Sermon: Questions that bond or divide (Feb. 26, 2023)

Lent 1A
February 26, 2023
Genesis 2:15-17, 3:1-7
Matthew 4:1-11

INTRODUCTION

On this first Sunday of Lent, we always hear the same story from the Gospel: the story of Jesus being tempted in the wilderness, or desert. Matthew’s telling of this story is especially colorful – we get to hear what exactly the temptations were, how Satan uses scripture to try to lure Jesus away from trust in God, and how Jesus rebuffs him. To situate you in this story, recall that Jesus has just before this been baptized. A voice from heaven has called him the beloved Son. Now, still dripping from his baptism, the Spirit leads Jesus into the desert for 40 days, during which he fasts and prays, and at the end of it he is tempted by the “adversary,” the devil. And from here, Jesus will begin his ministry. This 40 days in the wilderness is the impetus for our 40-day Lent, where we, too, spend intentional time preparing our hearts, often through fasting and prayer, for the new life that comes with the resurrection. (And if you’ve never given something up – be it a type of food, or a habit – or taken on a prayer practice for Lent, it is not too late to try this year!)

Another standard Lenten disciple that prepares us for new life in Christ is study – and this year, we will be engaging in that especially through our Lenten theme, “Ask.” Some of the questions we’ll engage are yours – we’ll explore those in Sunday Bible studies (I hope you’ll come today!). And we will also find questions a-plenty in our readings during this season! There are some obvious ones today, but there are also many questions beneath the surface. As you listen today, listen for both the spoken and the unspoken questions present in the text. Let’s listen.

[READ]

Adam and Eve Hide From God, by Grace Rehbaum, age 7

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

Anyone who has spent time with young children knows that they are full of questions – both sublime and ridiculous, sometimes hilarious, and some are downright insightful. Here are some that I have heard lately:

• Why are they called goose bumps?

• Why did people invent wine and beer?

• Why does God let us get hurt?

• Do mommies and daddies have a choice about whether or not they have a baby?

• Do tweenagers take baths or showers?

At my kids’ ages, most of the questions are fairly innocent. They are mostly just gathering information and trying to understand their world. But as they have gotten older, I have noticed their questions getting deeper, and more complex. I have started noticing different motivations. Sometimes they are seeking safety or assurance – like when Grace recently asked if we would still live in our house after she moves out, so she can come back to visit and recall all of her precious memories. Sometimes they are trying to make sense of their big emotions or their fears – like when we encountered a man on the subway in NY City last week who was not in his right mind and spewing all manner of hateful words, and we all felt a little scared. “Why was he saying those things?” Sometimes, they just want to know that they are safe and loved – we are frequently asked, “Do you love me? How much?” 

The evolution of their questions has shown how multi-faceted questions can be, how many different purposes they can serve. Questions can serve simply to gather information. Or, they may be used rhetorically to prove a point, a tactic St Paul often uses. Like, “Shall we continue in sin in order than grace may abound? By no means!” 

But in light of today’s readings, I’m especially interested in the role questions play in our relationships. Questions have the power to build and deepen a relationship, but they also have the power to divide and deceive. We can see examples of both in our reading from Genesis. Let’s take a closer look at how questions function in this text.

First, where we begin: Adam and Eve live happily in the garden, and want for nothing. They have no reason not to trust the God who made them and provides for them. God has given them a bounty – every tree in the garden is theirs to eat from except one, the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. At this point, you see, the humans don’t know good from evil because there is no evil, only goodness. They live in blissful ignorance; the thought questioning anything has never crossed their minds. 

Enter the serpent, the craftiest of God’s creation. His first words to the woman are a question: “Did God say you shall not eat from any tree in the garden?” It’s worth pondering: what is the purpose or intention behind this question? Do we think the serpent is aiming to bond or connect with Eve? Is he gathering information? Does he really want to know and understand about the lives of the humans in the garden? Is he trying to help? 

Or, is he going into this exchange with a different intention – an intention to deceive, divide, or confuse? 

