Day 279 (New Testament Day 2). Matthew 7-9

In our reading for today Jesus says to his disciples—"You are the salt of the earth; but if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored" (5:13).

When at the beginning of today's reading Jesus goes up on the mountain and sits down, the evangelist Matthew is deliberately reminding his Jewish Christian readers of Moses going up to the top of Mount Sinai to receive the Law. In Matthew's Gospel Jesus is the New Moses. And he gives his disciples--a New Law. The Old Law came to Moses from God; the New Law comes directly from Jesus himself, who, we are told, astounds his listeners by teaching "them as one having authority, and not as their scribes" (7:29).  For Israel the Law of Moses was a handbook for righteous living within the covenant community. It defines life in right relationship to God. For the Church the gathering of remembered sayings we call the Sermon on the Mount represents a handbook for Christian discipleship, an answer in the most practical terms to the question—"What does it mean to follow Jesus?"

 It is a question for which each of us needs a clear and personal answer, but not a hard and fast answer. Our answer must change as the circumstances of our lives change. But to follow Jesus means to live as he lived, not to satisfy our selfish ego but for the sake of other people. And our service must be public and unashamed. Jesus warns us against "practicing [our] piety before others in order to be seen by them" (6:1)—against serving in order to draw attention to ourselves. But the risen Lord intends us to be visible disciples. If our lives appear exactly like everyone else's—if we are blandly indistinguishable from the rest of the world—then we are not the salt of the earth. Or rather we are salt that has lost its savor.

Salt really is the perfect metaphor for the Christian life. We taste salt in food only if there is too much of it—or too little. When there is exactly the right amount, all we taste are the enhanced flavors of the food itself. In Christian living balance is ideal. Moderation is the key.

When we over-salt our lives, when we make a spectacle of our service, we reduce our discipleship to an empty show and become all those things Christians are sometimes accused of being—hypocritical, self-righteous, and insincere. But on the other hand if we talk and act and spend like everyone else, if we live our lives in such a way that no one can tell that we are followers of the risen Lord, what's the point, beloved? Our faith is indeed "good for nothing, but to be thrown out and trampled underfoot." What each of us, with the help of the Holy Spirit, needs is to find our equilibrium between the extremes of blandness and an overpowering saltiness .

I remember once driving through Wisconsin and seeing a sign on a roadside restaurant that read—Good Food!—Indian Moccasins!—Wisconsin Cheese!—Home-Made Pie! It was four in the afternoon, and nothing tastes as good as pie and coffee at four o'clock in the afternoon. So I went in and found a place at the counter. The waitress, of hearty Norwegian stock, had mane of blood hair and disarming blue eyes. Her teeth were a little funny, but she was pretty anyway.

She wore pink uniform with her name embroidered on the pocket—Erica. Erica poured me a cup of coffee without asking, like they do in Wisconsin. "What can I get ya' then?" she asked with a bright Wisconsin smile. "Is the pie here really home-made," I asked.  "Yah, well, I suppose it was made in someone's home," she said, never letting her smile waver. "I'll have a slice of apple then," I said.

"Come'n right up," said Erica. And in a couple minutes she reappeared with the most beautiful slice of apple pie I had ever seen in my life—chunks of plump, luscious fruit enveloped in a flakey crust that whispered wickedly of real lard. But when I took the first bite I had to shudder and spit. "Miss? Miss? Miss?" "What's wrong?"asked Erica, still sunny and bright as Wisconsin cheddar. "I think someone made this pie with salt instead of sugar," I sputtered. "Yah," said Erica, shaking her pretty head. "I don't doubt it. The food in this place is terrible. I'd never eat here myself." A moment later there was the sound of laughter in the kitchen.

The challenge of Christian discipleship is balance—living our faith openly but without false advertising, having enough salt in us and not too much. "Oh taste and see that the LORD is good," the psalmist says.  In the places where we live and work and worship what people should taste in us in not our salt or its lack, but the Lord. Moderation in us allows others taste what is good in him.   

Day 278. (New Testament Day 1) Matthew 1-4

"When Joseph awoke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him." Which one of us would have risked so much on the basis of a dream? But Joseph did. His is courage of a rare and particular kind. His faith takes the form of bravery when confronted with real danger and steadfastness in the face of his own doubts and misgivings. He is the reluctant hero of Matthew's nativity story.

 

The evangelist Matthew is a Jewish Christian who writes his Gospel with the express purpose of proving that Jesus of Nazareth is in fact "the Messiah" (1:1, 1:18), the "anointed one," the true heir of King David, and the fulfillment of Old Testament prophecy. Crucial to that purpose is the man named Joseph, the putative father of Jesus, and the embodiment of faithful Israel. Joseph shines like the star of Bethlehem in our reading for today, and then vanishes utterly from the gospel, never to be heard of again.

We are told right off the bat, that Joseph is "a righteous" man (1:19), meaning that he is an ardent observer of the Law of Moses. (Elsewhere in Matthew's gospel such scrupulous Jews are called "Pharisees." And if Jesus did in fact come from a family of Pharisees that would make sense. He shares many of the beliefs of that sect, although he had no time for their narrowness and self-righteousness.) But Joseph combines moral integrity and strict adherence to the Law with the pre-eminently Christian virtues of mercy, kindness, and humility. From Matthew's point of view Joseph is in every way "a true gent," a worthy "Son of David," a perfect Jew and at the same time a model of Christian discipleship.

When he hears of Mary's "delicate condition" he meditates on his options. There is no point in going forward with the nuptials; divorce—public or private--is the only option.  But in the character of Joseph righteousness is balanced with compassion. He rejects the public option because of the shame it would inflict, and goes for Plan B. He has decided to "dismiss her quietly" (1:19), and then he has a dream. (Joseph, like his namesake in the Old Testament, is a dreamer.) In the dream an angel appears to tell him not to "be afraid to take Mary as [his] wife" (1:20), that the child she has conceived is "from the Holy Spirit" (1:20).  This would have been puzzling indeed; there is no other instance of a conception without a male agent in Jewish literature. Nevertheless, Joseph did what he was told without fully understanding. He believed the message and acted, and his trust completes that which begins in Mary's womb.

Dreams guide the story. Again, after the visit of the wise men, when wicked King Herod threatens the life of the child, Joseph has another dream, and again he responds with obedience and courage, and he takes the child and his mother to Egypt to hide out.  For Matthew, the sojourn in Egypt is deeply significant. In his infancy Jesus reenacts the experience of the children of Israel, going down into Egypt with Joseph. And at Herod's death, Joseph is again prompted by a dream (2:19), and he obediently brings the child out.  Matthew makes the best use of the journey down to Egypt and back again to underline his message—in sending Jesus the Messiah, the God of the Old Testament has acted as he did in the Exodus, to bring his people out of slavery into a new freedom. This time liberation comes through the Jewish people, but it is intended for the whole world. They are the instrument through which salvation comes, just as Joseph is the instrument God uses to save the Child of Promise.

The person of Joseph is there to bridge the gap between the Old Testament and the New. He is the personification of obedient Israel, the People of the Promise at their very best—the righteous Jew, the kind husband, the faithful follower. The last thing we are told about him is that together with Mary and the child Jesus, "he made his home in a town called Nazareth" (2:23). And we can assume that he went on taking care of things, obeying orders like a good soldier until he was relieved of his duty.

Joseph does what he is told without a fuss, and then he politely steps back and disappears from the story--but not before he has given us what the evangelist Matthew considers the best possible example of what it means to be a Christian disciple and "a true gent."