Following Christ

Being Salt, Being Light

shelliwilliams Uncategorized , , ,

Matthew 5: 13-20 (Epiphany 5A)

13“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. 14“You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid. 15No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. 16In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.

17“Do not think that I have come to abolish the law or the prophets; I have come not to abolish but to fulfill. 18For truly I tell you, until heaven and earth pass away, not one letter, not one stroke of a letter, will pass from the law until all is accomplished. 19Therefore, whoever breaks one of the least of these commandments, and teaches others to do the same, will be called least in the kingdom of heaven; but whoever does them and teaches them will be called great in the kingdom of heaven. 20For I tell you, unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.

So, you apply for a new job.  You get the job and you are then handed a job description, a very detailed list of what your role is and what responsibilities you have.  At the top, it has your title.  Basically, it tells you who you are, right?  And then you have a list of responsibilities.  So, the job description answers two very basic questions that are probably pretty fundamental questions of life: “Who are we?” and “What are we to do?”  It sounds so easy, so straightforward.  All you have to do is follow the list of responsibilities and you will be what it says at the top of the page (or at least some semblance of it).

But what if you didn’t really apply for that job?  What if you didn’t mean at all to be given that job?  What if, without any real warning, you are handed a shiny new nametag and a job description that describes what you should do when you weren’t even sure that that’s what you wanted to be.  That’s a little bit like what it may feel like when you first read today’s Gospel passage.

I mean, straight out of the blue.  “You are the salt of the earth.”  “You are the light of the world.”  I’m sorry, you said I’m what?  But, Jesus, really, we just wanted to be followers.  We just wanted to follow you to eternity, to stand here and bask in your goodness and your mercy and begin to feel like it was all going to turn out alright.  We wanted to you to lead us, show us where to go.  You know, sort of like that shepherd and sheep metaphor that you kept using.  THAT’S what we signed up to do.  So, what does it mean to be the salt of the earth and the light of the world, exactly?  I think we may be getting this wrong.

So, what does it mean to be called to be salt, to be called the salt of the earth, as the Scripture says?   I mean, salt has many uses.  It purifies; it seasons; it preserves.  It is a nutrient that we need.  It is an antiseptic.  It adds support and buoyance (remember that ships float higher on salt water than fresh water).  So maybe we are called to be multi-faceted, to not just walk one road toward that Presence of God that we think we have identified and nailed down in our lives, but to rather open ourselves to the notion that God appears when we least expect it.  And we are called to be ready, to be open, to do whatever it is that God calls us to do in that moment. 

But, interestingly, salt is of no use to salt.  We cannot serve ourselves.  We are part of a community.  “Being salt” means that we are called to become that embodied Presence of God in the world and for the world and, rather than making everyone and everything into what reflects our own personal image of God, we are rather called to season what we touch so that the flavor that is God comes through.

Then there’s light.  We’re called to be light too?  Good grief!  That’s a lot!  You know, light is something that cannot be hidden or it is no longer light.  So, if we are light, it means that we, too, are seen.  We are meant to be seen, meant to be the ones that illumine the way of Christ, that clarify it for others, that reveal it in the darkness.  We are the ones that light the way for others.

That’s a pretty tall order.  It’s also rather overwhelming, when you think of the magnitude of it.  I mean, it’s not like light puts itself out for a while and then comes back when it’s ready.  Being light is pretty much a full time job.  It’s also an uncomfortable job sometime.  Light doesn’t just illumine the goodness and those things that are worthy of such revelation; light has a habit of shining into the darkest corners of the world and revealing those things that are in need of change, those things that God calls us to change.  And light, true all-encompassing light, does not pick and choose where its rays will shine.  It illumines all in its path taking it unto itself. 

So, “you are the salt of the earth”.  “You are the light of the world.”  Notice that Jesus is not saying that you “should be” salt or light or that you should “try to be” salt and light or that you will become salt and light someday.  No, Jesus says you ARE salt and light.  You just are.  You don’t debate it.  You don’t second-guess it.  You don’t wonder about it.  You just go and be it.  You are salt and light.  Period.

