May God’s words alone be spoken, may God’s words alone be heard.  Amen.
“I have it on good authority that the African antelope, the impala, is a terrific jumper, and yet can be contained behind a very short fence.  In the wild the impala has been known to leap 10 feet into the air and to cover distances of more than 30 feet in a single bound.  Yet I’m told they can be confined behind a wall only 3-feet high.  Apparently the impala won’t jump if they can’t see where their feet will land.”1
I thought about the impala when reading the Gospel for today.  It is a familiar passage, especially to those of us who happen to still own a copy of the soundtrack to Godspell, or who spent many youthful summers at Vacation Bible School singing “This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine!”  Following on the heels of the beatitudes, this is part of Jesus’ his Sermon on the Mount, and he says “you are the salt earth…you are the light of the world.”
What a thing to hear from your Rabbi and savior, right?  But, before we start to feel like standing on the bow of a ship in true Titanic fashion shouting “I am the light of the world!” let’s consider what Jesus is really saying to us.
He says “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.”  Well these days, there is a whole lot of salt being trampled under foot all over driveways and walkways here in NJ – so much so that it is now hard to get a hold of.  But, that’s probably not what Jesus had in mind.
Actually salt, or sodium chloride, was an important compound even more so then, as it is now, but oddly enough…it cannot lose it’s “saltiness.”  It doesn’t degrade over time.  But, it can be mixed up with other substances, and it was not unheard of in that time for unsavory merchants (pun intended) to dilute the salt with other substances to increases profits, but in essence, making the salt useless.  So, Jesus is warning us not to be diluted, but to keep focused on our purpose.
And what is that purpose?
He continues saying, “You are the light of the world,” imploring us to let our “light shine before others.”
What does that mean, to be the “light of the world?”
It is a fabulous metaphor, one of my favorites in the scriptures, because it speaks on so many levels to who we are, and what we are meant to do.
In a long and cold winter, as we are surely having this year, even if you don’t suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder, I doubt there are many of us that don’t want to stay close to firelight, candlelight, and any other kind of light that cuts through the darkness and warms our heart.
But the real purpose of light is to illuminate, to overcome darkness – not for itself – but for whatever is around it.  “The primary function of light is not to be seen, but to let things be seen as they are.”2  Light does not exist for its own sake, but to reveal what we cannot otherwise see in the darkness.
Jesus is telling us that we are the light that will serve to reveal God to all around us.  We are to shine brightly so that all can come into full relationship with God.  And, when we lose sight of that, we not only fall into darkness, but we fail to light the path for others as well.  We become as effective and purposeful as diluted salt.
This is no Titanic like “king of the world moment.”  Just the opposite.  Jesus is telling us that we must, through our lives, be a catalyst for others to see and experience God.  It is a model of servant leadership, and it’s a tall order.
What exactly are we to do?
There are times in our lectionary cycle when I wonder just what were they thinking when they picked passages of scripture to be together on a given Sunday.  But this week, the interconnectedness of the passages couldn’t be more perfect. Because while Jesus is telling us what we are to be, the passage from Isaiah tells us how we might live that into action in our daily lives.
“Will you call this a fast,
a day acceptable to the LORD?
Is not this the fast that I choose:
to loose the bonds of injustice,
to undo the thongs of the yoke,
to let the oppressed go free,
and to break every yoke?
Is it not to share your bread with the hungry,
and bring the homeless poor into your house;
when you see the naked, to cover them,”

