Show Don't Tell: Matthew 5:13-16

Imagine a bustling marketplace in the heart of an ancient city, with its vibrant colors and tantalizing aromas wafting through the air. Vendors shout out their wares—fresh fruits, spices, and, most importantly, salt. In the ancient world, salt was not just a seasoning; it was a treasure. Picture a merchant named Eli, whose hands are worn and weathered from years of labor. He carefully sprinkles salt over a slab of meat, preserving it against the sweltering heat. Without salt, that meat would decay, a feast turning into a repugnant memory. “You are the salt of the earth,” Jesus declared, challenging us to flavor the world with His love and to preserve the good amidst decay. But what if Eli’s salt became contaminated, losing its potency? It’s a haunting image—perhaps a bag of salt mixed with dirt, rendered useless, thrown out to be trampled in the dust, forgotten.

Now, envision the darkness of a cramped, one-room home at dusk. Outside, the sun has sunk below the horizon, leaving the world cloaked in utter blackness. Inside, a woman named Miriam lights a single oil lamp. The flame flickers but soon casts a warm glow, illuminating every shadowy corner. In that tiny space, the light feels almost sacred, a beacon of hope against the oppressive darkness. “A city on a hill cannot be hidden,” Jesus said. Miriam doesn’t hide her lamp under a basket; she places it on the windowsill, allowing its light to spill out into the night, guiding wanderers home. “Let your light shine before others,” Jesus urged, reminding us that our good deeds aren’t for our own glory but to draw others to the Father. So, like Eli’s salt and Miriam’s lamp, are we preserving and illuminating the world around us?