(Jesus calls the ordinary people of Galilee who have gathered around him "the salt of the earth" and "the light of the world," but also says two things we sometimes gloss over. One is that salt that loses its savour and a light that is hidden away from the world are not really doing any good, and may as well be thrown away. The other is that what makes the people around him salt and light for the world, is the way they exceed the righteousness of the scribes and Pharisees -- rather than just fulfilling the moral requirements like a checklist [the people who try to be "politically correct"], they live out these same things but from the heart, because their heart has been shaped and opened by the Spirit of God.)
This week when I read of ordinary, morally-mature people being the light of the world, my mind immediately goes to images of the masses of people in cities and towns around the world who came together, like this throng in Montreal, to stand in silent solidarity with the victims of the attack on the mosque in Quebec City.
"You are," Jesus says, "the salt of the earth. You are the light of the world."
Thirty years ago, I was in gatherings like that, too. One in particular was a street march in Hamilton against America's First War Against Iraq ("Operation Desert Storm") that ended in the Council Chambers of Hamilton City Hall. Back then, I was a member of the Baptist Peace Fellowship of North America. And I remember that particular event because my son Aaron (3 or 4 years old at the time) was there too, and an image of him sitting in the Council Chamber among the protesters ended up as part of the CHCH-TV story that night. I guess he was the youngest, cutest, most human-interest-ish person there.
But now -- this past week, I did not attend any vigil. Didn't even try to find out where they were being held.
My heart was -- and is still moved by what happened. But not my body, it seems. All I did was put up a post on the church Facebook page, and a message on our church sign that says, "Prayers of sorrow and solidarity with our Muslim brothers and sisters."
I wonder what has changed in me, and in my life story?
Am I now salt that has lost its savour? Is my light now hidden away under a little basket? Confined to a little, safe, closed room?
Was my involvement thirty years ago more pharisaic than truly heart-felt? Wanting mostly to be seen doing "the right thing"? Wanting to belong to "the right group"? Rather than being impelled by a deep (and irreversible) opening of my heart?
Or is it that at different stages of my life, different kinds of action and response may be more appropriate and available than others? As long as there really is some heart-felt action?
I don't have the answers. But I'm looking forward to exploring this and much more about the Gospel lesson, Sunday morning.
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