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The Sermon on the Mount contains two statements that appear contradictory to a casual eye. In Matthew 5.16 Jesus says, “In the same way, let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven.” But in 6.1 he says, “Be careful not to do your ‘acts of righteousness’ before men, to be seen by them. If you do, you will have no reward from your Father in heaven.”

 

These statements appear contradictory because of similar concepts and vocabulary. For example, “Good deeds” and “acts of righteousness” (literally, “righteousness”) describe basically the same behaviors. In both statements, the primary issue is what is seen, and by whom. And notice the repetition of phrases in both statements: “before men” and “your Father in heaven.”

 

But the contradiction is only apparent. In Matthew 5.16, Jesus commands his disciples to practice good deeds visibly so that, seeing them, others may worship God. In 6.11, however, he commands his disciples to practice their acts of righteousness secretly lest, seeing them, others worship the actor. Truly good works direct attention to God. False acts of righteousness draw attention to us.

 

There are two dangers in drawing attention to our own acts of righteousness. First, we become addicted to human adulation. We like a constant stream of “Attaboys!” and friendly pats on the back, after all, but such praise may condition us to focus on our emotional state rather than our spiritual and moral authenticity. We become tempted to do what is right because it makes us feel good, not because it is the good thing to do. We do good “to be seen by them” rather than to be rewarded by God.

 

Second, we become idols. Others begin to say, “What a good person George P. Wood is,” rather than, “What a good God George P. Wood serves.” Our righteousness becomes a substitute for God’s. Unfortunately, our righteousness is unstable and imperfect. Our sins inevitably topple us from the pedestal others have placed us on. When that happens, what remains of their faith? Our failures block their view of God, like the moon on occasion eclipses the sun.

 

Christians are commanded to shine light, however, not cast shadows. We do that in several ways. First, we do good deeds. Many Christians have a deformed theology of salvation at this point. To use theological jargon, they are so concerned with justification that they forget sanctification. According to Ephesians 2.8–10, however, salvation is by grace through faith for works.

 

Second, we do good deeds for the right reasons. Personally, we practice good deeds because it is the right thing to do. Such behavior is the kind of action God rewards. But interpersonally, we practice good deeds because they draw others to Christ. It seems to me that the world needs less “talk” and more “walk” from us Christians. If we have not ourselves changed in response to the gospel, how can we reasonably expect others to do so?

One time, at elementary school science camp, I got scared in the dark.

 

To be more precise, my camp counselor scared the bejeebers out of me and my cabin mates. How? He took us on a nighttime hike into the forest. Once we were sufficiently far from the ambient light of the campgrounds, he instructed us to sit in a circle, turn off our flashlights, and be very quiet. Then he recited “The Telltale Heart” by Edgar Allan Poe. When he finished his recitation, he blew a whistle that sounded like a thousand fingernails scraping across a blackboard. (He told us it was a hunter’s call that imitated the distress sounds of a rabbit.) Sitting quietly in the dark, we began to hear sniffing and prowling sounds among the trees around us. At that point, the counselor allowed us to turn on our flashlights, and we hightailed it back to camp.

 

The hike wouldn’t have been scary at all if we’d taken it during daylight. There is something about darkness that sharpens our hearing, quickens our pulses, and magnifies our fears. Light, however, quickly dispels those very same fears. It shows us where we are, what is around us, and how to make our way home safely.

 

In Matthew 5.14–16, Jesus says to his disciples: “You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven.”

 

These three verses consist of a metaphor, two obvious illustrations, and a concluding exhortation. The metaphor is that Christians are “the light of the world.” The obvious illustrations are the city on a hill and lamp on a stand, which cannot hide their light. And the concluding exhortation is to practice good deeds, for they illuminate the pathway to our heavenly Father’s home.

