Matthew 5:13-20
You are the salt of the earth.
You are a city built on a hill.
You are a ragtag assortment of fishermen, peasants, tax collectors, prostitutes, and ordinary, sinful people.
You are the light of the world.
When I hear these words from the Sermon on the Mount, I cannot help but think of the people Jesus is addressing. He is not speaking to the priests in the temple or some spiritual elite, if there is such a thing. He is talking to his disciples and the crowds that have surrounded them, a hodgepodge of humanity. And he speaks such exalted words to them. You are the light of the world. You.
And since those words are also addressed to us . . . we are the light of the world, the motley assortment of people we are. I won’t ask for a show of hands, but I’d be curious to know if any of you ever think of the light shining in you. I wonder if you ever want to shine. And if we do want to shine, what would that mean? How would we do it? We could be super religious, go to church every Sunday, get involved in all sorts of church activities. Would that do it? We could volunteer out in the community — in hospitals, schools, soup kitchens, the jail. Would that do it? We could become activists and work for social justice, promoting policies that help the poor and disadvantaged among us. Would that do it? We know our righteousness has to somehow exceed that of the scribes and the Pharisees, but what does that mean? We are ordinary, sinful people, and Jesus says that light shines in us — or at least it can.
And I think Paul shows us how. He is writing today to the Corinthians, a fractious and unruly congregation if ever there was one. And Paul says to them, When I came to you, brothers and sisters, I did not come proclaiming the mystery of God to you in lofty words or wisdom. For I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ, and him crucified. And I came to you in weakness and in fear and in much trembling. Paul could have focused on the resurrection, and certainly that is essential to his Gospel. He could have made life in the Spirit the centerpiece of his teaching, and certainly that is a crucial component of it. But Paul makes the crucified Lord the center of everything. Why? Because it reveals like nothing else can the nature of God’s love, a love which is at once so vulnerable and so powerful. Jesus goes through life unguarded and defenseless: he encounters the pain of the world with an openness and tenderness that is transformative. How Jesus died on the cross is the just ultimate expression of how he lived on earth. And if Paul is going to proclaim the Good News of Jesus in a way that is faithful to Jesus, then he must show that same kind of love. And so that’s what does. He doesn’t just teach about the crucified Lord, he knows him and lives him. And so he comes among the Corinthians in weakness and in fear and in much trembling. Paul is real, he’s vulnerable, he’s transparent — and the light of Christ shines through him.
One of the things we learn from the New Testament is that outwardly perfect people, people who seemingly have it all together, people like the scribes and Pharisees, often don’t shed very much light. It’s the other people, the broken people, who shine. And that has been true in my experience as well. One of the people who has most deeply influenced me was a man named Andrew Wissemann. Andrew was a retired bishop and he served as my spiritual director when I lived in Massachusetts. He was a bishop and so had been “successful” in the church, but that’s not why I loved him. For years he made it safe for me to open up to him because he was so open with me. He freely shared his own struggles and failures over the years. He had weaknesses and quirks, and he knew it: he could laugh at himself. He understood, in a world that prizes technical skills and the ability to make money, how useless priests can feel because he had felt it himself. He once told me that clergy are really just the “offscouring” of society. He was a prayerful and learned man, but he was very honest about the doubts and uncertainties he felt. As he approached his own death, he would describe being awake at three in the morning and looking up into the darkness and saying, “I’m planning on resurrection, Lord. I hope you are, too.” He was real and vulnerable and transparent — and the light of Christ just shined through him. He accepted me and loved me as I really am. I miss him.
If we hear this Gospel today as an exhortation to achieve perfection and somehow produce light for God, then we will certainly fail. It’s not our light that matters, but the light of Christ shining through us. And it’s not our perfection that transmits it, but our transparency. And if we are going to be transparent enough for the Christ light to shine through us, then we need to be real and vulnerable. We are all of us flawed and wounded people. And we are all of us forgiven and loved unconditionally by God. If we are vulnerable enough to receive such love and vulnerable enough to share it, then divine light will pour through us. So I urge us all to practice compassion: practice receiving it and practice giving it. Every person we encounter this week, every single person, will be flawed and wounded. Every person we encounter this week, every single person, will need love. And to love them, we don’t need to be perfect — we’ll never be perfect — we just need to be real enough and vulnerable enough. And if we are, the light of Christ will shine. It may happen while we are taking care of a sick child; it may happen while we are advocating for humane immigration policies. But as long as we are open to it, the light of Christ will shine through us. And that light changes lives, as I know so well.
In essence, I’m asking all of us to take the cross seriously. Like Paul, we need to know Jesus Christ and him crucified. The one thing we can offer the world, the one thing we can offer the people we meet each day, is the real and vulnerable love of Christ. If we don’t let down our defenses and show that kind of love, who else will? Who else can we count on?
We are the light of the world. Let it shine.
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