“Salt and Light”
A Sermon by the Rev. Dr. Hilary J. Barrett for Epiphany2
Preached at Pleasantville UCC, February 6, 2011
Psalm 40 & John 1:29-42
When Jesus turned and saw them following, he said to them, “What are you looking for?” 
They said to him, “Rabbi” (which translated means Teacher), “where are you staying?”
He said to them, “Come and see.”

Ever since I was a little girl I have always loved hardware stores.  This is probably due to the fact that, on Saturday mornings, my father would often take us to the Elmwood Hardware Store in Berkeley, California.  Elmwood Hardware had what most hardware stores have – aisle upon aisle of wrenches and washers and widgets of all kinds, lights switches and kitchen appliances and emergency supplies all in the same place.  But there was one thing more that Elmwood Hardware had on Saturday mornings that, for a 6 year old, made it a most magical place indeed: they had donut holes.

On a little cart in the middle of the store – somewhere just shy of the insulation – they had a pot of coffee and a basket of donut holes for those who were perusing the store’s wares.  And me and my sister were allowed to have just one. 

Have you ever tried to have just one donut hole?  Personally, I don’t think it can be done.  So I used to try to find a way to casually walk by those donut holes about three or four times while my Dad roamed through the store.  I’d go up one aisle and down the next earnestly studying socket wrenches, when – lo and behold – there I was in front of the donut holes again.  It was a miracle.  I learned to love hardware at an early age.

So last week was my birthday and what I wanted for my birthday more than anything else was to go to a hardware store.  But, not just any hardware store; I wanted to go to a hardware store that has captured my attention for almost two decades: Lehman’s Hardware Store in Kidron, Ohio.  Kidron is in the heart of the Ohio Amish Country and the best way to describe Lehman’s is to say that it’s kind of like Cabella’s for Amish people.  Here’s what their website says about how Lehman’s got started:

Jay Lehman founded the store in 1955 to serve the local Amish and others without electricity.  His vision was to preserve the past for future generations.  "I was concerned that some day the Amish would not be able to maintain their simple ways of life because these products would no longer be available," he said.  His goal was, and still is, to provide authentic, historical products to those seeking a simpler life.[1]

Stepping into Lehman’s is like stepping back 100 years in time.  If you’ve got an antique Hoosier cabinet and you’ve been needing a few spare parts – they’ve got ‘em.  If you are fond of oil lamps, that’s good news because Lehman’s has a whole room dedicated to them.  Lehman's ships old-fashioned, non-electric merchandise all over the world.  So if you’ve just about given up on finding that hand-cranked washing machine – Lehman’s has got you covered.

I’ve never been to the Ohio Amish Country before.  It’s different than Lancaster.  It hasn’t been developed in the same way as the Pennsylvania Amish Country has.  Driving to Lehman’s is an adventure – you’ll travel small country roads that take you right by Amish farms.  When we made our journey through the back country, the mail had just been delivered and as we drove by house after house, Amish men in hats made their way out to their roadside mailboxes to collect the mail.  And as we passed, to my great surprise, they waved.

I don’t know that much about Amish culture.  But I am intrigued by these Christians who choose a way of life that separates them from the world.  They are not alone, of course, in choosing this kind of separation.  Orthodox religious groups of all kinds separate themselves from the world in order to retain their distinctiveness.  Their choices may include a prescribed dress code, dietary laws, and strictly confining their activities in order to observe religious obligations.  Many times these choices and decisions related to faith are invisible to the world.  But sometimes they are not.  And when they are not – when these choices guided by faith are quite visible (as they are with the Amish) – then these folk become reminders to us that the life of faith really is a life of continuous choices and decisions.

I know this probably sounds far afield of the scriptures for today.  But my journeys through the Ohio Amish Country caused me to wonder about what would compel people choose to live a life as if 100 years of technology and change had never occurred.  And because they have refused to be swept up in all of that change, they remain a very visible witness to their faith.

