Fifth Sunday after the Epiphany: Matthew 5: 12-20

“You are the salt of the earth,” Jesus says. “You are the light of the world.”

These days we summon light with the flick of a switch, and if we’re at all concerned about salt it’s that the doctor said we eat too much of it. But 2,000 years ago, salt and light were rare, precious, and indispensable for life. Our word “salary” comes from the time when salt was so precious, it was used as payment for work. And in a world without refrigeration, salt was crucial for preserving perishable foods so that there was enough to eat through the year. And in a world without electricity, even the light of a single lamp made an enormous difference in a dark room.

Now, maybe, we can understand Jesus’ metaphor better.  Christians are salt and light to the world, seasoning and lighting everything.  Jesus did not say,  “You are to be the light for the church.” He did not say, “When you come to church, turn on your light. When you come to the church, turn on your religious energy.”  No. When you leave this church and get in your car and drive out of the parking lot and into your towns and farms, into your schools, into your classrooms, into your workplaces and offices, let your light shine for Jesus Christ. You are the light of the world. Let the world see your light and come to know Jesus Christ.                                                                                           

I mean, just look around.  It is more important than ever that our trust in Christ be visible. The darkness of this world needs the light we have. We need the light of Christ. People drowning in sin and death need the light. People living in hostile world that exalts pursuit of pleasure and individual determination as the highest good--they need that salty good news that pleasure and Amazon and Netflix and likes on TikTok is not all there is, that there is meaning beyond what the world calls “good.”

The truth is, there is no such thing as a secret Christian. There is no such thing as a closet Christian. At home, your discipleship is visible. At work, your discipleship is visible. At school, your discipleship is visible. In these places, do people know that you are a practicing Christian? With your friends at basketball? With the people at the bar? With the people at coffee? Do the people that you work with know that you are a Christian?                                                                        

Now, I am not talking about that ugly superior attitude that Christians sometimes get when they feel more righteous than THOSE people. Nope, I’m talking about letting trust in Christ shine. About being open about the light of Christ, the salt of Christ in your life. About being conformed to Christ, and not to the world.                              

We’re so allergic to the kind of preachy, performative religion that has become a caricature of Christianity in our society, that we end up thinking faith is somehow just a private thing. Or a matter of opinion. Something to be kept out of school and work and the public square.

But that’s not true. As Christians, it matters how we behave, and what we say and do outside of these walls. It matters that we pray and read our Bibles daily. It matters that Christ informs everything from how we raise our kids to how we interact with folks on social media. It matters that we make attending worship a priority every week.

Because where else do you think you get the salt and light from in the first place? It doesn’t happen magically. How can we share what we do not have? How can we expect our young people to make confirmation promises if they have not been at worship, been at Sunday School to know the promises of God to them? How can we expect to be salt and light for the world if we are intent on mimicking the world's every move and treating faith in Christ as this walled-off separate box?      

When we baptize, we light a candle from the Paschal candle there that represents the light of the risen Christ. And we had it to the person being baptized, or their parents, and we say these words: “Let your light so shine before others, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father in heaven.” It used to be that in baptism, the pastor would put a bit of salt on the tongue of the person being baptized as well as giving the lit candle, to symbolize that they have received both the light and salt of Christ, and carry it out into the world.                 

Even if we don't observe that old custom any more, the meaning is clear: this salty, illuminated Christian life starts from the minute you are baptized. The light comes first from Christ—you are just the lantern to hold it and reflect it.     

So, this light of Christ shining inside of you is not you showing off, or you being superior, or you trying to clobber other people. Letting your light shine is not a contest. It’s not a performative show, so that others see that you are On the Right Side of History. It’s not about Making The Church Great Again.

It's not thinking of yourself as better or less sinful than others, or holding yourself separate from the sinners. Letting your light shine is not wearing Christianity for the purpose of everybody seeing what a fine person you are. Look, you're a broken sinner like me and like everyone else here. No, letting your light shine is much more subtle than that. Letting your light shine is living your life in the most ordinary way, salted and illumined by Jesus.        

Think about the saints. Or if that’s too abstract, think about the faithful Christians in your life. Think about your grandparents, maybe. Most likely, they rarely said a preachy word about Jesus Christ. They didn’t lecture their grandchildren about Christ or religion or church. It was more simple and basic than that: their faith just shone, like a light in the night, and their kids and grandchildren all knew it. Their trust in Jesus was simple and yet solid, and even if they struggled, they were honest about that struggle, honest about doubt, honest that the Christian life wasn’t about being shiny and perfect. It was about hanging on to Jesus, who is hanging on to them.

Let your light so shine, so that your grandchildren, so that your children, so that your parents,  =so that other people see you hang on to Jesus, however imperfectly.  And in seeing you do this, they know that Jesus is hanging on to them, too.

 This little light of mine. I'm gonna let it shine. Let your light so shine before others that they may see your good works and glorify, not you, but your Father in heaven. Amen.