 

When you think about Jesus’ words in their original context, they are quite astounding. He did not say, “you are a light of the world,” with the implication that there are many other lights. He said, “you are the light of the world.” And he did not say this to rich, powerful, well-educated people. He said it to poor, weak, uneducated farmers, fishers, and manual laborers. Jesus expected great things of his disciples, however poor and significant their outward circumstances might be. A person’s character, you see, is never limited by his circumstances. You can perform good deeds if you are poor and insignificant, and you can perform evil deeds if you are wealthy and well connected. Personal choices, not personal circumstances, determine character.

 

So, what choices are we making as Christians in America? Are we doing good deeds for God’s glory and our neighbor’s benefit? Or are we hiding our lamp under a bowl?

In Matthew 5.13, Jesus tells his disciples, “You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything except to be thrown out and trampled by men.” What does it mean to be “the salt of the earth”? And how can we avoid losing our “saltiness”?

 

In the ancient world, salt had two primary functions: to preserve and flavor food. Unlike America today, the ancient world had no reliable forms of refrigeration. So, if you wanted to keep meat from spoiling quickly, you rubbed it with coarse salt. Properly salted meat could last for an extended period of time. But salt enhanced the taste of food too. Imagine eating eggs, potatoes, and vegetables without salt. The taste is bland. Salt makes the food we eat more flavorful.

 

Now, take those two primary functions and apply them metaphorically to the church. The church—the community of Christ’s disciples—preserves and flavors the world. How so?

 

The church preserves whatever good qualities the world has. Paul offers Christians this commandment in Philippians 4.8: “Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.” By embodying these virtues (honesty, nobility, righteousness, etc.), the church preserves good values in a society that all too often seems hell-bent on destroying them.

 

But it does more than preserve those values. It promotes them. Can you imagine, for example, how American society would be different if Paul’s list of virtues shaped television programming? If the news programs reported the truth, not just the partisan opinions of the Left or the Right. If talk shows invited guests who debated their differences civilly, rather than shouting noisily at each other across the table. If primetime sitcoms and dramas (and commercials) didn’t cause parents to wince when their young children were in the room. American society would be very different than what it is today if Paul’s list of virtues guided television programming. And television programming is just one example of the difference good values would make, if they were promoted.

 

Those last four words are the key: “if they were promoted.” Jesus tells his disciples that they “are” the salt of the earth. But all too often, there is little or no difference between the attitudes and behaviors of American Christians and the public at large. Over 75% of Americans identify themselves as Christians, according to the American Religious Identification Survey. Unfortunately, the cultural effect those Christians should be having is not apparent. Why? Most likely because they aren’t embodying Christian virtues as they should.

 

That’s why, it seems to me, Jesus included the warning about losing saltiness. He recognized that many people talk religiously without walking righteously. What Jesus desires is a religious commitment that leads to right action. My prayer for you and me is that our lives be truly salty. I don’t want to die with the regret that I should have been what I wasn’t.

We have come to the end of our study of the Beatitudes (Matt. 5.3–12). Before moving on to the rest of the Sermon on the Mount, however, we should pause and ask a simple question: Who is Jesus?

 

The question of Jesus’ identity is a persistent one in the Gospel accounts of Jesus’ life. It finds an explicit answer in Matthew 16.13–20, where Jesus asks his disciples, “Who do people say that the Son of Man is?” Then Jesus makes the question personal: “But who do you say that I am?” To which Peter replies: “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.” Oddly, Jesus “strictly charged the disciples to tell no one that he was the Christ.” Why the silence? Probably because the people of Jesus’ day had misconceptions of what a Christ (or Messiah) should be, and Jesus did not want to be the prisoner of their erroneous ideas and expectations.

 

And yet, Jesus’ status as the Messiah was an open secret among the crowds. His manner of life, miracle-working power, and authoritative teaching all pointed him out as Israel’s long-expected king and the world’s desperately needed Savior. Matthew concludes his rendition of the sermon with this remark: “the crowds were astonished at his teaching, for he was teaching them as one who had authority, and not as their scribes” (7.28, 29).