The problem is that you are salt. The problem is that you are light.  It doesn’t mean that you ignore or shun the ways of the world; it means you change them.  The very reason that the Gospel is so powerful is that it actually thrusts us into reality and allows us to move forward in a way that restores everything around us, not only spiritually, but also materially and emotionally.  So why do we often fail at that?  It’s probably because more times than we’d like to admit we allow the culture to shape our faith, rather than being the salt that our world so desperately needs.  We have allowed our light to be hidden because sometimes it’s uncomfortable to be the one that speaks the Truth.

We can no longer stand by and let the Truth be usurped.  We can no longer hide afraid of what others may think.  We cannot excuse ourselves from speaking out because it might shake up our comfortable existence or change how others look at us.  We have to stand up for the Gospel—because we are salt and we are light.  We are the shapers and the illuminators.  We must speak for those who cannot.  We must stand up for those that the world says are not worthy or are not one of us.  We must tear down walls that others try to build and invite the Gospel in. The Gospel is not a viewpoint.  It is not an opinion.  It is not an alternative fact, to coin a new word in our society.  The Gospel is a truth-teller.  See, the problem is that the Gospel is our own call to action.  We can no longer stand on the sidelines.  We have to preach the message that Jesus preached even in the face of a world who would it seems rather not hear it.  Will you accept the position? The choice is yours.  We’re called to be salt.  We’re called to be light.  Most of all, we’re called to be who God calls us to be. 

I want to pay the highest compliment anyone could ever pay: You are the light of the world. You are the salt of the earth. You are the leven in the loaf. So, go and be light.  Go and be salt.  Go and be leven. (Marcus Borg…who admitted he stole it from William Sloan Coffin)

Grace and Peace,

Shelli

All We Like Sheep

shelliwilliams Uncategorized , , ,

Scripture Passage:  Psalm 78: 52-54

52Then he led out his people like sheep and guided them in the wilderness like a flock. 53He led them in safety, so that they were not afraid; but the sea overwhelmed their enemies. 54And he brought them to his holy hill, to the mountain that his right hand had won.

We tend to think of the wilderness as a place where we are sort of thrown out into virtually alone. We imagine wandering, looking for solace, looking for companionship, looking for someone to help us out of where we are. We search for God as if God is somehow parked at the exit of the wilderness holding a sign with our name on it as we disembark. And yet this psalm reminds us that even in the wilderness we are not alone, that God leads us and guides us through the treacherous terrain. There are times when God, as it says, guides us IN, wandering, living the wilderness. It says that we are led to safety and brought to a place that is holy, that is of God. So, why then, here in the wilderness, do we feel so alone?

We are accustomed to pastoral images in the Bible, beautiful images of the flock being led or shepherds on the hillside. We know what it is supposed to connote. The shepherd guides the sheep to the place where they will be well-fed and cared for, the place where they will grow and flourish into maturity. There is soft, green grass, blue skies, and other sheep in the fold to keep them company as they grow together. But this is not what it looks like right now. Where is the green grass? Where are the blue skies? Where are my trusty companions? And so, searching for our image of where a shepherd is supposed to lead, we leave to look for greener pastures or easier pathways. But the grass isn’t really greener, the skies really aren’t any clearer, and in our confusion, we fall, tumbling down the gulley, bruised and tired.

As we have said before, the wilderness is not just something to rush through. God does not always lead us out of the desolation that surrounds us. As the passage says, God leads us through or in the wilderness, helping us navigate the rough paths and the difficult sightlines and, when the time is right, bringing us home. Our problem is that we don’t envision ourselves like sheep because we are trying so hard to be the shepherd of our own lives, to be in control, to be the guide. We are afraid of losing control of our lives. And so, we often wander away and get lost. We may end up in a place that is not ours to be. But think about sheep. Sheep are seldom characterized as one of the smartest beings on the farm and yet, sheep know to whom they belong. Sheep know how to follow. Sheep know how to be part of a flock, holding each other up, helping each other see the shepherd. And when, as happens every now and then, a sheep gets lost, the sheep trusts that the shepherd will come and bring the sheep home.

