On Salt and Light

The Gospel often refers to the disciples under the banner of salt and light.  And, as is asked, can salt lose its saltiness? My first response to this question is "yes, of course!"  Many times have I felt dulled, lukewarm, mediocre at best only to be revived and restored by grace and mercy.  I suppose it is tempting to be cynical with this question and overly technical--no, salt cannot be restored if it has lost its saltiness, if it is bad then it should be thrown out.

I am reminded of all the superstitious legends regarding salt.  The stories actually go back to biblical times when salt was a highly prized commodity.  It was often used in place of money--it was the currency of the day.  People used to throw salt over their shoulder in an effort to "keep the devil at bay" while they were feeling vulnerable.  The story goes that the salt will either blind the devil or keep him from sneaking up on you. And, of course, the salt is to be thrown over the left shoulder because many traditions place the devil to the "left" of the straight and narrow path, the Way.  Of course, to truly follow the letter of the law, you should throw the salt with your right hand as the right was associated with good and the left with evil.  

So, I can appreciate the link between salt and the word salary.  To "be worth your salt" brings on a whole new meaning.  I think we are inherently intrigued by those people who maintain their saltiness in life through the good times and bad.  We often want to know their secret as we plod along dealing with our own insecurities and lack of motivation.  When we truly see, there is an air of saltiness all around us in the light, in seeing the divine in the dapples of creation.  

In a different way, for those who have ever struggled with a low-sodium diet, you come to appreciate and respect the role of salt in our diets and in our bodies.  As a runner, I am keenly aware of the delicate balance between sodium, potassium, and magnesium. While we think of saltiness in terms of boldness, there is also a fragility that comes with it.  Too much can kill us just as too little can.

I learned very early in my son's life that he would be drawn to salty foods over sweet foods.  And, that preference is fine so long as it is held in balance.  So often we lean toward elements that bring about saltiness while forgetting the author of true saltiness in our lives. There are no earthly elements which can preserve our souls, restore and recreate us: only a divine source can bring about that wellspring of life.  This is one of the chief reminders of our Lenten journey.

I have been blessed in knowing many salty figures in my life.  And, I restore my own saltiness in my faith family and our corporate acts of worship and fellowship.  There is a joy in that preservation and restoration, true rejoicing when my own decay is transformed into budding new life.  We are ultimately here to serve one another in that restoration; we are not here to horde our saltiness or our light.

How might we share our saltiness and light?  Have we been holding back?  Do we fear that sharing with others will cause scarcity?  Do we prefer some elements of decay to new life?  Is anything impossible for God?  How might our salty veil of tears be lifted to reveal new life this coming Easter?

A prayer from Walter Brueggemann:

This day of dread and betrayal and denial

causes a pause in our busyness.

Who would have thought that you would take

this eight son of Jesse

to become the pivot of hope in our ancient memory?

Who would have thought that you would take

this uncredentialed

Galilean rabbi

to become the pivot of newness in the world?

Who would have thought that you--

God of gods and Lord of lords--

would fasten on such small, innocuous agents

whom the world scorns

to turn creation toward your newness?

As we are dazzled,

give us the freedom to resituate our lives in modest,

uncredentialed, vulnerable places.

We ask for freedom and courage to move out from our nicely

arranged patterns of security

into dangerous places of newness where we fear to go.

Cross us by the cross, that we may be Easter marked.

Amen.