Well, it sure doesn’t seem like the snake is trying to buddy up with our dear Eve. It sounds much more like a set-up, a trap intended to disrupt the blissful innocence of the humans, who have until now been utterly trusting of and reliant upon God – not unlike a very young child is on their parent, whose love and providence they never question. The serpent’s next move, after Eve echoes back the boundary God had set, shows the serpent’s intention to sow distrust, doubt and fear. He opens up to the humans a reality of which they were previously unaware, contradicting what God had said. “You will not die,” he says, “for God knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.” Thinking this sounds like a pretty good thing (and wouldn’t God want this for them?), Eve and Adam both eat of the glittering fruit. Their eyes are opened, and they realize how exposed, naked, and vulnerable they are. When their loving parent comes searching for them, for the first time, they feel a need to hide.

The serpent’s question, asked so seemingly innocently, has sown division between God and humanity. Questions can do this, driving a wedge into our most important relationships – those we have with God, and those we have with one another. “What were you thinking?” “How could you do this?” “How can you vote for someone like that?” “Is that really how you’re going to do this?” In questions like these, the asker already knows the answer, or thinks they do, and is, like the serpent, trying to sow or show a separation between beings.

But these are not the questions that God asks us. My favorite part of this story is that when the humans are so divided from God that they begin putting physical barriers between them and God (first fig leaves, and then the branches of their hiding place), God comes looking for them – not in the way of an aggressor, but in the way that a caring parent comes knocking on the door of their pained child’s bedroom, hoping to learn what troubles them. “Where are you?” God asks. Not because God doesn’t know, but because he wants them to know he has noticed this new separation, and cares enough to draw close. The man divulges that for the first time, they felt exposed, and afraid of their loving parent. Again, God knows this already, but asks more questions to give the humans a chance to come clean, to draw close to God once again. 

This exchange could certainly be read in the voice of an authoritarian God: “Have you done what I specifically commanded you not to do?! What have you done?!” But I don’t read it this way. Instead, it makes me think of the many similar exchanges I have had with my own kids, in which they have had some altercation, and I already know exactly what happened, but instead of laying down the law and jumping to discipline, I first ask them, “Can you tell me what happened?” giving each of them a chance to come clean, and tell me not what I think happened, but what happened from their perspective. They may very well still get a consequence – so do Adam and Eve – but before the consequence comes an opportunity to reconnect with the loving parent, the source of life. 

This is how God is with us, even when we continue to find ways to separate ourselves from God. The absolution we heard this morning during the confession, and that we will hear throughout Lent, is based on this Genesis text, and God’s relentless efforts to draw closer when we would wander. “Even when we sin,” we heard, “God does not accuse. God only asks what we have done so we can set down our guilt. And God only asks where we have gone because God wants to bring us back.” Ours is a God who cares deeply about relationship with us. We are surrounded by questions meant to divide, but God’s questions draw us in. They give us a space to lay down our load, our guilt. They assure us that we are loved. 

Next week we will hear the most famous biblical expression of God’s desire to draw close: “God so loved the world that he gave his only son, so that all who believe in him may not perish, but have eternal life.” As we encounter a world bent on dividing, and the various temptations that would draw us from God’s trustworthiness and love, may we also recognize that where the world divides, God draws close, and closer still.

Let us pray… Loving Parent, in a world bent on dividing, help us to ask questions that bond, that draw us closer in relationship to you and to others. Then, grant us ears and hearts ready to truly listen. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Full service HERE.

Sermon: Ask (Ash Wednesday)

 Ash Wednesday Sermon
February 22, 2023

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

At the end of 4th grade, my teacher gave each of us a little award, based on something she knew and loved about us. Best storyteller, fastest runner, stuff like that. I was proud to receive the “two or more questions award,” because literally every time I raised my hand, I would start with, “I have two questions,” or, “I have three questions.” The award was meant as a compliment, and I took it as such; my teacher explained that it meant I was curious, and curiosity was a very good thing!

But as I grew into my teen years, I wasn’t so confident in asking questions, at least not in my peer circles. My classmates often knew about things that I didn’t, be it current events, the names of pop stars, or what styles were current, and when something came up that I didn’t know about, I tended to keep my mouth shut, lest I disclose my ignorance. Not being in the know about something, especially something with which all my peers seemed to be familiar, was embarrassing, and it felt vulnerable. I didn’t have the self-confidence at that point to admit to my ignorance, because I was afraid of people thinking less of me. It even felt shameful. Even now, as an adult – I know I am smart and capable, and I’m willing to ask questions or admit I don’t know something, but if I ask and someone says, “You don’t know that?” I immediately feel that same sense of shame that I remember from those tender teenage years. 

