Isaiah 58:1-9a, (9b-12); Psalm 112:1-10; I Corinthians 2:1-16; Matthew 5:13-20
The Rev. Candice B. Frazer
Whenever Steve and I return home from a trip—be it down to the beach or over to Selma or coming back from Birmingham—and it is after dark, we always make a point to turn down Lawrence St. off the interstate so that we can drive by Ascension. It’s not simply that we want to see the church—that is part of it—but the Tower when it is lit up in the evening stands as a beacon of hope in an otherwise dark and broken world.
Jesus tells us the “you are the salt of the earth and the light of the world.” That “you” might be better translated as “y’all” because the Greek that is translated is in the second person, plural. Jesus has gathered his flock—a bunch of individuals—and is now teaching them what he believes about how they-as a community–are to be in the world. We heard him preach about what it truly means to be blessed, and he turned our world upside down. He follows that up with salt and light imagery that is not about each of us as an individual but how we are to be collectively as a group, as a congregation, as the people of the Episcopal Church of the Ascension.
Last fall, our tour guide in Israel, Edon, pointed out an archaeological excavation situated on top of a little hill in the surrounding countryside around the Sea of Galilee. Edon is an archeologist as well as a guide and he was part of the team that is excavating the site. He asked us if we were familiar with the scripture in Matthew, “A city built on a hill cannot be hid.” He reminded us that the city is not ever named in the scriptures, but he believed he had found it. We didn’t get to go to the excavation site, but Edon described the city as a mud brick city whose walls had been painted white. Whoever built it, obviously wanted it to stand out in the Judean countryside whose landscape is filled with shades of brown, a little green, and the grey of mountains that encircle it. Needless to say, a whitewashed city atop a hill in a geographical bowl with a rather blasé landscape is going to stand out. A perfect example to point too when sitting across the sea on a different hill as the white of the walls would have gleamed in the sunlight, reflecting its rays, at any time of day.
The ability of a city to stand out is typically tied to her power and prestige. When I think of well-lit cities that stand out int he world, my immediate go-tos are New York, Vegas, Tokyo, Paris and the like. Cities that have cultivated light so that they shine forth day and night. It’s almost as if they are defined by their light, as if their identity might be diminished without the capacity of glowing neon lights. They have tied their desire for life to light but under false pretenses. The light they shine forth in the world, is not the light of salvation—instead it illumines the path of darkness.
As Edon continued to share the discoveries they were beginning to make at the dig site, it became increasingly obvious why this city had laid to ruin and been covered up by the shifting of land and time—it was a Roman city. No Judean in Galilee was prestigious enough much less wealthy enough to build such a city and paint it white. The city on the hill that cannot be hid is not meant to be hid—it is meant to be an image of the power and prestige of Rome and a subtle but intentional threat that Rome was ever-present. A big brother who is watching you and does not have to hide his presence; instead using his presence to maintain order through fear.
The city built on the hill example that Jesus uses is to remind his disciples of the threats that exist all around them—and how important it is that they be the light of the world. Jesus is not pointing out the city because it is a positive example of how to be in the world, he is pointing out the folly of trusting in the world’s light to find life. The world’s light illumines the path of darkness—Jesus’s disciples are to illumine the path of Christ.
The bright lights of a big city are so flashy. They are made to distract us from the realities of poverty, filth, homelessness, mental illness, abuse of power, brokenness. They only light up the top layer of the world, fading into nothingness as we look deeper. Their glow—though exciting in the moment and stimulating to the eye—cannot be looked upon for too long or it becomes damaging. That is not the light that gives life. It is the path of pain and suffering that we so desperately try to avoid—even if it is not our own—because it makes us feel uncomfortable and powerless.
That is the trouble with the world’s lights; we think they are there to make us feel better, safer, more comfortable in the world. But in truth, they simply hide the pain of life that we must all experience. When Jesus differentiates his disciples as the light of the world versus the Roman city on the hill that can’t be hidden; He is differentiating the power of empire from the truth of humility and love. He is pointing out the pain and dangers and threat of a world in which a young black man, 100 yards from his mother’s home is beaten to death by the power and authority of this world. He is reminding us that when we refuse to see the dignity of every human being, we are refusing to see the light and life that God has created. He is reminding us that when we think the only way we can ensure our safety is through violent and forceful measures, we are no longer striving for justice and peace. He is reminding us that when we don’t speak out against the evil powers of this world, we allow Satan to blow our light out.
We will baptize Crawford Sellers this morning and in so doing, will renew our covenant with God and one another. In that covenant we will make promises about how we live in this world. They are the promises of those who are willing to be light bearers. They are the promises to worship together, to resist evil, to spread Good News, to see Christ in one another—especially the people we don’t like and disagree with, and to respect that every human being—regardless of color or gender or sexual identity or immigration status—is made by God, loved by God, worthy of God. Those promises are not to be taken lightly or unadvisedly. They are the promises which make us the salt of the earth and the light of the world, they are the promises of the righteous.
When you tell someone you go to Ascension, and I hope you do, your actions and words are the hope and encouragement of the light and life God gives to his people. We are to shine in the hearts and lives of all people as brightly as our tower in the dark of night.