Our gospel passage for today comes from the Sermon on the Mount in Matthew’s gospel.  Jesus uses the metaphor of salt and light to talk about how Christians need to retain their distinctiveness in the world in order to have an impact.

‘You are the salt of the earth; but if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything, but is thrown out and trampled under foot.

‘You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hidden.  No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house.  In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.

Eugene Petersen crafted the translation known as The Message: the Bible in Contemporary Language.  That same passage translated in The Message sounds like this:

"Let me tell you why you are here. You're here to be salt-seasoning that brings out the God-flavors of this earth. If you lose your saltiness, how will people taste godliness? You've lost your usefulness and will end up in the garbage.

"Here's another way to put it: You're here to be light, bringing out the God-colors in the world. God is not a secret to be kept. We're going public with this, as public as a city on a hill. If I make you light-bearers, you don't think I'm going to hide you under a bucket, do you? I'm putting you on a light stand. Now that I've put you there on a hilltop, on a light stand—shine! Keep open house; be generous with your lives. By opening up to others, you'll prompt people to open up with God, this generous Father in heaven.

I guess the question for me is this: how do we retain our saltiness as Christians – even as we live in the world?  How do we bear the light of Christ as we make our way through each day?

There was a day – not that long ago – when members would comes to church in a horse and buggy.  But today we make other choices.  As a rule, we do not wear distinctive clothing, separating us from the rest of the world.  In fact, in many ways, our faith may be invisible to those around us.  So how do we be both salt and light in the world, when there are no visible clues to those around us that we are followers of Jesus of Nazareth?

One of the words for worship is “liturgy.”  What you see in your bulletin is a liturgy; it is the order for worship: first we do this, then we do this, and all this is designed to turn our hearts toward God.  But the actual word, “liturgy” means “the work of the people.”  Liturgy, worship is “the work of the people.”

Remember that passage we read from the prophet Isaiah?  That one that sounded a little harsh?  The one where he criticized the congregation of Israel because they would rather engage in acts of worship than acts of justice?  Isaiah reminds us that our liturgy is incomplete until it lives itself out in the world.  Our worship is incomplete until we’ve gone from this place and put it into practice out there beyond these walls. 

If you remove the yoke from among you, the pointing of the finger, the speaking of evil, if you offer your food to the hungry and satisfy the needs of the afflicted, then your light shall rise in the darkness and your gloom be like the noonday.  The Lord will guide you continually, and satisfy your needs in parched places, and make your bones strong; and you shall be like a watered garden, like a spring of water, whose waters never fail.  Your ancient ruins shall be rebuilt; you shall raise up the foundations of many generations; you shall be called the repairer of the breach, the restorer of streets to live in.

Salt and light.  It’s what we are called to be; called to be people of faith who have enough distinctiveness to make an actual impact on the world.

In the first and second century, when the Christian movement was in its earliest stages, the early Christians were intensely aware of being different from others.  Around the year AD 100, Pope, St Clement, wrote about those early Christians that, “They are a tight and supportive group.  Indeed the charity given to poorer members is part of their appeal.”  Later, the Christian writer, Tertullian, claimed that pagans often made the comment, “See how these Christians love one another.”  It was their love for one another, lived out in acts of care and kindness and charity, that was one of the most powerful witnesses of faith in the “pagan” world.

In a few minutes the Choir will be singing an anthem called, “I Will Be Christ to You.”  The words are based upon a quote by St. Teresa of Avila – one which I have shared with you before:

Christ has no body now on earth but yours,
     no hands but yours,
     no feet but yours,
Yours are the eyes through which to look out
     Christ's compassion to the world
Yours are the feet with which he is to go about
     doing good;
Yours are the hands with which he is to bless men now.

What we do in here: liturgy; worship; requires completion out there in the world.  The work of the people.  And the work of the people, is finally and simply: to love.