On Being Salty
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I don't remember ever meeting my Uncle Peacock. Apparently I did, but it was when I was so young that I really don't remember anything about him. But I have heard enough stories about him that I feel I know him very well. Uncle Peacock died several years ago, though all I know about his death was that it was the result of a long Saturday evening in town with a 20-pound watermelon and a chicken. It seems that somehow he ended up falling off the levee down by the river. I don't know how it all fits together, but I'm sure it makes one heck of a story.
However, I do know about the one time my Uncle Peacock fell in love. As the story goes, one summer evening he met a woman at the Rod and Gun. She was a woman from the city who wasn't too impressed with some questionable looking character who lived on the river. Did I tell you Uncle Peacock lived in a houseboat? It was a homemade kind of thing, and I guess looked as homemade as it was, but it floated well enough to give him a place to sleep when he could find his way to it. Somehow Uncle Peacock had to earn this woman's affections, and he came upon the perfect plan to do just that. Uncle Peacock decided he was going to untie his houseboat and float down the river to New Orleans. That sounded like the kind of thing to get a woman's attention, but you need to remember that this was a river town, and attention was gotten in ways there that just didn't work any place else.
So the plan was made. He stocked the boat with all the necessary supplies, most of them in liquid form, and set the date for the launching. The night before the event, all of his buddies threw Uncle Peacock a bon voyage party down at the Rod and Gun. It lasted into the wee hours of the morning. It was in one of those wee hours that Uncle Peacock decided that the time for the launch had come, and he oozed his way down to the river and his boat. It had been a long party. Uncle Peacock untied his sailing ship, pushed out into the middle of the river, and promptly fell asleep. He was on his way to New Orleans to win the hand of a lovely lady. No one is quite sure how he made it under the highway bridge, but they do know that 10 minutes later he ran smack into the upriver end of Grape Island, one mile south of town. It was there, some hours later, that Uncle Peacock woke up and realized he wasn't going to make New Orleans, and, most likely was not going to impress his girl. In his despair, he stayed there until his supplies were gone, and three weeks later swam to shore and got help. My Uncle Peacock was, my mother tells me, a "salty" kind of guy.
Much like the two old men who used to stop by our house every so often to see my dad. I was always excited when they would visit, but my mother would just groan and find something to do in another part of the house. These guys drove a big orange truck that said, "City of Beardstown" on the door, and had the job that I envied more than any other I knew. They would stand out in the middle of the intersection on our corner, and one of them would lift the cover off the manhole in the street and the other would climb right down inside of it. I never knew just what he did down there, and am still not sure I really do, but I did know that someday I wanted to do that, too!
They would work for a while and then come into our house to talk to dad and have something from the cabinet over the sink to "warm them up a bit." It may have been August, but they still needed something to help them get warm. Must have been really cold down in that hole. They would tell stories that my dad made me swear I would never tell my mother, and they laughed about things that took me another 15 years to understand well enough to chuckle at. Mom said it wasn't the stories she disliked, nor the little "warm up" from the cabinet, but the smell they brought with them. Funny, I had never noticed. Mom said that those two guys were "salty." All that I know is that when these two arrived, our house changed.
That's what salt does. It changes things. Take an ordinary, rather bland day, add a touch of salt and presto, you have something completely different. Uncle Peacock did that, and so did the men from the sewer company. The changes they brought were not always appreciated, but unavoidable for sure.
Jesus said, "You are the salt of the earth." He said that if you are going to follow him, and do things the way he wants you to, you can't help but change things wherever you go. That seems to be the blessing, and the curse, of being Christian. Things change when we arrive. I have seen it happen. I have walked into a room and have seen people actually change before my eyes. I have seen people lose one half of their entire vocabulary when I walk in. I have seen beer cans get stuffed under coffee tables and sofa pillows and other places I am sure they later regretted having stuffed them. I have seen hopeless faces in emergency rooms transform into hopeful faces when I came through the door. It's not me doing that, it's what I represent. And it's what you represent. When Christ comes in, everything changes.
Table salt in the first century was collected from the ground around the Dead Sea. Large chunks of salt-covered rock were placed on the dinner table and you simply scraped off what you needed for the meal. After a while, however, all the salt was scraped from the rock, and all you had left in the middle of your table was rock. The salt had lost its saltiness. It was good for nothing. Throw it away! Jesus said it is no different with us. What is the value of one who has lost his or her saltiness? What is the use of the Christian who leaves things tasting the way the world leaves them tasting?
Just as light changes dark into something new, and salt changes what it touches into something new, a follower of Jesus Christ changes what it touches as well. It can't be stopped. But we try, don't we? We don't actually run out of salt, but instead of spreading it around we put it on the shelf like a collection of salt shakers. Sometimes it is embarrassing to always be the one who is different. Sometimes I would like to walk into the room and just be a part of the crowd. "Don't change because of me! Just be yourself." Sometimes it is lonely to be the one who is different. Sometimes it is simply terrifying. Sometimes people who are different get killed, even crucified. No, sometimes I don't want to be the salt of the earth. But there is no choice. Christians change things simply by being there.
Jesus said that the world does things in a certain way, and measures success and failure by certain measures, but "you will not do it that way! You will change the way things are done." You cannot hide the light and you cannot stop the salt from making things salty.