 

We are so accustomed to the Beatitudes’ beautiful melody line that we fail to hear the strong note of authority running harmoniously beneath it. To hear that second line, ask yourself a question: Who does Jesus think he is to announce blessings on such a disconsolate group of people? He promises God’s kingdom to the poor in spirit, comfort to the mourning, an earthly inheritance to the meek, righteousness for the hungry, mercy to the merciful, the beatific vision to the pure of heart, divine sonship to peacemakers, and an eternal reward for the persecuted.

 

And not just any persecuted. Jesus equates those persecuted “on my account” with the Old Testament prophets who spoke for God to the children of Israel. An Old Testament prophet would never have blessed people persecuted “on my account.” On God’s account, yes, but not his own. That would have been presumptuous. Either Jesus is making promises he cannot keep, or he has the authority to offer heaven to those of us on earth.

 

The Beatitudes, in other words, do not show Jesus as an exemplary moral teacher, though he is. Rather, they show him as something more, more than even a prophet. He is “the Christ, the Son of the living God.”

 

One more thing: Have you ever noticed that the beatitudes perfectly describe Jesus? He is poor in spirit, mournful, meek, hungry for righteousness, merciful, pure in heart, a peacemaker, and persecuted—crucified, even— for righteousness’ sake. Doesn’t that imply that he has entered God’s kingdom and experienced all the blessedness it contains?

 

We will do so as well if we follow in his stead.

 

The eyes of the world are on Ukraine.

 

On November 21, 2004 Prime Minister Viktor Yanukovich squared off against opposition leader Viktor Yuschenko in a runoff election for the Ukrainian presidency. Yanukovich won, but Yuschenko’s supporters and international observers argued that the election was rife with ballot fraud and voter intimidation. Ukraine’s Supreme Court agreed and ordered a reprise of the election on December 26.

 

Attempting to steal an election was not the only crime committed. Prior to the election, someone—no doubt a Yanukovich partisan, possibly a member of Ukraine’s security establishment—poisoned Yuschenko with dioxin, a lethally toxic substance. The assassin failed to kill his mark, but Yuschenko carries the scars of the poisoning on his skin to this day. And he is undergoing therapy to repair the damage the poison did to his internal organs.

 

I mention all this because it raises an interesting question: What cause do you hold so dear to your heart that you would willingly suffer—and even die—for it? The world now knows what stuff a courageous man like Viktor Yuschenko is made of. What are you made of?

 

In Matthew 5.10, Jesus says, “Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” Each element of this beatitude needs to be unpacked, beginning with the word “blessed.” That word connotes the external conditions favorable to producing the internal emotion of happiness.

 

According to the eighth beatitude, the external condition that makes a person internally happy is not persecution for righteousness, but entrance into the kingdom of heaven. The kingdom of heaven is God’s authority and power to rule over his creation. Whenever he exercises that authority and power, he creates conditions of justice and peace. However, at the present time, God exercises his kingdom not by imposition, but by invitation. He invites people to enter a relationship with him voluntarily; he does not impose the relationship by force. Why? He does not want “anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance” (2 Pet. 3.9).

 

Unfortunately, at the present time, many people choose not to enter into a relationship with God. If God’s kingdom is characterized by justice and peace, then life outside God’s kingdom is characterized by injustice and war. Within such an environment, those who desire “hunger and thirst for righteousness” may find themselves being persecuted by those who don’t.

 

This divine righteousness, by the way, is not just any “good cause.” Instead, it is “God’s cause.” And it is inseparable from life in Christ. In Matthew 5.11, Jesus expands the meaning of persecution “because of righteousness” to persecution “because of me.” God’s righteousness, you see, is inseparable from life in Christ. That is why, I think, Jesus concludes the Sermon on the Mount by arguing that only his teaching provides a bulwark against the storms of life (Matt. 7.24–27).

 

So, what cause are you willing to die for—or most importantly, to live for? The eyes of heaven are upon you.