John Stott was the first one to help me see the tension in Jesus’ teaching on salt and light. They are pictures for how his disciples are to live in society. Salt pulls them in, keeping them involved. Light holds them back, keeping them distinctive. Being light responds to ‘the danger of worldliness’, while being salt responds to ‘the danger of unworldliness’.

I’ve been listening for this tension ever since. It is like a song that keeps being remixed by new artists—starting with Peter (1 Peter 2.11-12), who was present for the original recording during the Sermon on the Mount.

It is a little nerdy, but I collect these remixed songs. So, come with me. Let’s listen to a chorus of witnesses, with salty sounds underlined and lighty sounds italicized.

A chorus of witnesses: ancient

The earliest one is the longest one—and the best one. The Epistle to Diognetus, in which an unbeliever (Diognetus) has the Christian community described to him, was written in the 2nd century.

“Christians are not distinguished from the rest of humanity by either country, language, or custom.  For nowhere do they live in cities of their own, nor do they speak some unusual dialect, nor do they practice an eccentric lifestyle … But while they live in both Greek and barbarian cities and follow the local customs in dress, food and other aspects of life, at the same time they demonstrate the remarkable and admittedly unusual character of their own citizenship.

They live in their own countries, but only as aliens; they participate in everything as citizens, and endure everything as foreigners. Every foreign country is their fatherland, and every fatherland is foreign. The marry like everyone else and have children; but they do not expose their offspring [ie ‘infant abandonment’].  They share their food but not their wives. They are “in the flesh”, but do not live “according to the flesh”. They live on earth, but their citizenship is in heaven. They obey the established laws; indeed, in their private lives they transcend the laws. They love everyone, but by everyone they are persecuted … When they do good, they are punished as evildoers; when they are punished, they rejoice as though brought to life.  By the Jews they are assaulted as foreigners, and by the Greeks they are persecuted; yet those who hate them are unable to give a reason for their hostility.

In a word, what the soul is to the body, Christians are to the world.  The soul is dispersed through all the members of the body, and Christians throughout the cities of the world.  The soul dwells in the body, but is not of the body; likewise Christians dwell in the world, but are not of the world … ”

This is a primary source. Valuable. Now here are a few secondary voices in the chorus, contemporary scholars reflecting on how those early Christian communities had such an impact in the Roman Empire—kinda like ‘white-anting’ it.

While Rodney Stark has written multiple books on the subject, an extract from an article, “Why Religious Movements Succeed or Fail”, says it so helpfully:

“A successful religious movement must retain a certain level of continuity with its cultural setting, and yet it must also maintain a medium level of tension with that setting as well … there has to be a clear difference between being an insider to the group and an outsider.”  (as quoted in Hurtado, 7)

In Destroyer of the Gods, Larry Hurtado explores the ‘early Christian distinctiveness in the Roman world’—

“Early Christianity ‘took to the streets’, generating a novel social project … (and) was a different, even distinctive, kind of religious movement in the cafeteria of religious options of the time” (181, 183).

“Fitting in and being different” (150)

In The Patient Ferment of the Early Church, Alan Kreider writes about ‘the improbable rise of Christianity in the Roman Empire’—

(When at their best), Christians sensed a dynamic interplay between indigenizing and being pilgrim, between affirmation and critique.  They lived in existential tension between being at home and being strangers … They lived lives that contained a ‘yes’ and a ‘no’.” (98).

While on holiday in January, I read through Stephen Presley’s Cultural Sanctification: Engaging the World like the Early Church. Published in 2024, I prefer the subtitle over the title! I grew a little weary of writing “S” (for salt) and “L” (for light) in the margins. They keep reverberating through these pages.

Here is a taste:

“At every turn, there is a simultaneous call to be distinct and holy and an assumption that their lives are embedded with their neighbours.  While there are dangers on all sides, the church learned the art of walking this tight rope, balancing between holiness and activism” (44).

“Like two threads, catechesis and liturgy were intertwined to fashion a distinct Christian identity …. Thus was the church distinguished while organically intermingling with the surrounding world”(53-54).

The many who “embedded themselves within a pagan culture and seasoned it with their lives”(163).

NB: The phrase, ‘cultural sanctification’ is taken from Vince Bantu, in A Multitude of All Peoples.

A chorus of witnesses: modern

For those with ears to hear—and the ability to discern a remix—there are so many voices singing this song today. Let’s start with John Stott, or, more accurately, this later reflection on his writings by Tim Chester.