This has gotten me thinking about what kind of relationship you have, my dear parishioners, to questions in your day-to-day life. Do you ask them? Do you seek out the answer yourself, via books or Google, so that no one has to know that you didn’t know something? Do you willingly admit when you don’t know something and need guidance – and to whom do you admit it? And how do you feel, in particular, about spiritual questions, questions about God and the Bible? Do you have them? Do you pursue them? Are you embarrassed by them? 

I think some questions (in general, but in particular, faith questions) are easier to ask than others. Perhaps some very concrete questions aren’t hard at all, something like, “Why are there four Gospel accounts, and how are they different?” or, “Why do Lutherans baptize babies?” They are simply gathering information. But then there are those questions – and we all have them – that reveal some deeper tumult. Questions like, 

• “How can I forgive myself, or ask God’s forgiveness, for what I have done?” 

• “Why did such a terrible thing happen – did I do something to upset God?” 

• “Can God possibly really still love me, even when I’m like this?” 

• “Will I ever feel healed, or safe, or whole again?”

Maybe we worry that such questions are not acceptable to God, or even acceptable to ask in polite company. They are best just to stay in our brains and hearts, and we can go on pretending on the outside that everything is fine.

And yet, the very questions we are worried will separate us from God and neighbor are the ones that, when articulated, can bring us closer in relationship to God. You see, questions are not signs of doubt, but rather, of strong faith – faith that is willing to face God and wrestle and learn and grow. Yes, the asking makes us feel vulnerable sometimes. Yes, questions require us to come to terms with the darker corners of our hearts. But these are exactly the sorts of things that draw us closer to the God who wants to be close to us, and wants to shed light in those darker corners of our hearts.

Ash Wednesday has a way of bringing to the surface those questions we may not want to ask. It is a day where honesty about our mortality is literally in your face, as we smear ashes upon our brows and hear those words, “Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return” – even as we also hear of God’s endless grace. Such a poignant reminder has the power to strip away our illusions about who we are and about the lives we’ve created for ourselves. And when those illusions disappear, our questions can surface. This day invites us to trust in God, to take courage, and to ask the questions on our hearts. As you come forward in a moment to receive ashes, and then again later when you come forward to receive the sacrament and hear of God’s promise of grace, I hope that you will bring your questions with you, trusting that a God as big and loving as ours can handle them, and wants to handle them.

I do want to be clear, though, that while God will always receive our questions, and will respond in deep and complex ways, God does not always give us the answer straight away. There seldom are easy answers to the deepest questions of our hearts. Sometimes answers are clear – in the portion of the Sermon on the Mount that we heard today, Jesus seems to be offering straightforward answers to some of the biggest questions of his audience, questions about piety, almsgiving, prayer, and treasure. Sometimes God’s response is to open new possibilities to us. Sometimes the answer is just to sit quietly with us in secret in the asking, so that we are not alone. And sometimes, in the prophets and in the Gospels, the response to our question is to ask another question – because while answers are faster and easier, questions invite us to go deeper. Creep further into that dark corner. Uncover more of what was hidden. Discard more illusions, so that the truth can emerge. 

However you hear God’s response to you, to your questions this night, let that response draw you into the self-examination so central to this season of Lent. Let all of the questions we will hear in scripture over the next six weeks, and all the questions you bring to the table, work in your heart this season, helping you to uncover what is hidden, and shed light on the dark corners, so that God might create in you a clean heart, and renew a right spirit within you. 

And finally, as you embark on a journey full of questions, let this answer always be your guiding light: that you are a beloved child of God, that your questions are not stupid, that there is no shame in asking, and that God will meet you wherever you are in the journey. 

Let us pray… All-knowing God, we humbly admit to ourselves and to you that we do not know everything we wish we did, that we have so many questions in our hearts and minds. Receive them all with grace and compassion, sit with us in the wondering, and by our asking, draw us deeper into trusting relationship with you. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Watch the service HERE.

