists in heaven.” I mean, in fact, just the opposite: a heaven-like reality that is ours now for the taking.

For in Jesus, we see the fullness of God’s spirit, and who God calls us also to be. Jesus shows us the face of God. And he shows us what it means to be human, made in the image of God. Which is why our parish mission is just three words: Be like Jesus.

In the portion of the Sermon on the Mount we read today, Jesus tells his disciples:

You are the salt of the earth.

You are the light of the world.

And you know what intrigues me about these images? The value of salt and the value of light is they both accentuate something other than itself. You don’t eat salt for salt’s sake; you add it to food to draw out the flavor that’s already there. And when you shine light, you don’t do it to stare at the light itself; you need the light to illumine something else.

Salt and light reveal the good that already exists.

The Kingdom of Heaven is like going for a walk before dawn. There’s no color at all. You only see the landscape in shades of gray. But when the morning light breaks, it comes with color – the sky streaks with gold and orange, pinks and blues. And as it does, the landscape itself is transformed from gray into luminous color. Everything is familiar; but everything is new.

Like ourselves.

Our lives can be a gray and colorless landscape. With each passing year, we absorb countless lies that undermine our dignity and worth: A child perceives her parents’ preference for her sibling; a student is mocked by his peers; an employee is left behind when their co-workers go to lunch together; a spouse is cheated on; we loathe the contours of our own face and body. Bit by bit, we believe in our undesirability. And bit by bit, we adopt the guise of our unloveliness…until Jesus comes and says, “My beloved, fashioned in glory, let us make our home in you.” And God reveals our innate dignity, which has always been true.

And as God becomes salt and light for us, revealing our truer selves, Jesus says, “You too are the salt of the earth. You are the light of the world. You are as I am. So join me, in love, drawing forth what is already holy and true in our neighbors.”

It reminds me of Clyde.

When Cynthia and I moved to the small town in rural Alabama where she’d been raised, the only way my neighbors knew to welcome me was to try to fashion me into a version of themselves: wear these overalls; learn to rebuild an engine; watch NASCAR. I tell you, never in my life had I ever felt so lonesome and misunderstood, until my father-in-law, Clyde, pulled me aside and said, “Don’t you give up yourself to become like them. Just be yourself and let it work itself out.”

You couldn’t imagine a father and son-in-law more different than Clyde and I were. He was a share-cropper’s son, a welder, a shade-tree mechanic, an Alabama football fan. I was a Californian, a design-major and seminary graduate who now worked in a florist, making pretty things for parties. His ideal day was spent bush-hogging every plant in his yard over four inches tall. My ideal day was spent tagging wild azaleas in the woods to transplant into my garden. And Clyde loved me. He made me welcome. He was light and salt, able to affirm and value what was true in me, even if he himself didn’t understand it. He shined light in my world and made himself home in it, as I made my home in him. And along the way, we both became more truly ourselves as we believed ourselves to be safe and loved in the other.

And so we are all called. Our job is to go with love and to reveal what is worthy of love, drawing forth God’s beauty and flavor in a world that is increasingly dark and bland.

Please, God, may it be so. May we go forth as salt and light, blessing those around us in such a way that the truth of their belovedness is revealed to themselves and to the world.

We have with us today, Scout Troop 217 which St. John’s has chartered for over forty years. For the past three years, the troop has also welcomed girls to join them. You might not often see the scouts, but they’re here in our church, in their church, as often as most of us are. For them, it’s every Monday night, and often departing from here for various trips. And part of what makes our relationship so fitting is how the scouting values are so in keeping with this same principle of being salt and light.

The troop itself is as salt and light for each individual scout, affirming: You have a place here; you are wanted here; you have dignity and the potential to do things of great worth. And when they repeat the Scout Oath and Law – which they do as often as we repeat the Nicene Creed – it draws forth in them their own call to be as salt and light for this world: to help others at all times; to be trustworthy, loyal, helpful, and courteous. What we do on Sunday, what they do on Monday, fosters a community of people who are making this world a better place, every day of the week. Each in our own way, we are partners with God in bringing forth the Kingdom of Heaven.

And as St. John’s grows in its mission to be like Jesus, it includes our increased desire to honor and value and support these scouts who are a part of our church and community. We are grateful they are here. They make us a better church. They make Gig Harbor a better city. And as our relationship grows, may we, too, have gifts to share with them.

Gifts like the fertilizer, we’re bringing today to Temple Beth El.

Shortly before the pandemic began in 2020, Jeff Helsdon determined that St. John’s should reach out to our Jewish neighbors in a spirit of solidarity against the rise of antisemitism in our society. So we gifted Temple Beth El in Tacoma with a fig tree as a gesture of peace from St. John’s. They planted it at their Tu Bishvat service three years ago. That’s “The New Years of the Trees,” one of four new year celebrations that mark the Jewish calendar. And today, (right after the 10 o’clock service), a group of parishioners – mainly kids – has been invited to this year’s Tu Bishvat. This time we’re bringing organic fertilizer to feed their tree.

I’m intrigued by this gift of fertilizer and the unexpected way it relates to today’s gospel reading, where Jesus asked rhetorically, “If salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored?” And then he answers himself, “[It can’t.] It’s good for nothing, but to be thrown out and trampled underfoot.”

Now, this image doesn’t make much sense to us because salt can’t lose its saltiness. Salt is salt. And for us, that’s true, because our salt is always pure; salt is salt. But in Jesus’ day, salt came mainly from the Dead Sea and wasn’t pure. It was contaminated with various minerals and it was possible for the salt to leach out so that what was left behind looked the same, but wasn’t. It was useless. It was good for nothing but to be thrown out.

Except, it turns out, later generations learned that what remained wasn’t useless. What remains is actually quite useful – for fertilizer. So useful in fact, that the Dead Sea is now in peril, in part, because fertilizer companies are siphoning off so much water to extract those minerals.

So I am intrigued by what this may symbolize for us.

For too long, the church has failed in its vocation to be salt and light for this world. Rather than being Christlike, laying her life down in humility and compassion for the welfare of the other, the church has been preoccupied with our own well-being. And so we’ve adopted all manner of worldly principles and powers, often becoming partners in abuse. From Constantine to the Crusades to the Country Clubs, adorned with golden crosses, we’ve been anything but salt and light.

And the world has grown weary of its Christians.

Even the Christians have grown weary of themselves. The western church is in steep decline. It’s lost its saltiness and (some may rightly say,) “is good for nothing, but to be thrown out and trampled under foot.”

And perhaps they’re right.

But, please God, may what remains of the church become as the fertilizer being shared with Temple Beth El today.

May what remains of the church be yet found to have worth – inasmuch as we finally learn to give ourselves away, as Christ, to be health and life for our neighbors.

May we be health and life for our Jewish neighbors, being reviled for their heritage.

May we be health and life for the Scouts, coming of age in our midst, in an era of division and despair.

May we be health and life for one another in Gig Harbor, meeting people where they are, with gifts of compassion and hope.

May nothing be lost in your kingdom, oh God.

May we yet learn to be like Jesus.