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.
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