Sermon: Building God's community (Feb. 12, 2023)

Epiphany 6A
February 12, 2023
Deuteronomy 30:15-20
Matthew 5:21-37

INTRODUCTION

Today we will hear once more from the Sermon on the Mount, but I warn you that where the last two weeks were full of obvious blessings and affirmations, today’s section is… less so. In fact, it can feel like a gut punch, with triggers a-plenty. Jesus will move today into instruction, teachings on anger, and holding grudges, and divorce, and adultery, and lust, and lying. Anyone here ever experience any of those, maybe once or twice? Yeah, me too. Get ready to squirm. 

But these teachings, though they seem on the surface to offer all judgment and no hope, require a deeper look – one that is contextual, and one that keeps in mind that always and forever, ours is a God of life. In fact, I like to read all these laws through the lens of Moses’ exhortation in Deuteronomy today: “Choose life!”  

Speaking of Deuteronomy, a bit about Moses: after all that he had done to lead the Israelites through the wilderness for forty years and to the edge of the Promised Land, God told him he would not get to enter that land. Bummer, right? He would die and be buried just outside of it. The entire book of Deuteronomy, then, is Moses’ farewell speech. In it, he reminds them of who God is, who they are, and of the covenant God has made with them. What we’ll hear today is the culmination of that speech, including that most important lens for understanding God’s law: “Choose life, so that you and your descendants may live.” 

Hold that phrase, “choose life,” as you listen today. What do you hear in these texts that brings life, or could? What in your life the other six days of the week causes you to experience life, as opposed to death and despair? Let’s listen.

[READ]

Károly Ferenczy, 1862-1917, "Sermon on the Mount"

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen. 

Remember last week, how I told you about how Jesus was making sure we were thoroughly blessed and affirmed – “the salt of the earth,” he called us, and “the light of the world” – before he moved into the instruction part of his Sermon on the Mount? Well, this week, I’m really glad he did that, because I needed that boost and that reminder of God’s love and blessing and hope for me in order to be able to receive the tough instruction he offers us today. I mean, yowzers. 

Jesus begins ticking off various commandments, various hot-button issues of the day, and interpreting what the laws mean, and what it would look like truly to fulfill the law – not just the letter of the law, but the spirit of the law. At first reading, his teaching comes off as, well, pretty convicting! It starts off okay – I’m definitely safe from being called a murderer! – but by the second sentence, I’m already doomed: “If you are angry with a brother or sister, you will be liable to judgment” (uh-oh), “and if you insult a brother or sister… and if you say ‘you fool’…” Okay, okay, I get it. It is pretty easy to read these teachings as a bludgeon, beating us down for all our human shortcomings, even after he went to such effort to bless us just moments before!

But if we take a step back, out of the minutiae of these instructions, a theme emerges. Jesus has been, from the start of this sermon, painting a picture of the kingdom of heaven, showing us what the beloved community of God can look like. And now he is getting into some specifics. In these very concrete examples of the stuff you deal with in your everyday life, he say, here is how God’s beloved community lives and acts. And over and over again the answer is clear: God’s is a community in which people treat each other with respect, compassion, integrity, and above all, love. 

Here's how Jesus approaches his painting. You no doubt picked up on the formula he uses: “You have heard it said…. But I say to you…” He is referring to what is written in the Torah, the law of Moses outlined in the first five books of the Bible. You may even recognize some of the 10 commandments in there, which are part of Torah. The teaching in the Torah was always meant to be a way toward life – just look at the love song the Psalmist writes about it for today’s Psalm! At its best, in its fulfillment, the law is life-giving and brings great joy to our lives! But often it is read in black and white: “you have heard it said…” Not, “The law says,” but, “You have interpreted the law as…” And that interpretation reads as the very bare minimum for civil society. 

For example: “You have heard it said, do not murder.” Ok, good call. And yet, simply refraining from killing each other is the absolute minimum for a loving and respectful society! It’s not inaccurate, it just isn’t everything. Because even if we can refrain from taking each other’s lives, think of all the other ways we damage relationship and community: by rage and resentment, by grudges, and judgment, by dishonesty and spite. What is loving about letting a person live and breathe, while harming them and our relationship with them in a dozen other ways by our refusal to love as radically as Jesus shows and teaches? 

