If the Salt Loses Its Saltiness
Willing To Flowby Liam Corley
My Uncle Jou thinks I’m a fool. He also likes me, which is fortunate, since our association is entirely voluntary, “uncle” being an affectionate and honorific title stemming from his superior age and our long friendship. Still, he thinks I’m a fool because of my faith in Jesus. "People should do the right thing because of their own convictions and not because they are afraid of God or feel guilty!"
Jou is not a Christian. I think of him more as a dyed-in-the-wool, American conservative Confucian. Jou is also one of my oldest and most generous friends. Still, his brittle criticisms are sometimes quite painful, and, more than once, I’ve wanted to pull away.
My favorite cohorts for literary debates are Dan, Mack, and the whole E.G.G. (English Graduate Group) gang. We hang out at a local cafe where I add to the general atmosphere of hot air and idealism. At times, we make mini-breakthroughs, like establishing the value and meaning of literature apart from its physical state—not far from a similar claim about humanity. But when their observations begin to focus more on the women in the cafe than the issue at hand, I ask myself: Why am I here?“
In you shall all the nations be blessed” Genesis 22:18. I like evangelism that has neat starting and ending points. When I’m looked down on for my faith or made uncomfortable by other people’s behavior, I begin looking for the spiritual back door where I make a verbal presentation of the gospel and a hasty exit. I don’t like wondering how much longer I have to wait before these people finally get it together, get off my back, and become Christians. At times, I even frame heretical prayers in this fashion. After all, what does God want from me in these friendships? Isn’t a clear presentation of the gospel good enough?
“But I say to you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be children of your Father in heaven; for he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous” Matt. 5:44-45.
I used to make a clear distinction between Christian and non-Christian friends. Christian friends reminded me who I was and encouraged me to follow Christ. Non-Christian friends were a tiring responsibility and an obligation for defensive apologetics. Non-Christian friends might come and go, but Christian friends were an eternal commitment. Not surprisingly, at least the first part of this formula came true. Two years out of school, I found myself working at a Christian non-profit agency with Uncle Jou as my only “real” non-Christian friend. Although I was surrounded by affirming, supportive Christian friends, I felt spiritually sick, so dead inside that my spiritual creeds began to ring hollow even to myself.
“Salt is good; but—if the salt has lost its saltiness—how will you season it?” Mark 9:50a.
I realized that year just how bland my life had become. When the number of my non-Christian friends withered, I became salt that had lost its saltiness. What preserving or enlivening work was I doing in the world? Is it any surprise that I soon began to lose a sense of distinct identity?
Salt is good; God had changed my life and lived in me, an active, transformative agent ready to flow through me to the world. What remained was a question: Was I willing to flow?
Megan lives in my dorm. One night, she asked me in tears: Why do people forget to be kind? Three hours later (and I’ve forgotten exactly how we got there), we were laughing together over Jesus’ clever banter with the Samaritan woman at the well. In the course of the evening, I presented a portrait of God’s love for the world and his concern for justice. I also explained the problem of human sin and how I’d seen Jesus address it.
Although Megan seemed to make a real connection with God that night, she did not immediately become a Christian. Three months later, she’s still not a Christian. We often talk about things going on in the dorm—school, family, life. She appears to be in no rush to turn to God, but she isn’t running away either. And so I pray. I pray for Megan, Uncle Jou, Dan and any others that God entrusts to me.
Eight years is a long time to pray. Some nights I think too long. But then the sun rises and tomorrow becomes today.
Unless otherwise noted, all materials on the urbana.org web site are Copyright InterVarsity Christian Fellowship / USA. All rights reserved.
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