4th Sunday before Lent
Proper 1: Isaiah 58, 1-9a [9b-12]; 1 Corinthians 2.1-12
[13-end]; Matthew 5.13-20
O God, you know us to be set in the midst of so many and
great dangers, that by reason of the frailty of our nature we
cannot always stand upright: grant to us such strength and
protection as may support us in all dangers and carry us through
all temptations; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
THERE are challenging words for us this week. Isaiah, speaking
at a time when Israel looking forward to deliverance from exile in
Babylon, interrupted his messages of hope with stark warnings that,
for the promise of God's blessing (v.6ff) to be fulfilled, they
should live in a way that embodied for others the blessing that
they themselves wanted: loosing bonds of injustice, and freeing the
oppressed, so that all creation could experience light rising in
the darkness. God's good purposes are for the whole world. The
chosen people are agents, not just recipients, of blessing (Genesis
12.3, 18.18, 22.18).
In this context, we hear Jesus, far from abolishing the law,
announce that his disciples should keep it more fully than the
Pharisees, who prided themselves on their superior observance of
it. Matthew does not say that Gentiles must become Jews to do this
- a hot issue for the Early Church - he simply assumed that all
Christians embodied the weighty matters of the law in their lives
(Matthew 23.23).
Since his baptism, Jesus had proclaimed that the Kingdom of
heaven had come near. Now he linked this with righteousness: it is
for those who are persecuted for righteousness' sake (Matthew
5.10); to enter it, their righteousness must exceed that of the
Scribes and Pharisees, and they must do the will of his Father
(Matthew 7.21).
The Kingdom of heaven, here among them now, is not something for
the future, as the Pharisees taught. So they must go and live
accordingly, exploring and embodying what the law looks like when
lived not as legal requirement, but as a response to being in a
world of God's grace and righteousness.
To express the demands of the law as a manifestation of grace,
they must be able to envisage it that way, and Jesus gave two
practical illustrations. This way of thinking makes disciples salt
and light in the world. Potentially dangerous on its own, salt is
always a means to enhancing something else. It brings out flavour,
preserves, seals covenants (Numbers 18.19), and is sprinkled on
sacrifices (Leviticus 2.13). Jesus's followers are to enhance God's
world, bringing the peace and justice that Isaiah envisaged.
Salt came from deposits near the Dear Sea, which also contained
gypsum. The two looked similar, and gypsum, used inadvertently, was
described as salt that had lost its flavour. "Lost its flavour"
could also mean "become foolish". Fools do not know God (Psalm
14.1), or recognise God's Kingdom when it comes, thus bringing
judgement on themselves.
Salt that has lost its flavour is trampled underfoot, an image
of God's judgement (Isaiah 14.19, 25), and Matthew ends his Gospel
with several parables of judgement on people who fail to embody
God's Kingdom (Matthew 7.23, 24.45-25.46). Being salt carries
responsibilities.
The disciples are also light, not just in, but - more powerfully
- of the world; light that in Genesis 1.3-4 allowed the world to be
seen, and order to come out of chaos. Again, Isaiah looked forward
to this (Isaiah 42.6), envisaging Israel as a light to the
nations.
When I lived in a religious community in a run-down American
town, each Advent and Christmas we put electric candles in our
windows, creating a block of light at a bend in the dark road to
the town centre.
A former resident told us that, for years, painful memories of
past prosperity prevented her from going back, but one Advent, she
had no choice, and, seeing the lights, had wept: "They said to me,
'There is hope: it will be all right.'" Years later, amid the
deprivation, tenacious light-bearing by Christians working with
others for economic and social recovery is bearing seeds of
hope.
Like other prophets, Isaiah condemned people who oppressed their
employees, quarrelled, and ignored the needy. In doing so, they
made fasting into a personal pious practice, and lost the wider
vision of being the world's salt and light, bringing wholeness to
all God's world. As Isaiah describes, God's fast is very practical,
and can start small.
Michael Ramsey wrote: "Openness to heaven is necessary for a
Christian. . . [It] is realised . . . in every act of selflessness,
humility or compassion; for such acts are already anticipations of
heaven in the here and now" (The Gospel and the Catholic
Church, 1936).
How much time, effort, and money have we given to this openness
to heaven in the past year? Perhaps there is a Lenten discipline
waiting to be discovered here.