And so, Jesus says, strive for more than the bare minimum. That person you’re in a fight with? Don’t kill them. But also, strive to love them, by seeking forgiveness, and even reconciliation if that is safe to do so (which in some cases, of course, it is not). Don’t let grudges sit there on your heart, eating away at your life and theirs, or you surely will, as Jesus graphically suggests, “be liable to the hell of fire” – not of the eternal sort, necessarily, but of the hell we create for ourselves when we are riddled and burdened with resentment, anger and fear. 

Jesus moves then to our most intimate relationships – the ones we have with our partners, our spouses. At their best, these relationships should be a beautiful model of the beloved community Jesus is shaping and building. In healthy intimate relationships, there is honesty, trust, respect, dignity, commitment, mutuality, and love. But we know all too well that this is not always the case. We get angry, or bored, or hurt, or somehow unsatisfied… and our eyes, hearts and sometimes bodies stray toward others. We sometimes even exploit others for our own pleasure. On its surface, the law urges physical faithfulness, and this is a good thing, but Jesus says that this, too, is the bare minimum for the beloved community. How much more life-giving it would be if we also committed to honoring human dignity by refusing to cheapen or objectify other people in any way for our own pleasure or satisfaction? What if we helped people to succeed in their marriages, lovingly supporting them in keeping their vows which, we know, can sometimes be difficult to uphold? In the Lutheran wedding ceremony, after the couple declares their intention to wed, the pastor asks the congregation a question as well. She asks if they will “support and care for [the couple], sustain and pray for them in times of trouble, give thanks with them in times of joy, honor the bonds of their covenant, and affirm the love of God reflected in their life together?” And the assembly response is a hearty, “We will!” So, do we do that well? How does that look? How can we do that for each other?

Of course, sometimes even the most supported and best-intentioned partnership doesn’t make it – about half of the time, they don’t. Jesus addresses this, too – though keep in mind his 1st century Jewish context is much different than our modern, Christian one. This was a hot issue in his day, and there were two main schools of thought. One was that a husband could divorce his wife for basically any reason at all, even for ruining dinner. The other held a much stricter view, that divorce was only allowed in extreme cases. Remember that a divorced woman was left with no resources and significant stigma; a divorce rendered her very vulnerable. Here Jesus acknowledges that there are some situations in which a divorce may be necessary – his example is unchastity, in which trust has already been broken and it might be too difficult to rebuild. But in the beloved community he is shaping, we still have a responsibility to uphold each other’s dignity; even when the nature of the relationship may have changed, and that particular spouse relationship comes to an end (and sometimes this is for the best), our responsibility to each other as fellow members of the community endures. 

Finally, Jesus mentions oaths. Basically, here he is saying that not only should we not swear falsely, but rather, we shouldn’t have to swear upon anything at all for someone to know that we are telling the truth. Imagine a community in which we trust each other to tell the truth, simply because we speak in the presence of God, and have respect for one another. What a beautiful thing, to be able to trust one another’s word!

Over and over again, you see, Jesus paints this picture of a community characterized by trust, care, compassion, integrity, respect, honesty, and love for one another. This is the life of discipleship to which he calls us – not one in which we fulfill the bare minimum for civil society, but one in which we strive for something more. He shows us that God cares for us and our relationships with each other enough to draw us into this way of life – in which we experience the fullness of divine love, grace, mercy, and generosity, through our relationships with each other. 

And isn’t that the life that we want, too? We may think holding that grudge feels good and satisfying. We may get a hit off that perfectly worded insult, or whatever intimate adventures we can conceive of. But it is not the real, abundant life that God wants for us, that Jesus died to make possible for us. This text is not meant to condemn; rather, it reminds us of a truth we already intuitively know, and directs us down the path toward a life that we already long for. It isn’t easy, of course. It is hard, and costly, and requires us to swallow our pride and dig in our heels for the sake of love, rather than for the sake of our self-satisfaction. But the alternative is indeed a sort of hell – a place we create for ourselves and one another when we choose what is easy over what is radically loving. 

