Despite being only a short text, Matthew 5: 13 - 16 gives us two powerful images. Hot on the heels of the beatitudes, it continues to explore the types of people Jesus’ followers are expected to be. I say expected to be, but one thing I noticed when reflecting on the text is that, at least in English, the conjugation that is attached to both these images of salt and light is “you are” … not you will be, or you should be, or you must be, or try to be... I wonder if that is significant?
I know the key part of these images is probably salt and light … but the next thing I found myself wondering about was earth and world: you are the salt of the earth, and the light of the world. I have checked, and they are different words in Greek too. Earth and world are not exactly synonyms, although in some contexts they work as such: they have overlapping but different meanings and I wonder whether it is significant that both are used here. To my mind, earth carries more of a sense of physical substance, the very stuff of the planet, whereas world has to do perhaps more with the people. My little bit of research bears out that this reflects the different meanings in Greek too. Earth is used to translate γῆς “ges”, derived from the world for soil and by extension the substance of the globe; world translates κόσμου “kosmou” which comes from a base word meaning “orderly arrangement" but by extension is used to refer to the moral order of the world.
For me, even though it is perhaps not the part of this text we
usually focus on, I think it probably matters. I guess perhaps it struck me because I
have been thinking quite a bit about what incarnation really means. It
reaffirms the centrality of incarnation. We are called to a faith that is present
in and of the earth and the world: our faith is to be something physical and
embodied not just of the spiritual or moral realm.
The two images of salt and light also mirror this. Salt is
very much a product of the physical world: a concrete noun as I would teach
children in primary school: something that can be touched, held, felt. Light,
meanwhile is ephemeral: something we can see and experience but can’t grasp hold
of, something that literally slips through our fingers. What does to mean that our faith
is made up of both of these aspects? Is it important?
There is one more thing I want to say about this pair of
images. I think our, or at least my, first response to them is to think of the
immediately positive associations with both salt and light: adding flavour,
making visible colour and beauty… and I am certainly not questioning the validity
of these aspects of what these images represent.
But they are both images that have a potentially more
uncomfortable side too. Salt, rubbed in to wounds, as it would have
been at the time, would be excruciatingly painful: which is not to deny it’s
valid antiseptic properties … although I’m glad we have found better solutions!
The use of bright or continuous light is a recognised form of torture but even
without going to those extremes, we probably all have the experience of
emerging into very bright light after being in darkness, which leaves us
blinking and shielding our eyes.
I am convinced that being salt and light means adding colour
and flavour and life and joy to those around us; but I am also convinced when
there are times when being salt and light does not mean shying away from the
discomfort they may bring.
I wonder how easy is it to simultaneously do and be both?
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