Salty shiny people

 

Matthew 5: 13-20
New Ark United Church of Christ, Newark, DE
February 8, 2026

Photo of four light brown fingers with a dusting of salt on the middle, ring, and pinky fingers.

“You are the salt of the earth.”



You, the ones who speak the truth, no matter what it costs you.



You, the tow truck driver and his crew in Minnesota getting death threats for returning free of charge over 250 abandoned cars belonging to people who have been taken by ICE agents.



You, the pastor on Twitter who finishes his tweets with the words “Today is a great day to overcome evil with good” and another who tweets, “You don’t have to worship where you are not wanted.”



You, the ones who write letters and emails and texts and make phone calls to your senators and representatives.



You, the ones who post about your grief, your being misgendered, your difficult doctor visits, your loneliness, your still-denied accessibility, your chronic pain, your raw, open vulnerability, and you who keep it to yourself too often.



You are the salt of the earth.



You, the ones who reveal your inner life, your past life, your true self, one silvery, shimmering layer at a time.



You, the loud, vocal, obstreperous, unconstrained, cussing, the ones who turn up the heat.



You, the quiet, measured, mindful, patient, prayerful, the ones who bring calm.



You, who gets a little drunk sometimes, and you, who’s been sober for two months or two decades, and you who keeps a clear head, and you who wonders what the fuss is all about.



You, who scrapes and saves, and you, who spends and spoils others and yourself sometimes.



You are the salt of the earth.



You, the ones who are tired and ready to give up, and you, the ones who march on and pick up the fallen as you go.



You, who gets up and fights the good fight every day, even though you can’t see the difference it really does make to someone else.



You, who benefits from that good fight and can never repay what’s been given.



You, the rebel, and you, the steadfast shepherd, and you, the wanderer, and you, the faithful servant.



You, the one with the left brain, and you with the right brain, and you with the brain that perceives the world in its own way.



“You are the salt of the earth.” You are who you are, and there’s no turning back. Remember who you are and give thanks for all of it, or at least make peace with it, even the really horrible, terrible awful, because you’re a warrior, you’re still here. You are a miracle. No one else knows the world the way you do. No one has a story like yours. The world needs your story. Because…



“You are the light of the world.”



You, the ones who refuse to hate and have every reason to.



You, in the not-so-hidden and shadowy places, like ICE detention centers and camps and prisons and encampments under bridges and overpasses and places where human traffickers prey upon the vulnerable—you confront us with the evil that has been here all along, the evil we ignore.



You who is unabashedly, unashamedly you, in all your glory; you who has outlasted all your critics, inside and out; you who persists in hard-won self-love and self-care.



You who doubts your purpose, your place in this world; you who has thought about ending it all but is still here today.



You are the light of the world.



You whose faith is unwavering, whose journey has taken you to depths and through trials and you’ve come out singing on the other side.



You whose faith has taken turns you did not anticipate, whose journey is a different faith than the one you began with, and you wouldn’t trade it for anything.



You who are new to faith; you who are still looking; you who enjoys the questions; you who isn’t sure what to think but embraces mystery.



You who have been hurt by church people and by the Church, you who wonder why you are still here.



You who have been led down a road you did not want to travel but you are on it nonetheless with your reluctant yet whole heart.



You are the light of the world.



You who are seeking redemption; you who are aching for a new world; you who hunger and thirst for justice that makes for peace; you who love mercy; you who are poor in spirit; you who are reviled for who you are and cursed when you speak the truth for love’s sake; you who are generous with your lives and your love; you who spend your privilege, not counting the cost; you who disrupt your lives for others.



You are the light of the world.



Every change for the good came from people who risked everything to see that good come to fruition. Abolition. Suffrage. The labor movement. The New Deal. The War on Poverty. Civil rights. Accessibility. Marriage equality. Who we are matters. What we say or don’t say matters. What we care about and how we embody what we care about matters.



The powers that be are counting on our exhaustion and on White privilege; that we will roll over and eventually give up; that we will lose our flavor; that we will hide our light; that we will keep our heads down and stay quiet to keep what we have.



Those who heard this sermon on the mountain had generations of dispossessed people behind them who had heard the promises of God, who placed their hopes in the law and the prophets, and returned again and again to them, not giving up. They lived under the occupation and oppression of yet another empire that threatened to end them.



Two thousand years later we have the same fears, the same anger, the same questions—and the same call to be salty, to be light; to put all of who we are into what we believe and what we do. To right wrongs. To repair what we can. To live in the kindom one day at a time.



Governments and institutions cannot save humanity, they can’t liberate us. Even if it is God who saves, it will be through everyday people like us—Black, brown, White, Asian and Indigenous, queer and straight, cis and transgender, temporarily able-bodied and disabled, privileged and marginalized, salt of the earth, light of the world, of every faith and no faith—so long as we remember who we are and that there are more of us than we think. Amen.

Benediction – “He Will See You Through” - Rhiannon Giddens



When your path is full of worry
[Love] will see you through
When you think you’re alone on your journey
[Love] will see you through

All your silver, all your gold
Won’t shine brighter than your soul
Amen
Amen, amen