“We are called from the world for the world. We come out of the world to worship and then are sent back into the world in mission. We must be distinct from the world yet, at the same time, embedded in it. If we lose our holiness, we will have nothing to say — we will just echo the world. If we lose what Stott calls our worldliness, we shall have no one to say it to — the church will become an echo chamber.” (Chester, Stott on the Christian Life, 162).

His name may not be as well known as John Stott, but the quiet influence of Andrew Walls, a mission historian, has been immense. And two words used by Kreider are identified with him: indigenize and pilgrim. They pop-up all over the place. Here is how Vince Bantu explains them:

The gospel simultaneously indigenizes itself to the local culture and reminds the church that she is a pilgrim in this world and must be out of step with culture where it conflicts with the call of following Jesus … the two-sided process of the gospel both embracing and transforming culture (229).

In Living at the Crossroads, Michael Goheen and Craig Bartholomew lay out a vision for ‘cultural engagement’—and it starts with a “critical participation” (132). 

Lesslie Newbigin writes of the twin dangers of irrelevance and syncretism—the former suggesting too much light, while the latter suggesting too much salt!

Some claim that the atheist Christopher Hitchens, came close to faith in his final days. “Real believers surprised him” (82). Different ones play their part as they draw near to him with care and friendship (kinda salty)—and yet remained true to their convictions (kinda lighty).

“They were eager to debate him and defend their beliefs, yes, but they were also inviting him out to dinner or a drink afterwards. That’s what he really came to admire: the combination of deep and sincere convictions, which doctrine-waffling Liberal Christians had set aside, and a willingness to defend those convictions in polite debate wrapped up in (warm hospitality)” (88).

In To Change the World, James Davison Hunter wades into the context of the church in the USA. He considers the various options for cultural engagement in play: (a) “defensive against the world”; (b) “relevance to the world“, with its salty sound; (c) “purity from the world“, with its lighty sound; or (d) a fourth way, a “quietly radical” (272) alternative:

“a faithful presence within (the world)”

—faithful to God, yet present in the world, with salty and lighty sounds both present.

David Kinnaman has been at the heart of the Barna Project exploring why young adults have been leaving the church. In unChristian he describes one of the reasons to be that the church is ‘too sheltered’. And, after referencing Jesus—‘we are to be in the world but not of the world’ (Jn 17.14-18, itself catching the salt-light tension)—he writes,  

“As Christians, we should pursue purity and proximity—living in a way that honors God, but doing so in a way that can influence outsiders” (133).

For me, one of the most provoking and satisfying books on mission over the past decade has come from the Dutch theologian, Stefan Paas. It was just a sentence, in passing. So easy to miss—and yet so memorable:

(We need) churches that combine an unembarrassed commitment to a Christian identity with an open-ended presence in the world (Pilgrims and Priests, 154).

Then, there is Raewyn. She was asked last year, “What does it mean to live as a Christian in the world?”.

We must be brave.  There are more people interested in reading the Bible than there are Christians prepared to ask to read with them.  I run a playgroup at my house for young mums in our community.  I asked who would be interested in reading the Bible for 10 minutes at the end of our playgroup, and they all stayed.  It was nerve-wracking to get the courage to ask, but they all said yes.

Salt? ‘Running a playgroup in my house for young mums in the community!’

Light? ‘Reading the Bible for 10 minutes at the end’.

A final thought

This song shows how much we need each other in the global church…

I am thinking of my recent decade in South Asia, teaching modules at a graduate school and, especially, training graduates and staff in a ministry to tertiary students. There was a lighty instinct at work! Drawing a line in the sand. Maximising the differences with the world. Cultural resistance. These are the notes that were heard. For example, even though Bollywood is a veritable paradise for cultural exegesis, I never ever felt the freedom to go there without causing offence.

And now back home? Ohh, we are so salty, by instinct. “What, there is a line in the sand? Where?” Minimising the differences with the world. Cultural relevance. These are the notes that are heard. For a generation, we’ve tended to put all our missional eggs into this basket. Maybe it has been a mistake? Maybe we’ve been backing the wrong horse? Maybe we have been content with a melody, when what is really needed is a harmony?

Back to that holiday in Queenstown. As I was reading early one morning, this view greeted me.

I lingered with it, I loved it, and then put my head back into my book.

Barely five minutes later, I lifted my head to be greeted with this view.

Hmmm.

“What might that difference illustrate?”, I asked my grandchildren.

What about you?

nice chatting

Paul