Matthew 5:13-20

[Jesus said,] “You are the salt of the earth. But if salt has lost its taste, how can it’s saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything, and is thrown out and trampled underfoot. You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill can not be hid. No one lights a lamp and puts it under a bushel basket, but places it on the lampstand where it gives light to all in the house. Let your light shine before others, therefore, so that they might see your good works and give glory to your father in heaven.

“Do not think that I have come to abolish the law and the prophets, for I have not come to abolish, but to fulfill. For 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. Therefore, 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. And whoever does them and teaches them, will be called great in the kingdom of heaven. For truly I tell you, unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.”

I got to spend a couple of days this week at the annual reunion of the Wabash Pastoral Leadership Program, in Crawfordsville, which is always a real boon for my spirit and sense of call, and reminder of why church work and ministry matters so much in the world, these days – and the impact we can have when we get it right.

For those of you who don’t know/remember, the Wabash Pastoral Leadership Program is a Lilly Endowment-funded endeavor that gathers small groups of Christian clergy from around Indiana for a two-year program of study, learning, and travel, that connects pastors with each other and with civic leaders from around the state to broaden the scope of what congregations can accomplish in the world, in whatever context they find themselves. For those of you who’ve been around awhile, you might remember that I was part of the first cohort of the program back in 2009-2010. (I would spend a few days, every other month at Wabash College and take a couple of international trips thanks to the program.)

Anyway, the program hosts annual reunions for the pastors who’ve engaged it over the years, and that’s where I was for about 48 hours last week. As part of it all, some of our colleagues shared, with the rest of us, some of the work they’ve been up to in their various settings and communities.

A couple of pastors in New Albany teamed up the past couple of summers to establish a ministry of “cooling stations,” hosted by a handful of churches in their town … places where house-less people and families – rather than hiding in the public library or wading in the creek on the edge of town to keep cool – could find air-conditioned shelter, safety, and water when the temperatures reach 100 degrees or more. This is what kingdom welcome and hospitality looks like – on earth as it is in heaven.

Another pastor’s congregation does the opposite. Over at West Morris Free Methodist Church on the westside of Indy, they have a very traditional 60,000 square foot building with a sanctuary that seats close to 1,000 people, though they only worship about 40, these days. So, they removed all of their empty wooden pews, filled their space with tents, and house nearly 80-100 house-less people when temperatures are too dangerously cold to sleep outside. What used to look like this:

now looks like this:

Of course, they feed them and care for them in other ways, too. It’s still very obviously a sanctuary, maybe more now than ever before, and this is what the fullness of the kingdom tastes like when we get it right.

A friend from my own cohort – Kent Ellet, the Pastor at the Speedway Church of Christ and his congregation – have bought and rehabbed three houses in recent years on Alton Avenue, near their church. They’re working on their fourth, as we speak. Once they are ready, they rent these houses at half the cost – or less – to individuals and families who need stable housing and other support, in order to get back on their feet after all manner of struggle, difficulty, bad luck, and whatnot. My friend Kent calls this ministry the “Alton Alternative” and it is a light of grace, sitting high on a lampstand, shining brightly for all in those houses – and their surrounding neighborhood, and now all of us – to see.

When Jesus tells the crowds on the hillside in this morning’s Gospel that they are the salt of the earth and the light of the world, he was trying to get them to think differently about the kind of light and flavor their faith brings to the world around them. And, I happen to think, he was inviting them to get creative about that for a change … to wonder differently about what kind of difference they might make … to imagine ways their faith was inviting them to be a blessing for the world.

“You are the salt of the earth,” he tells them. “But if salt has lost its taste – if you have lost your flavor – what good is that? What are you doing here? What’s the point of it all?”

“You are the light of the world,” Jesus says. “Like a city on a hill… like a lamp on a stand… like a beacon in the night. Don’t cover yourselves up… don’t ...

Salt, Light, and Looking Ahead