You are the salt of the earth, but if salt has lost its taste, how shall its saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything except to be thrown out and trampled under people’s feet. You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden. Nor do people light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a stand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven. Matt. 5:13-16
Gracious Jesus, at times I fantasize about running off to Switzerland with my family; living in a community of chalets nestled in the Alps, with several other hand-picked “healthy” friends; escaping the often-times crazy-making of church life; disengaging from the chaos of my culture and the American political process; eating food of choice, listening to music of choice, taking naps at will; enjoying the Christian life and waiting for your second coming. That’s a confession of sin, not a prayer request.
For starters, I know I couldn’t afford to pay for such a selfish fantasy. More importantly, I realize this isn’t the lifestyle for which you’ve redeemed us. The church belongs to you, Jesus; she’s your beloved bride. Yet, as with everything else, we often take the church into the idol factory of our hearts and retool her to be an ingrown club for our own satisfaction. Forgive us, Jesus. Forgive me.
You’ve called and commissioned us to live as the “salt of the earth.” We’re not garlic, paprika, or sugar; we’re salt. Salt preserves and fends off decay. Salt heals and soothes—it has medicinal value. Salt brings flavor and enhances other flavors. And salt only “works” when it’s out of the saltshaker. Alas, my own prayer convicts me.
Jesus, how does a believer lose their saltiness, or for that matter, how does a whole church family lose their vision and passion? What’s involved in flavor loss? More importantly, what does renewal look like? I know it starts and continues in humility, for your grace always runs downhill. You give grace to the humble, but the proud you resist and know from afar.
Come, Holy Spirit, come. We need you to stir our hearts. Only you are powerful enough to re-salt the de-salted; to bring us back to gospel sanity; to restore in us the joy of God’s salvation; to reengage the disengaged with God’s plan for our hearts, communities, and the nations.
How we praise you that our cry is your pleasure. Before we ask, you know our need. Do exceedingly beyond all we ask and can imagine. So very Amen we pray, in Jesus’ merciful and mighty name.