Seasoned, not salty; Matthew 5:13-22; February 8, 2026

Today’s passage opens with a series of compelling snapshots - a series of dense sensory metaphors.

Jesus says - you are the salt of the earth.

You are the light of the world.

You are a city on a hill.

These are bright images, but questions come thick and fast: who is you? What is this salt? What is this light, shining like a prominent beacon? Why are the stakes in this passage so, so high?

Keep in mind that today’s scripture follows immediately on the heels of the beatitudes, which we read last week. That passage contained a series of blessings, and promises. Jesus proclaimed “blessed are those who depend on God, blessed are those who mourn. Blessed are the meek, the peace-makers, and those who hunger and thirst for righteousness. He said blessed are the merciful, the pure in heart, and those who suffer for their love of God and justice.” 

These attributes, these identifiers, reveal, make way, for the certain promises about God’s coming kingdom. It is typified by peace. It is known by its mercy and comfort. It is noticeable for its longevity. The blessed will taste God, will be near to God’s own heart.

Having said all this, Jesus insists on a certain sort of common sense urgency. These attributes of peace-making or the active compassion of mercy — they aren’t simply nice ideas. They’re like salt. Without salt, flavor is diminished. Without salt as a preservative – food goes bad - and quickly. Salt is essential, not a frilly accessory. 

Same with light - having lit a lamp, you don’t put it in a closet and close the door. You put it in a dark room and suddenly - you can discern what’s there. 

So far so good. But next moment, Jesus seems to pivot. All of a sudden I get the feeling that I’m listening to a conversation that I haven’t been a part of until now - that I’ve entered a dialogue mid-stream. And no wonder - this is actually exactly what’s happening. Jesus, and Matthew, are both speaking into the context of first century Judaism. The “Law and the Prophets” are references to religious traditions that are already hundreds of years old by the time of Jesus life and teaching. 

Into his own beloved tradition, Jesus is saying - my actions, and my teachings, are in alignment with all we hold dear, the religion that has always sustained us, the works of the God who has always been faithful to us. And by the end of the passage, he’ll go so far as to say - even foundational, basic rules - like “thou shalt not murder”  - that’s correct of course, but that doesn’t go far enough to really bring us to the brink of God’s ways on earth being fulfilled.

Jesus points out something that we know intuitively and through experience — and his language is quite colorful — he points out that hatred, anger, and mockery can have corrosive and deadly effects on relationships and communities, long before people descend into something as intense as murder. And actually - considering the types of discourse - full of contempt and mockery and degradation - that we see on display publicly, all the time right now - it really does feel like hell on earth sometimes. The soul-level impact of all the racism and misogyny and lying that is just - so - casually thrown around. It’s exhausting. It feels like it can wear you down, just by being exposed to it. Truly - vile language can further the work of death among the living. 

It becomes clear, that we must avoid such seething, wrathful, destructive ways of speaking and relating.

And yet - we are not only people who avoid doing what is wrong.  We are a people who pro-actively believe, and behave, according to the love of God. To speak, and to act, out of the peace-making, compassion-seeking, humble heart of God, is to make the world out of different stuff, toward different ends. 

This takes us back to the beginning of our passage.

Think about that salt. Think about your favorite food - the tang of a zesty taco, salt in the fresh, spicy salsa, or the melting barbacoa, or on the crunchy corn shell. Think about the umami flavor of a good steak and potato combo. Think about the way fresh corn blooms out into complex sweetness once you’ve put salt and butter on the cob. That’s what the peaceable, humble, merciful community of God is like — flavorful, refreshing, comforting, delightful. That’s what we can participate in.

Or think about that city on a hill - the way it would feel to be approaching the end of a long journey, watching warm, brightly lit windows shining in the gathering dusk. The nearness of home, or a safe bed, putting a spring in your step, or some extra fuel in your tank, as the miles pass. That safety - that feeling of anticipation and gladness - that’s what the community of God should cause for those who witness it. The gladness of safe haven. Not a cloistered haven, but one visible for all to see, one waiting to welcome any who are in need of safety.

I remember hearing a famous chef and author speaking about her experience during the pandemic. At first, she was disoriented, as so many of us were. Disoriented and isolated in her home, she began to experience depression. Grief that had been tucked away during the busyness of her normal life began to surface. She was so exhausted and so overwhelmed that she actually stopped cooking, for the first time in decades. She came to a halt.

Then she ran into some neighbors while out on a walk with her dog. They weren’t neighbors that she was super close friends with, they were just friendly acquaintances, and they were experiencing their own version of COVID hell, cooped up at home with small children.

They decided to form a COVID pod - and established a routine of having family dinner together once a week. By the time I heard this chef and author speak, family dinner had been going strong for almost five years. That bit of sanity in the midst of overwhelm helped the chef begin the long slow climb out of depression. She began cooking again. She released some of the perfectionism that had made her a great chef, and embraced a different kind of cooking - one meant to nourish friends who were becoming family. After COVID lock down ended, family dinner became a more expansive circle - welcoming any who needed a safe place to land and eat on any given Tuesday.

For all the twists and turns and nuances of our passage today, the main message is this — take comfort, take courage. You are the salt of the earth, you are a city on a hill, you are the light of the world. Pursue that which brings flavor and rest into the world around you - whether it’s family dinner, or some sort of time with loved ones that doesn’t involve cooking. Practice that which shines forth in hope and justice. The kingdom of God is not a small place full of avoidance, or the confines of fear. It is alive and well, teeming with life. Let us draw near to God, and in doing so, draw near to one another, renewing our saltiness, our wavering lights, standing gladly for a vision of God’s goodness.