Saugatuck Congregational Church, UCC
©Rev. Alison J. Buttrick Patton
Sunday, January 27, 2019
Scripture: Matthew 5:1-20
Salt – for as far as the eye can see. 11,000 square kilometers (or 6,800 square miles), to be precise. The photo on this morning’s bulletin was taken on the Uyuni Salt Flats in southwest Bolivia – a vast expanse of salt left behind by a prehistoric lake that went dry. The landscape is otherworldly – something like a sweeping snow field that turns into a nearly flawless mirror after a rain.
If the photos on Flickr are any indication, the salt flats provoke all kinds of creative whimsy among those who visit. Because there are so few visual cues, the flats encourage photographers to play with perspectives: subjects in the background are artificially dwarfed by those in the foreground – so family members appear to be held in the palm of someone’s hand; vacationers run in apparent terror from a toy dinosaur; or a woman leans against a water bottle twice her size…
When the surface turns glassy with rain water, clouds appear to float just below the surface; a young woman dances; a man practices yoga and their images are reflected upside down in the salty surface.
Go home and google “images of the Bolivian Salt Flats” to see what I mean. See if the photos don’t make you smile. (in fact, if you have your phone, you’re welcome to look it up right now…). What is it about that landscape, that provokes so much playfulness? Maybe it is the feeling of occupying a blank canvas; or of standing in the middle of an extraordinary natural wonder; maybe it’s being inspired by the breathtaking vision of a sky that merges with the land. During the rainy season, the flats are described as “the place where Heaven meets Earth”… (and here I need to give credit to Marcia Harrington, our office manager, for introducing me to these stunning images).
Bolivia’s salt flats, Salar de Uyani, is a playscape made of salt. And visions of that salty expanse played around the edges of my imagination, this week, as I read the gospel passage that has come to be known as the Sermon on the Mount.
As the scene opens, Jesus climbs up and takes a seat on a hillside surrounded by his newly inducted disciples and an ever expanding crowd of followers. A good deal has happened since chapter 4, when Jesus waded into the River Jordan to be baptized by John, then spent 40 days in the wilderness sparring with the Tempter.
Let me catch you up: After he emerged from that wilderness, Jesus headed down to the Sea of Galilee, where he found the fishermen Simon Peter and Andrew, James and John. “Leave your nets,” Jesus said to them, “And I will teach you how to fish for people.” Remarkably, they did. With his first students in tow, “Jesus went throughout Galilee, teaching in synagogues, proclaiming the good news of the kingdom and curing every disease.” (4:23) Word of his wonders spread like warm butter on hot toast – all throughout the regions of Galilee and Syria – and the people came in droves – from north and south, east and west.
That’s where we pick up the story. “When Jesus saw the crowds,” he headed up the hill – not to escape, but to teach. I can imagine a hush falling over the throng as he began to speak: “Blessed are the poor in spirit, and those who mourn. Blessed are the meek and you who hunger for righteousness. Blessed are the peacemakers. Blessed are the persecuted…”
And then… “You are the salt of the earth.”
The image is a surprising one, isn’t it? I wonder whether Jesus was being just a little playful here, a little provocative… Comparing the people to a condiment.
Wednesday during Bible Study, we made a list of all the things with which we associate salt: Salt can be used to melt ice and (oddly) to make ice cream, to kill bacteria or clean glassware or preserve meat. Perhaps most notably, it is used to flavor food …In The Message, a contemporary paraphrase of the Bible, author Eugene Peterson renders Jesus’ words this way: “You are here to be salt-seasoning that brings out the God-flavors of this earth.”
And then, “Here’s another way to put it: You’re here to be light, bringing out the God-colors in the world.”
God-flavors. God-colors. I love that. But still: how does it work? At first read, it’s easy to assume that “let your light shine” means to show up, to be your whole self, to share your God-given gifts and not hold back. Yes. Do that! But paired with that other symbol, salt, a slightly different invitation begins to emerge, an invitation focused not on how we express ourselves, but rather on how we highlight the God-Spirit in others and in the world around us.
See: Salt is precious, not for what it is, but for what it does, for the way it brings out those other flavors in a meal lovingly prepared. So, too, the light on a lampstand serves to illuminate our surroundings. “Who’s there? How are they doing? What do they need? What do they have to offer? Let’s shed a little light on the situation, shall we?”
So here’s Jesus, implying that we ought to be like that, like salt and light, drawing out the God-seasoning, revealing the God-colors, then savoring what others have to offer, what the Holy One is up to.