Jesus came that we may have life, and have it abundantly – not only in the life and world to come, but in this life, this world. Let us walk, stumbling though we may be, away from the hell our sinfulness might create for us, and toward the life of dignity, respect, and love that Jesus shows, teaches, and makes possible for us.

Let us pray… God of life, we want to live a life that truly is life, yet our own sinfulness draws us from that path. By your gracious hand, lead us in your way, and empower us to choose the way of life. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Full service HERE.

Image credit: Ferenczy, Károly, 1862-1917. Sermon on the Mount, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=56296 [retrieved February 13, 2023]. Original source: http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:The_Sermon_on_the_Mount_K%C3%A1roly_Ferenczy.jpg.

Sermon: Healed for healing (Feb. 5, 2024)

Epiphany 5A
February 5, 2023
Matthew 5:13-20
Isaiah 58:1-9a

INTRODUCTION

Before we hear from Isaiah today, here’s some context: Isaiah is speaking to the Israelites as they are returning from being in exile for the past 70 years. After the Jerusalem Temple had been destroyed, they had been sent to live in Babylon, away from the center and all that they knew about faith. Now, they are back, and trying to figure out how to live lives of faith without everything they had known before. They are fasting, which they understand to be a good thing, but even as they fast (and wonder why God isn’t impressed by this), they are oppressing their workers, and doing all kinds of things that are the opposite of what their faith calls them to do. Isaiah calls them back to the essence of their faith: share bread with the hungry, free the oppressed, clothe the naked. Do these things, and your light will shine. Do these things, and you will see God working among you.

That light bit ties us right into the Gospel reading, as Jesus tells us we are the light of the world. Today’s reading continues the Sermon on the Mount – last week we heard the Beatitudes, in which Jesus speaks to a crowd of broken and hurting people and calls them blessed. Today he tells those same people they are the salt of the earth and the light of the world. Salt and light: two things essential for life! 

As you listen, think about those metaphors, salt and light, and what they might mean for us as we strive to live life as God’s beloved people. Let’s listen.

[READ]

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

My kids’ current favorite movie is the new Netflix movie, Matilda: The Musical, based on the beloved Roald Dahl book. It’s a story of a little girl so brilliant, kind, and clever that by the power of her amazing mind, she takes down “The Trunchbull,” the headmistress of her school and the biggest bully you can imagine. I loved this book as a kid, and I still love much about it. Reading and then watching it as an adult, though, knowing what I know now, the level of abuse that the Trunchbull dishes out is horrifying. Yet this terrible woman claims that this is the only way to get through to such “revolting children.” She claims that, “To teach the child, we must first break the child.”

Yech. Of course, we are meant to cringe at that. Thanks to modern child psychology we know that the opposite is true: in order for a child to learn, they must first feel safe. Even better if they feel loved and valued, and if they also have a full belly. 

It isn’t so different for adults, really – we are much more likely to receive information and do our best work if we do not feel threatened, and if we know that we are safe and valued. I have to wonder if, even in the 1st century before psychology was a thing, Jesus knew this – because that is exactly the tactic he takes in his first sermon, the Sermon on the Mount. Here he is, surrounded by all manner of broken people, people not feeling especially blessed at this point in their lives: the meek, the grieving, the persecuted, those striving and longing for peace and righteousness in this world… And rather than launch right in to telling them what they should be doing better or differently, he begins with healing. The sermon begins by blessing them, assuring them that God is near to them, that they are seen, known, and loved. “Blessed are you,” he tells them, not in some undefined future, not once you get your act together, not once you start feeling better, but right now. “Blessed are you.” Knowing the needs and longing that I carry in my own heart, the thought of hearing this directly from Jesus’ mouth is indeed a salve to my wounds, a word of hope and healing. 

In the part of the sermon we heard today he goes on with some affirmations, telling them, “You are the salt of the earth… You are the light of the world.” Like the Beatitudes, it is not, “you will be,” but, “You already are!” Like a parent telling an anxious child, “You can do this. You are brave!” or even what we say to ourselves in the mirror, “You’ve got this! You are strong and smart!” Jesus is telling them a truth that affirms who they are, even as it calls them into who and how they can be. And when we hear those affirmations enough times, and said with enough love and conviction, we do start to believe them and live into them!

