Once upon a time, I was given a short yet powerful sermon about remembering who I am and being empowered, though not necessarily as a child of God. It wasn’t that kind of sermon. It was a sermon that was in the midst of a women’s ski clinic in a raging snowstorm. I was a relatively new skier, so deep (and heavy) powder was beyond my comfort zone. Large moguls were way beyond my ability. Black diamond slopes could still be intimidating. And yet there we were, on top of a black diamond run with BIG moguls menacing me underneath mounds of fresh “Sierra cement powder.” The wind was whipping and the snow was thick. AND everyone in the clinic was a way better skier than I was. So, I was standing on the top of this run looking down into immanent failure, struggle, and humiliation.

One of the coaches must have felt the profound waves of tension flowing off my body and so he gave me a pep talk. He made me stand tall, throw my hands up in the air with my poles and scream into that storm, “I believe!” He made me do it again and again until I did it with enough gusto that I perhaps I did start to believe a bit in the capacity that he knew I had. Or at least I had a good laugh, which is also good medicine. And I did just fine. Nothing to holler about, but good enough to get down the hill and be met with congratulations and high fives. And I did good enough that I still use this trick when I’m in situations or ski hills that absolutely intimidate me.

This was a long time ago and since then people have done research into “power poses” that people use to boost their confidence. Based on my experience, I suggest adding ski poles and screaming, “I believe!” into the maelstroms of life if you need that extra boost. Screaming or not, however, standing with power in your body reminds your heart and soul that you are indeed powerful. It can remind you that you are someone who gets to take up space and who matters. You are important and someone with power who does not need to shrivel in advance of challenges.

So,  let us remember who Jesus is talking to in the gospel today. This is the continuation of last week when he was addressing the people on the mountain who had come from far and wide; the sick, the lowly, and unwanted.

These are folks who were used to being trampled underfoot and yet these are the folks Jesus comes to at the beginning of his ministry because they are his priority. They are his number one concern in a world that said they should be the last.

So, after blessing them, he reminds them of who they are. They are included, valuable, precious, and powerful.

It’s not a small thing to say to someone, you’re the salt of the earth. Back in the day, there was no refrigeration, after all. Fish wouldn’t last too long at all without being salted for preservation. And salt was a commodity that produced great wealth for folks because it is and was so important.  

You are the salt of the earth might have meant to these people that you are the very foundation of life in this place. You are necessary. You are life giving. You are indeed powerful, not because society tells you that, but because God tells you that. Your very existence on this planet makes you a child of God and that is indeed a powerful thing.

Not only are you salt, but also the light of the world. You, who are told every day how insufficient you are, you are the light of the world. No one in their right mind puts a flammable basket on top of open flame. No,  we let that light shine, filling the world with warmth and illumination into the shadows.

That’s you, he tells the people on the mountain. Remember who you are. Remember that you are powerful and blessed and loved, regardless of what the world has to tell you.

Now, we all know that salt cannot lose its saltiness. And quite likely Jesus knew that, too. You don’t need a chemistry lab to know that. But we can forget that we are powerful because of who we are in Christ. We may not be powerful in society or powerful in the ways that we imagine we should be or would like to be. But Jesus does not believe in our powerlessness, just like my ski coach did not believe in my inability to ski those massive moguls in the storm. My coach wasn’t frustrated with me, but he just knew my capacity and power was greater than I knew it to be. He knew I was fine, so he didn’t let me wimp out. Likewise, Jesus is not giving these folks, who were indeed trampled by society, an out. He tells them and us, “You are the salt of the earth. You are the light of the world.”

He’s reminding them of who they are. He’s reminding us, and all who read these words looking for good news, who we are. We are powerful, but if we abdicate our power to be life-giving, life-sustaining, and illuminating to those around us, then we are diminished in our capacity to do God’s work and be God’s presence in the world. Perhaps we all need to stand in our power poses every day and declare that we believe we are the salt of the earth and the light of the world.

Jesus is stating a big fact here that the folks on the bottom rung of society’s ladder are the salt and the light. This is good reminder for all of us to hear that everyone down to the “least” of all of us are precious, important, and powerful. But this applies to us, too. And we too might have trouble believing this. This is a big thing to say – that God’s life-giving presence lives in us and is here to be expressed through us.

The point of action is often the point at which we get stymied, like me on that terrifying slope. We say, things like, “What can I do?” It is easy to get overwhelmed and go back to avoiding reality in one way or another.

So, here’s one idea. I read an article that said, if you want a better world, host a potluck with your neighbors. Not just your friends, though you can start there, but with your physical neighbors. Host a game night. Host a coffee klatch. Start building relationships with the people around you and human connection will blossom. Love does indeed change the world, even when we start small.  

We scoff at such simple notions. We want to do big, bold things. But what got me down that terrifying ski run was one simple turn after another, each of which I was perfectly able to do, however imperfect and clumsy. We can indeed start simple and small, as long as whatever we do builds our relationships and social networks. Inviting our neighbors means we get to know folks who don’t necessarily run in our usual social circles. We might meet someone who has just lost a spouse who has not one friend to check on them or perhaps even one who is contemplating suicide as their best option. But those plans get delayed because they got this potluck invitation and they don’t want to be rude to their neighbor. So they go, maybe crack a smile, and make a plan for the following week. Maybe they see a glimmer of hope and make a different decision. Perhaps. We don’t know what will happen, but we do know that good comes from connection.

The salt of the earth people are the people who do the small, common stuff that sustains life and this is available to us all. We are called, not to strive for perfection like the Pharisees, but to open ourselves up in love. This love and openness is the righteousness that exceeds perfectionism of getting everything right. After all, you can’t out-Pharisee a Pharisee. However, small actions can be delightfully imperfect, even clumsy, and still change lives, communities, and the world.

This is being the salt of the earth and the light of the world. We can all think small, local, and simple. We can all practice believing that we are indeed the salt of the earth and the light of the world, worthy of that call, even if it takes some power poses with ski poles and screaming about love and faith into the storms of life until we can move forward. We are called to believe and know that we are the life-giving ones to those around us as we act in small, humble ways.

AMEN