Friday night, I attended a Moth Mainstage at the Westport Country Playhouse. The Moth is a non-profit organization dedicated to the art and craft of storytelling. (We are drawn to stories like a moth to flame.) In a wide range of settings – from pubs to public schools to high security prisons – The Moth creates opportunities for people to tell their personal stories – in front of an audience, without notes. On Friday night, we heard stories from Westport’s own Jane Green (the widely acclaimed novelist) and Dan Woog (local 06880 blogger and Staples soccer coach). We also heard from Lithuanian holocaust survivor Henia Lewin, citizen of the Shawnee nation Alistair Bane and film-maker Trina Michelle Robinson.
It was a remarkable evening, every story rich and vivid. Trina Robinson told a story about discovering that some of her ancestors had been enslaved on a homestead in Kentucky. She decided to travel to the town in question, where a local tour guide showed her the property, the spot where the main house used to stand, and the family cemetery. Tall blocks of elegant marble marked the resting place of each family member. Nearby, a pile of field stones nearly buried in the tall grass, marked the graves of enslaved laborers who had perished on the estate.
One by one, Trina named those whom she had learned were buried there. Eventually, she paired up with a local historian to identify all those buried beneath the fieldstones, to inscribe their names on a bronze plaque, and so somehow to restore their humanity, to declare, “You are remembered.”
There it is: one way to bring out the God-flavors, to be like salt. To seek out and honor the God-created humanity of those who have been driven into dark corners. To say, in effect: “Look! Here is another expression of God’s creative Spirit! In that life; in that struggle; in that human heart!”
To be salt may also mean giving the stage over to those who have a story to tell, names to speak, grief to unpack, persecution to expose, love and joy and wonder to express. Blessed are those who grieve…Blessed are the meek… Blessed are the peacemakers and those who hunger for righteousness…Blessed are you… Tell us your story.
Sitting on the hillside that afternoon, calling out those who are blessed, inviting his listeners to be salt and light, Jesus was telling his own story – setting the scene for God’s next big move, picking up on the message he’d begun to proclaim, right after emerging from the wilderness: ‘Repent, fo the kingdom of heaven has come near.’
The kingdom of Heaven, also called the kingdom of God,doesn’t so much refer to the afterlife – heaven, the way we think of it. On the contrary, Jesus is talking about a transformed world, God’s kingdom, which will replace the kingdoms that now dominate – oppressive hierarchies like the Roman Empire.
In contrast to the coercive power wielded by the Romans, Jesus casts a vision of God’s holy realm, a different kind of kingdom marked by mercy and grace, full of light and flavor. And though there may be a tendency to imagine Jesus sitting solemn and erect as he taught, I can’t help but picture a more animated Jesus, leaning forward, his eyes bright and his voice buoyant, as he sets the stage: “Rejoice and be glad!” he says. “Give glory!” he says. “I am not here to abolish but to fulfill the law, the Torah, God’s desire for all God’s people. That’s what this is all about!”
Later, in Matthew chapter 8 (8:10-11), after Jesus has somewhat unexpectedly healed the daughter of a Roman soldier, a centurion, Jesus says, “ I tell you, many will come from east and west and will eat with Abraham and Isaac and Jacob in the kingdom of heaven…” In other words, there’s going to be a feast in God’s kingdom – a holy banquet – and everyone is invited. Everyone. The ones you thought were forgotten – the ostracized and the broken-hearted; the meek and the merciful – Everything is about to change and you are invited.
And that brings us back to the salt. Because in the ancient near east, salt wasn’t just a seasoning. It was also a symbol. In nomadic culture, to share a meal was to forge a bond. At table, enemies became friends. “There is salt between us,” they might say, or “He has eaten of my salt.” To extend and receive hospitality was to cement a friendship. And so the most enduring covenants, including the covenants between God and God’s people, were referred to as salt covenants.
“You are the salt of the earth,” said Jesus. “You are the stuff of which holy covenants are made, the seasoning that brings out the taste of God’s love and grace. You are salt… And we are preparing a feast!”
This is the best kind of news. The kind that ought to send his listeners leaping across the landscape. The kind that ought to provoke all their creative whimsy – and ours: God’s Kingdom of Heaven is drawing near – and we can help to usher it in. Look: Here is a table set for a party. Here is a wide open terrain, just right for dancing. Here is a holy expanse ready to be filled with God’s love and justice!
So what will you do? Whom will you invite? What stories will you bring to the party? What beauty? What righteous acts of justice? What humor? What joy?
Together with God’s Holy Spirit, we might just usher in a new world, heaven on earth, where every person is remembered, every child adored, every stomach filled, every family united, every story honored…a world marked by holy love… for as far as the eye can see.
May it be so. Thanks be to God.
Amen.