Our greatest task as Christians today may well be standing close enough to each other to give each other the courage to be salty. To find the courage to be different enough to cause things to change. Because, as I look at it, we could do with a few changes.
However, I do know about the one time my Uncle Peacock fell in love. As the story goes, one summer evening he met a woman at the Rod and Gun. She was a woman from the city who wasn't too impressed with some questionable looking character who lived on the river. Did I tell you Uncle Peacock lived in a houseboat? It was a homemade kind of thing, and I guess looked as homemade as it was, but it floated well enough to give him a place to sleep when he could find his way to it. Somehow Uncle Peacock had to earn this woman's affections, and he came upon the perfect plan to do just that. Uncle Peacock decided he was going to untie his houseboat and float down the river to New Orleans. That sounded like the kind of thing to get a woman's attention, but you need to remember that this was a river town, and attention was gotten in ways there that just didn't work any place else.
So the plan was made. He stocked the boat with all the necessary supplies, most of them in liquid form, and set the date for the launching. The night before the event, all of his buddies threw Uncle Peacock a bon voyage party down at the Rod and Gun. It lasted into the wee hours of the morning. It was in one of those wee hours that Uncle Peacock decided that the time for the launch had come, and he oozed his way down to the river and his boat. It had been a long party. Uncle Peacock untied his sailing ship, pushed out into the middle of the river, and promptly fell asleep. He was on his way to New Orleans to win the hand of a lovely lady. No one is quite sure how he made it under the highway bridge, but they do know that 10 minutes later he ran smack into the upriver end of Grape Island, one mile south of town. It was there, some hours later, that Uncle Peacock woke up and realized he wasn't going to make New Orleans, and, most likely was not going to impress his girl. In his despair, he stayed there until his supplies were gone, and three weeks later swam to shore and got help. My Uncle Peacock was, my mother tells me, a "salty" kind of guy.
Much like the two old men who used to stop by our house every so often to see my dad. I was always excited when they would visit, but my mother would just groan and find something to do in another part of the house. These guys drove a big orange truck that said, "City of Beardstown" on the door, and had the job that I envied more than any other I knew. They would stand out in the middle of the intersection on our corner, and one of them would lift the cover off the manhole in the street and the other would climb right down inside of it. I never knew just what he did down there, and am still not sure I really do, but I did know that someday I wanted to do that, too!
They would work for a while and then come into our house to talk to dad and have something from the cabinet over the sink to "warm them up a bit." It may have been August, but they still needed something to help them get warm. Must have been really cold down in that hole. They would tell stories that my dad made me swear I would never tell my mother, and they laughed about things that took me another 15 years to understand well enough to chuckle at. Mom said it wasn't the stories she disliked, nor the little "warm up" from the cabinet, but the smell they brought with them. Funny, I had never noticed. Mom said that those two guys were "salty." All that I know is that when these two arrived, our house changed.
That's what salt does. It changes things. Take an ordinary, rather bland day, add a touch of salt and presto, you have something completely different. Uncle Peacock did that, and so did the men from the sewer company. The changes they brought were not always appreciated, but unavoidable for sure.
Jesus said, "You are the salt of the earth." He said that if you are going to follow him, and do things the way he wants you to, you can't help but change things wherever you go. That seems to be the blessing, and the curse, of being Christian. Things change when we arrive. I have seen it happen. I have walked into a room and have seen people actually change before my eyes. I have seen people lose one half of their entire vocabulary when I walk in. I have seen beer cans get stuffed under coffee tables and sofa pillows and other places I am sure they later regretted having stuffed them. I have seen hopeless faces in emergency rooms transform into hopeful faces when I came through the door. It's not me doing that, it's what I represent. And it's what you represent. When Christ comes in, everything changes.
Table salt in the first century was collected from the ground around the Dead Sea. Large chunks of salt-covered rock were placed on the dinner table and you simply scraped off what you needed for the meal. After a while, however, all the salt was scraped from the rock, and all you had left in the middle of your table was rock. The salt had lost its saltiness. It was good for nothing. Throw it away! Jesus said it is no different with us. What is the value of one who has lost his or her saltiness? What is the use of the Christian who leaves things tasting the way the world leaves them tasting?
Just as light changes dark into something new, and salt changes what it touches into something new, a follower of Jesus Christ changes what it touches as well. It can't be stopped. But we try, don't we? We don't actually run out of salt, but instead of spreading it around we put it on the shelf like a collection of salt shakers. Sometimes it is embarrassing to always be the one who is different. Sometimes I would like to walk into the room and just be a part of the crowd. "Don't change because of me! Just be yourself." Sometimes it is lonely to be the one who is different. Sometimes it is simply terrifying. Sometimes people who are different get killed, even crucified. No, sometimes I don't want to be the salt of the earth. But there is no choice. Christians change things simply by being there.
Jesus said that the world does things in a certain way, and measures success and failure by certain measures, but "you will not do it that way! You will change the way things are done." You cannot hide the light and you cannot stop the salt from making things salty.
Our greatest task as Christians today may well be standing close enough to each other to give each other the courage to be salty. To find the courage to be different enough to cause things to change. Because, as I look at it, we could do with a few changes.