“…to loose the bonds of injustice…”
“…to share your bread with the hungry…”
We are being told that the light we are to be is one that shines not for itself, but for others.  We are to be the spice of life for our neighbors, so that they may experience the fullness of God.
This is no easy journey.  The best and most important journeys never are.  Such was the case for the Rev. Absalom Jones, whose life the church will celebrate later today at the cathedral in the annual service to mark his Saint day of February 13th.  I want to share with you this story of his life from the Episcopal Church Archives.
“Absalom Jones was America’s first black priest. Born into slavery in Delaware at a time when slavery was being debated as immoral and undemocratic, he taught himself to read, using the New Testament as one of his resources. At the age of 16, Jones was sold to a shopkeeper in Philadelphia where he attended a night school for blacks, operated by Quakers. Following the purchase of his own freedom in 1784, Jones served as lay minister for the black membership at St. George’s Methodist Episcopal Church.
The active evangelism of Jones and that of his friend, Richard Allen, greatly increased black membership at St. George’s. Alarmed by the rise in black attendance, the vestry decided to segregate blacks into an upstairs gallery without notice. When ushers attempted to remove the black congregants, the resentful group exited the church. This exodus triggered the establishment of the Free African Society by Jones and Allen in 1787 to aid in the emancipation of slaves and to offer sustenance and spiritual support to widows, orphans, and the poor.
In 1794, Jones and Allen, with the assistance of local Quakers and Episcopalians, established the “First African Church” in Philadelphia. Shortly after the establishment that same year, the African Church applied to join the Protestant Episcopal Church, laying before the diocese three requirements: the Church must be received as an already organized body; it must have control over it’s own affairs; and Jones must be licensed as lay-reader and if qualified, ordained as its minister.
Upon acceptance into the Diocese of Pennsylvania, the church was renamed the African Episcopal Church of St. Thomas. The following year Jones became a deacon but was not ordained a priest until 1804, nine years later. At 58 years old, he became the first black American priest. He continued to be a leader in his community, founding a day school (as blacks were excluded from attending public school), the Female Benevolent Society, and an African Friendly Society. In 1800 he called upon Congress to abolish the slave trade and to provide for gradual emancipation of existing slaves. Jones died in 1818.”
Not an easy journey indeed, but certainly in the life of Absalom Jones, and Richard Allen as well, we see a very savory salt, and a light that shone brightly for all the world to see – to see the love of God for all of humanity.
Sometimes the idea of living into who we are called to be – the salt & light of the world, can leave us feeling tired before we begin.   We are meant to live out our faith, to be in full relationship with God, ourselves, and each other.  And like any relationship, it takes work on our part, and we can sometimes feel inadequate to the task, too weighed down by the world to continue.  We can allow fear to bind us behind walls of self-doubt.
Henri Nouwen, an inspiring priest, teacher, and spiritual leader, once said that “The great mystery of ministry is that while we ourselves are overwhelmed by our own weaknesses and limitations, we can still be so transparent that the Spirit of God, the divine counselor, can shine through us and bring light to others.”
So even when we feel our flame is so small, that we cannot possibly be the “light of the world,” we can take heart that God finds a way to work through us to be revealed.
And we have our community of faith, and the nourishment that comes from Christ and each other in it.
Every week, and sometimes more often, we gather together to renew our commitment, to refuel our fire, so that we can go out and do the work of Christ in the world.  We are strengthened with the spiritual food of the body and blood of our Lord, Jesus Christ, as we gather as a family at the table with the Communion of Saints.
But so often, we slip into this belief that going to church on Sunday is what it is all about.  Even research groups, like Pew and others will measure the level of religion in our society in terms of the frequency of attending services.  And we start to think that the way we worship is better than the way “they” worship.  We begin to believe that the fuel for the light is what is important, not what is being illuminated.
Abraham Heschel, “a Warsaw-born American Rabbi and one of the leading Jewish theologians and Jewish philosophers of the 20th century”3 once wrote “When faith is completely replaced by creed, worship by discipline, love by habit; when the crisis of today is ignored because of the splendor of the past; when faith becomes an heirloom rather than a living fountain; when religion speaks only in the name of authority rather than with the voice of compassion – its message becomes meaningless.”
Church is not the destination.
Church is where we are given strength for the journey.
We build up so many walls in our lives, virtual and real, and we can start to believe that we can’t venture beyond them.  We begin to hide our light behind the walls.  We become trapped and unable to fully live into who we are as children of God.
The walls of this church are not meant to contain us, but to provide a sacred space so that we may be renewed in our relationship with God, and so that we can have an opportunity to pause, to pray, and to listen for the call of the Holy Spirit.  We stand before God and each other, and are reminded that we are not alone.  God is with always with us.
And we sometimes need to be reminded that sacred space can be found anywhere in God’s creation, not just inside the walls of a church.  If we embrace that, we open our hearts to the workings of the Holy Spirit all around us.
And when everything is sacred – the earth, the sky, the food, the air… yourself… then you will recognize in the mirror the child of God that you are.  Once you open yourself to this truth, you will never seek to box your faith in behind a wall, or under the bushel.  You will let your light, the light of God within you, shine for all the world to see.  And when you need re-fueling, you will come together as a family of faith to be fed at this table, to be given strength for the journey.
The African Antelope was created by God to be a fearless, beautiful creature flying in leaps and bounds across the plains, but out of fear, can lose itself behind a wall only three feet high.
May we break down the walls that divide us from our brothers and sisters outside, and from each other.
May we take leaps of faith that allow our light to shine for all the world.
May we see God in ourselves and in all of creation.
And, may we be who we are – the Salt of the Earth, the Light of the World.
Amen.

 [Please note: All sermons are as written, not necessarily as delivered on that Sunday]

Rev. Diana Wilcox
Christ Episcopal Church in Bloomfield & Glen Ridge
February 9, 2014
Fifth Sunday After The Epiphany – Year A
First Reading – Isaiah 58:1-9a, (9b-12)
Psalm 112:1-9, (10)
Second Reading – 1 Corinthians 2:1-12, (13-16)
Gospel – Matthew 5:13-20