The ministry of salt requires folding ourselves into the lives or the institutions we want to see changed. Like Daniel, Nehemiah, or Esther, we redeem from the inside by in a sense “belonging” to the world. We maintain relationships with friends and family members; we participate in our neighborhoods, work culture, and social institutions. And just as a block of salt must be diminished to fulfill its purpose, we too will have to spend ourselves to be present to others and work for their good. 

There Israel encamped before the mountain, 3 while Moses went up to God. The Lord called to him out of the mountain, saying, “Thus you shall say to the house of Jacob, and tell the people of Israel: 4 ‘You yourselves have seen what I did to the Egyptians, and how I bore you on eagles’ wings and brought you to myself. 5 Now therefore, if you will indeed obey my voice and keep my covenant, you shall be my treasured possession among all peoples, for all the earth is mine; 6 and you shall be to me a kingdom of priests and a holy nation.’ (Exodus 19:3-6)
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Seeing the crowds, [Jesus] went up on the mountain, and when he sat down, his disciples came to him. 2 And he opened his mouth and taught them, saying: … 13 “You are the salt of the earth … 14 “You are the light of the world. (Matthew 5:1-2, 13-14)
Matthew frames the Sermon on the Mount as Jesus’ “Sinai moment” – where God’s new people meet the divine presence on a mountain to hear the terms of their new relationship with him.
Notice how Jesus describes the identity of his new people. Instead of the old covenant terms “kingdom of priests” and “holy nation,” Jesus uses the everyday metaphors of salt and light to define the identity of his new people.
I’d bet serious money that “light” appears in church and ministry names at least 10 times more frequently than “salt.” Light is easier to “see,” as it were. It sounds more glorious. Public proclamation, public demonstration of God’s grace and holiness, truth and beauty shining on a hill for all to see … we love the “ministry of light.” Let it shine.
But what is the “ministry of salt?” What is this other calling Jesus has for us?
The Mission: Preserve and Seal
We mainly use salt for flavoring now; but in antiquity, its chief use was to preserve against decay. In the ancient near east, salt was mined like coal and cut into small blocks for household use. The blocks contained a mixture of actual salt (halite, which we still use to de-ice our sidewalks but don’t eat) and other minerals. A block of salt would be rubbed into meat, grinding the halite inside, to stop the growth of bacteria. In a world without refrigeration, the preserving power of salt was miraculous.
The “ministry of salt,” then, is a world-preserving ministry. Ministers of salt work themselves into families, institutions, and communities, and fight back the corrupting effects of sin. That means fostering peace and reconciliation; it means training husbands, wives, fathers, and mothers to love their families well; it means giving ourselves to improve the lives of our neighbors and communities. As Matthew Loftus, who lives and writes about the ministry of salt (even if he doesn’t use the term), says:
Every community needs a phalanx of people who take minor leadership roles and simply care for their neighbours. They stand between the established leaders and help mediate what is good and worthwhile to the vulnerable while keeping predators from within and without in check. Without these folks to stand in the middle, though, more people can become vulnerable or predatory.
The ministry of salt has some huge public victories, like the end of gladiatorial slavery in Rome, the abolition of slavery in Britain, and the Civil Rights movement in the US. (The fact that there were many Christians opposing the last two items is its own sad story).
But, as Jesus said of a cup of cold water, the ministry of salt happens on smaller scales too. Just in my church, I’ve seen people help friends fight to keep their marriages alive; people give familial care for widows; people spend hours to tutor, mentor, and even take in children in critical home circumstances. Some of these feel like small victories, and some feel like fighting Galadriel’s “long defeat” against decay. They are all part of the ministry of salt.
Salt also has a sealing effect, which we can see in the Old Testament. It binds relationships.
You shall season all your grain offerings with salt. You shall not let the salt of the covenant with your God be missing from your grain offering; with all your offerings you shall offer salt. (Leviticus 2:13)
God’s covenant to provide food for the Aaronic priests (Numbers 18:19) and his covenant to keep the Davidic line (2 Chronicles 13:5) are both described as “covenants of salt.” In Ezra, those opposed to the rebuilding of the temple told Artaxerxes they were bound to him because “we eat the salt of the palace.” Perhaps because of salt’s preserving nature, and definitely due to its being precious in the day, sharing salt was a way of sealing oneself to another.
If Jesus’ followers are the salt, then, part of our mission is to “seal” our little corners of the world to God: not just to fight decay, but to consecrate.
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Written by Kyle E. Sims |
Friday, May 13, 2022
The process should look like this: after receiving the ministerial data forms, the pulpit committee needs to pray through the names, see which ministers seem to line up best with their congregation, rank them in order, and then start with the first name on the list and pursue it until there is a yes or a no. If it is a no, you go to the next name on the list. My plea to pulpit committees is to pursue one man at a time. Continue with one candidate until there is either a yes or a no. Trust the Lord to guide you to whom He is calling to be your pastor.

The Bachelorette is a reality TV show where one single woman is put in a situation where she interacts with a larger group of potential suitors. She goes on dates, has group activities, and whittles down the group of men to one man. It seems strange to find a potential husband by dating twenty men at one time.
However, this show’s process of finding a significant other is not unlike the way many pulpit committees seek to find a pastor. Often, pulpit committees will talk with several candidates at one time, even interviewing multiple candidates at one time. There is no hard rule against this practice, but there is some wisdom for not doing it this way.
First, by dealing with multiple candidates simultaneously, you run the risk of splitting the pulpit committee between two or more potential pastors. Who wants to go to a new call knowing that some on the pulpit committee did not want you? Often, the division on the pulpit committee will become known in the congregation. This information can cause unnecessary division and conflict.
Second, pulpit committees who treat the calling of their pastor like a company hiring an employee run the risk of using human wisdom over God’s calling. You compare the candidates and look at their skills and abilities. This process can lead a pulpit committee away from the first and primary question, “Who is God calling to be our pastor?”  The question then distorts to become “Who do we want to be our pastor?”
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Schaeffer understood that the modern spiritual crisis is an intellectual crisis, and that the intellectual crisis is a spiritual crisis. At the center of this crisis is a denial of God, and that denial of God produces an intellectual crisis that quickly translates into a cultural and moral catastrophe. The one central point that Schaeffer drove home was that the existence of the God of the Bible changes everything.

One of my personal eccentricities has to do with the way I remember books that have changed my life. I remember them chronologically and spatially. I remember where I was when I first read the book, and when I read it. I also write that information on the inside back cover of the book, just in case I need a prompt to memory.
When it comes to Francis Schaeffer’s book He Is There and He Is Not Silent, I need no reminder. It was 1976, I was 16 years old, and this was the first of Schaeffer’s books that I read. More accurately, tried to read. Even with my limited understanding of his argument, Schaeffer’s book changed my life.
I was too young to visit L’Abri, the hostel for young people that Francis and Edith Schaeffer founded in 1955, at its prime, but I read Schaeffer’s books at just the right time. I needed help, and in a hurry. I was a teenage Christian thrown into spiritual trouble by a succession of the awful educational, moral, and cultural experiments of the 1970s. I was in an intellectual crisis. I needed to know that God is real and that the Bible is trustworthy. I had a couple of atheist teachers who were undermining every theistic argument and I was surrounded by a moral revolution that directly contradicted the Bible. I needed help. My pastor and youth pastor offered help, but I needed a lot more.
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