You are the salt of the earth.
You are the light of the world.
The images of salt and light in today's Gospel are meant to express the necessity of being true to our Christian identity. We are new creations in Christ. But the old self still fights for control. It doesn't always reveal itself in big obvious sins. Often it first manifests in small acts of infidelity to our call as disciples. We simply choose to prefer the lesser goods over the demands of discipleship. We have firmly ingrained habits of a life before we were disciples or before we took discipleship seriously. And we tend to fall back into routines like this unless we make a conscience choice not to do so. This was part of what Paul meant about "forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead" (see Philippians 3:13). Salt and light imply that we have a purpose that is now bigger than ourselves. Our value to the world is something more than a rearranging of the pieces of our old life. It is a gift that is given to us in baptism through the new identity we have as sons and daughters of the Father.
But if salt loses its taste, with what can it be seasoned?
It is no longer good for anything
but to be thrown out and trampled underfoot.
We might justify our lack of commitment as disciples by saying that we are at least accomplishing this or that other thing in the world. But if it is not ordered to our God given purpose and aligned with the mission of Jesus and his Kingdom it cannot have a meaningful impact. The metaphorical food will quickly become bland and insipid. Before long it will spoil entirely.
Nor do they light a lamp and then put it under a bushel basket;
it is set on a lampstand,
where it gives light to all in the house.
We tend to conceal the light of the Gospel as if we were living through an air raid drill. It does have the potential to make us a target of the animosity of others. We're willing to let other less offensively bright lights be seen, but not the one that truly has the potential to light up the whole house. As long as there is still room to slide from shadow to shadow no one complains. But the light of Christ leaves no room for darkness. We conceal the light because revealing it often requires more of our attention than we are willing to commit. We're content to let others see our good deeds so that they may glorify us, in the sense of knowing what good people we are. But the light of God at work within us, light that leads to his glory, is something we are wont to avoid. Too much trouble for too little direct reward is how it often seems. Yet, as with salt, the world without the light of the Gospel is inherently impoverished. It is a place of struggle, mishap, and spiritual injury. The Gospel light might seem like a bit much. But nothing else is even adequate, not if we want ourselves and others to flourish.
What we are being asked is not really so different than what Elijah asked the widow. We are being asked to have faith and make such meager contributions as we are able. But when these are done according to the purpose and plan of God they open up a whole world of grace.
‘The jar of flour shall not go empty,
nor the jug of oil run dry,
until the day when the LORD sends rain upon the earth.’”
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