Jesus does go on from here to instruction, for another two and a half chapters – instruction on God’s law, on our relationship with God and with neighbor. But before he gets to any instruction at all, Jesus’ focus is on healing, on mending hearts. He doesn’t break his followers further (they are already suffering!), but rather, he makes sure his disciples (and we!) understand this very important point: that we are already beloved by God, that God has already chosen us and promised to us that God is present with us in all that we do. “You are already blessed,” he says. “You are already salt, and light,” already these precious things that make life possible. 

So, the question is, what is meant by these two well-loved and well-known metaphors, salt and light? What does that mean? Well, there is a lot going on in each of them. But what I was drawn to this week, as I viewed the start of Jesus’ sermon through the eyes of healing, was that salt and light are important agents of healing and growth. A saltwater swish and gurgle can speed healing of a sore throat. From ancient times, it has been used to disinfect wounds and promote healing. Light, of course, provides food and energy to all living things. It makes growth, vision, and heat possible. 

So, if what Jesus says is true, and we are the salt of the earth and the light of the world… then Jesus is telling us that we are to be agents of healing and growth in the world. I think that’s partly why Jesus starts by offering us the healing words of the Beatitudes. Once we have received this gift, we are all that much more able to bring that gift of healing to the world. 

It sounds like a big job, in a world as hurting as this! But remember, even just a little bit of salt can do wonders for a dish, and a single candle can be seen on a dark landscape as far as 1.6 miles away! Point is: whatever little bit of salt and light, whatever little bit of healing we can bring to this world matters. 

So: how do we do it?

Step one: believe Jesus when he says you are salt and light. It can be hard not to get down on ourselves, recalling all our failures and shortcomings, all the ways we have lost our saltiness or hidden under a bushel. But Jesus knows what he is talking about, and if he says you are salt, then you’re salt. If he says you’re light, then you are light! If you start to doubt, you call me, and I will tell you that you are. Or look at your own reflection and say to it, “Jesus said I’m salt and light, and that is what I am!” Okay?!

Step two: remember that other people are also salt and light. Just as God created you and called you good and promised to love you no matter what, God did the same with all the annoying people in the world, all the politicians you can’t stand, that guy who cut you off on 490, the woman you know is gossiping about you. God loves them, too, and if we went about our day remembering that they are just as beloved and cherished as we are by our irrationally loving God, imagine how that would change our interactions? That doesn’t mean we can’t still criticize someone’s actions, if they are causing harm to others – Isaiah and the prophets certainly do this! So does Jesus! But there is a difference between, “You are a piece of garbage,” vs. “Your actions are harmful.” You hear the difference? One holds the person accountable to righteous behavior, and one undermines the humanity of the person God created in God’s own image. None of us are without sin, and all of us are beloved. If we went about our days remembering this, I think this could go quite a long way toward healing the brokenness of this world.

Step 3: There are lots of other ways we can and probably should bring healing to the world. Isaiah gives some pretty good ideas in our first reading: pay workers fair wages, seek a more just world in which people have what they need, clothe the naked, feed the hungry, shelter the homeless. When we do these things, Isaiah tells us, “then your light shall break forth like the dawn, and your healing shall spring up quickly.” Or there are other ways, too – we could volunteer for worthy causes (like with Eastern Service Workers Association), or join organizations like the Scouts, that focus on service of community and being responsible citizens. We could simply listen to people, without trying to fix, judge, or correct anything – just be a person who is trustworthy and caring and who truly sees people in their suffering and meets them there. There are so many directions our various gifts and interests can take us in being salt and light in the world, in being agents of healing and growth.

But it all starts with remembering Jesus’ promise to us: that we are, already, salt and light. That Jesus believes this about us so thoroughly that he would give his own life so that we could live into our light-filled saltiness. That he would defeat the power of death so that we would know his promises are trustworthy and true, and that he will always come through for us. 

We are salt, my friends. We are light. Let’s go forth and heal this world!

Let us pray… Loving God, we thank you for the assurance that we are the the salt of the earth and light of the world. Empower us to mend this world in need, to be your agents of healing and growth. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Full service can be viewed HERE.