Lent is a season that teaches us to be more like sheep, to follow God through the wilderness, learning the things that it teaches, accepting the things that it offers, and knowing, that, when it is time, God will guide us out of this lostness, out of despair, out of the loneliness.  You don’t have to fix it; you don’t have to hurry; you don’t have to make it something it is not.  Just follow.  Just live.  But by following God’s lead, we will see beauty we have never seen and companionship we have never known.  That’s what you get when you’re part of a flock. The promise is that, when the time is right, we WILL be led home.

God…leads us step by step, from event to event.  Only afterwards, as we look back over the way we have come and reconsider certain important moments in our lives in the light of all that has followed them, or when we survey the whole progress of our lives, do we experience the feeling of having been led without knowing it, the feeling that God has mysteriously guided us. (Paul Tournier)

Grace and Peace,

 Shelli

Entering This Wilderness Week

shelliwilliams Holy Week, LENT, Palm Sunday, Wilderness , , , , , , , ,

?????????????Scripture Text:  Mark 11: 1-11

When they were approaching Jerusalem, at Bethphage and Bethany, near the Mount of Olives, he sent two of his disciples 2and said to them, “Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately as you enter it, you will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden; untie it and bring it. 3If anyone says to you, ‘Why are you doing this?’ just say this, ‘The Lord needs it and will send it back here immediately.’” 4They went away and found a colt tied near a door, outside in the street. As they were untying it, 5some of the bystanders said to them, “What are you doing, untying the colt?” 6They told them what Jesus had said; and they allowed them to take it. 7Then they brought the colt to Jesus and threw their cloaks on it; and he sat on it. 8Many people spread their cloaks on the road, and others spread leafy branches that they had cut in the fields. 9Then those who went ahead and those who followed were shouting, “Hosanna! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! 10Blessed is the coming kingdom of our ancestor David! Hosanna in the highest heaven!” 11Then he entered Jerusalem and went into the temple; and when he had looked around at everything, as it was already late, he went out to Bethany with the twelve.

 

Here we are—bustling city, Passover festival, and a parade!  It seems that we’re not in the wilderness anymore!  As Jesus comes into Jerusalem, there is excitement and joy.  He is here!  And they honor him.  But, to be honest, we probably read a little bit more into this parade than is there.  From the time I was little, I had this sense that Jesus came into the middle of the city, flanked by the all of the crowds.  He was “it.”  (But then it didn’t make much sense as to why it went so badly so fast.)  The truth is, Jesus was not “it” in Jerusalem.  Jesus was heading what was then a small fledgling movement on the outskirts of established religion.  He was coming down a narrow road that winds down Mt. Olivet and was then entering through the eastern gate of Jerusalem, the “back door” of the city, for all practical purposes.  Hmmm!  It seems that Jesus makes a habit of coming in the back door—into forgotten grottos and wilderness baptisms and ministries that begin around a lake rather than a Holy City.  So this seems only fitting.  Maybe that’s the point.  God doesn’t always enter in the way we expect, doesn’t always show up when it fits the best into our schedule.  Instead, God slips in through the back door of our wilderness lives when we sometimes barely notice and makes a home with us.

So the onlookers stay around for just a little while.  And then the parade fizzles.  As the road goes by the Garden of Gethsemane and down toward Bethany and the outer walls of Jerusalem, many leave and go back to their lives.  Maybe they had something to do; maybe they didn’t want to contend with all the holiday traffic in downtown Jerusalem; or maybe they were afraid of what might happen. So Jesus enters the gate of the city almost alone, save for a few of the disciples.

Where are we in this moment?  Jerusalem is here.  The wilderness through which we’ve traveled is behind us.  But it has prepared us for a new wilderness of sorts.  As followers, we know that the road is not easy.  It will wind through this week with the shouts of “Crucify him” becoming louder and louder.  The road is steep and uneven.  And the shouting stones and clanging iron against wood will be deafening.  But this is the way—the way to peace, the way to knowing God.  This is our road; this is our Way; this is the procession to life.  The way to the Cross, through the wilderness of this week is our Way to Life.

Life is not about waiting for the storm to pass.. it’s about learning to dance in the rain. (Vivian Greene)

FOR TODAY: Keep walking. Keep following. There is no way around. Walk with Jesus all the way to the Cross. For there, you will find life.

Grace and Peace,

Shelli