What’s It Mean to Be ‘Salt and Light’?

We're commanded to be the 'light of the world.'

Salt. So versatile it’s even used in idioms to describe people: “He’s the salt of the earth” – the sort of person who’s good, honest, reasonable, and not pretentious. Or, “She’s worth her salt,” indicating being of considerable value. 

We're also to be the 
'salt of the earth.'

Of course, we think of salt mostly in terms of a seasoning. Are you someone who puts salt on almost everything you eat, from eggs and French fries to steak and watermelon? For much of my life I’ve been ‘well-seasoned,’ often salting food before tasting it. For accomplished cooks and chefs, this seems like gastronomical blasphemy. Over the years I’ve tried to do better.

Salt is perhaps the most controversial of seasonings. Some medical experts claim too much salt is bad for you, while other studies indicate for most people it’s not much of a problem. Who’s right? Most of us make our own decisions about this, taking the doctor’s advice with the proverbial ‘grain of salt.’

 

During His famed “sermon on the mount,” Jesus Christ alluded to the importance of salt. He used it as a metaphor, along with another substance we know well – light – to explain how His followers should function where they live and work. He said:

“You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled by men. You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let you light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven” (Matthew 5:13-16).

 

In summary, we’re to be salt and light to the world around us, wherever we are. Why did Jesus choose these two as metaphors?

 

We know salt can add savor to food. Not enough salt and food might taste bland; too much salt and it can overwhelm the natural taste of the food we’re eating. To put that into a spiritual perspective, as ‘salt’ to the folks we encounter over the course of the day, our lives and our words should be such that the message of the Gospel is as appealing as possible – and not overwhelming.

 

The apostle Paul wrote about this to believers in ancient Colossae, admonishing, “Be wise in the way you act toward outsiders; make the most of every opportunity. Let your conversation be always full of grace, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how to answer everyone” (Colossians 4:5-6). To put it another way, we’re to interact with others in ‘good taste’ when talking with them about Christ.

 

But salt works in other ways besides affecting the flavor of food. In the days before refrigeration and freezers, salt was used as a preservative to keep meat from spoiling. A spiritual parallel might be to ‘preserve’ the Gospel message and remain true to our commitment to Christ in the midst of an increasingly dark world.

 

A third use of salt is to melt ice. We discover this during the winter, when snow and ice cover sidewalks, driveways and roads. Applying salt can help in making them passable again. Similarly, as we talk with others about Jesus – speaking with grace and seasoning what we say with ‘salt,’ as Paul advised – hearts once cold toward Him might ‘thaw out’ and become responsive to the truths of the Scriptures.

 

There’s one more function of salt we need to consider. Another familiar idiom talks of ‘pouring salt into wounds.’ Have you ever had a cut and got some salt into it? It irritates, right? In a similar way, while we should make every effort not to offend others as we talk with them about Jesus, we know the Gospel message itself can be offensive. The apostle Peter called it, “A stone of stumbling and a rock of offense” (1 Peter 2:8). We’re to speak in love, but without compromising what God says in His Word.

 

What about light? We know the impact light can have in a dark room; even a small candle makes a big difference. Scientists call that the “luminiferous” property – producing or transmitting light. Again, as we speak about the saving, transforming powers of Christ, we hope to bring His light to people living in spiritual darkness.

 

Like salt, however, light has other properties as well. There’s its “actinic” capacity, bringing about photochemical reactions. We’ve all seen this in photography, and we observe it in photosynthesis, the process that creates green in plants during spring and summer. The light of Christ also can stimulate spiritual growth as scriptural truths sink into receptive hearts.

 

A third major property of light is what’s called ‘calorific’ – generating heat. Think about when you’re sitting outside on an overcast day, perhaps watching a child’s ballgame; suddenly the sun peeks through the clouds and the sunlight immediately starts raising the temperature.

 

This effect often happens spiritually as well. Two of Jesus’ closest followers referred to it after they had encountered Him while walking to the village of Emmaus after His resurrection: “And beginning with Moses and all the Prophets, [Jesus] explained to them what was said in all the Scriptures concerning Himself.” After He had left them, the disciples looked at each other and asked, “Were not our hearts burning within us while He talked with us on the road and opened the Scriptures to us?” (Luke 24:27-32).

 

What I find most encouraging about Jesus’ salt and light metaphors is that the pressure’s not on us. It’s not up to us to produce the salt – or the light. That’s God’s job. Our responsibility is to use what the Lord has given us and then trust Him for the outcome.

 

Years ago, Rebecca Manley Pippert wrote a book about relational evangelism called Out of the Saltshaker and into the World. We might regard the sanctuaries where we congregate every Sunday as ‘saltshakers.’ God wants us to take the salt we receive there into our world – workplaces, neighborhoods, schools, communities, wherever we go. We commissioned to be ‘worth our salt.’