Luke 14:34

Salt is good, but if salt has lost its taste, how shall its saltiness be restored? It is of no use either for the soil or for the manure pile. It is thrown away. He who has ears to hear, let him hear. (Luke 14:34–35)

Salt is only good for what it's poured into—and so are we.

Jesus Speaking to a Mixed Crowd

Jesus has been speaking to a crowd of all kinds of people—His followers, Pharisees, tax collectors, and sinners. Jesus attracted all kinds, and they all hung around Him. Some were happy, some upset, some sad, some sick—a whole mixed group, probably a lot like we have here today. So we'll take it as though Jesus is speaking right to us.

We also know from Matthew 5:13 that we, the followers of Jesus, are called the salt of the earth. What does it mean to be salt of the earth? There have been many interpretations of this over the years, but we're going to look strictly at what the text says.

What Is Salt?

The first word of verse 34 is "salt," so I started looking up what salt is. Salt is essential for human life, and saltiness is one of the basic human tastes. It is one of the oldest and most ubiquitous food seasonings, and salting is an important method of food preservation. Salt was prized by the ancient Hebrews, Greeks, Romans, Byzantines, Hittites, and Egyptians. It became an important article of trade, transported across the Mediterranean, along specially built salt roads, and across the Sahara in camel caravans. The scarcity and universal need for salt has led nations to war over it and to use it to raise tax revenues. Of the roughly 200 million tons produced globally each year, only 6% is used for human consumption.

In these two verses we see three separate uses for salt. The first is taste—an obvious one. An article in The Guardian describes how experts use salt. Ferran Adrià declared that salt is the only product that changes cuisine, because sodium chloride not only adds saltiness, which humans innately adore because we need it to live, but also skews the overall flavor profile to a positive effect. It makes food sing by suppressing bitterness, enhancing sweet and savory, and turning up the volume on aromas.

Paul Breslin of Rutgers gives the example of a grapefruit. "When I add salt to it," he says, "I suppress some of the negative notes like the bitter taste. By knocking the bitter down, the sweetness or other pleasant tastes such as savory are released from their bitter shackles." So not only is the bitterness turned down, the sweetness is turned up. Is that not a fantastic description of the role we're called to play in the lives of those around us—to turn down bitterness and turn up sweet and savory for those we come into contact with? God speaking through The Guardian—what a day.

Salt for the Soil and the Manure Pile

The second use is for the soil. I had never thought of putting salt in the ground as useful, but salt helps plants absorb nutrients they otherwise couldn't through the soil. Salt has been used as a fertilizer for thousands of years, all over the world except England, where in 1622 a heavy tax raised the price of agricultural salt forty times over, so they pretty much stopped. I was flabbergasted by the idea that salt frees up plants to absorb more from the soil.

The third use is manure. This one really threw me. I dug back into books from the 1840s and earlier, because with modern fertilizers we've lost much of what we used to know. What they found is that if you use salt and manure together, you can use half the amount of manure in a garden or field and produce just as much plant life.

What This Means for Us

That's great if we were farmers, but most of us aren't. So what does it actually mean? With taste, our presence should make bitter things better and unbearable things bearable. We should make nearly every interaction better because we're in it. We see this in Galatians 6:2: "Bear each other's burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ." And in Hebrews 13:16: "Do not forget to do good and share with others, for with such sacrifices God is pleased." And Proverbs 12:25: "Anxiety in a man's heart weighs him down, but a good word makes him glad."

With the soil, we help people grow when they normally couldn't, bringing possibilities they cannot find anywhere else. We see this in Acts 8, where the Ethiopian eunuch is reading Isaiah and can't understand it. Philip runs to him and asks, "Do you understand what you are reading?" The eunuch replies, "How can I, unless someone guides me?" He couldn't absorb it until Philip showed up—salt in the soil.

With the manure, we make life's stinky situations better for people, helping them function where things are harmful or supremely distasteful. James 1:27 says, "Religion that is pure and undefiled before God the Father is this: to visit orphans and widows in their affliction, and to keep oneself unstained from the world." We can be there to make a miserable situation better.

Salt Is Useless in the Shaker

Notice we can lose our saltiness. We can still appear to be salt yet have none of its qualities. We can be tasteless, inhibit growth, even ruin manure—that's significantly bad. So how do we know if we're still salty? None of salt's uses are for the benefit of the salt itself. It's entirely others-focused. Are we active in the lives of others? Are we seeking to help people grow and improve?

That brings us to point number one: salt is useless in the shaker. We're only useful if we're spread out. Too much salt in one place is not just unpleasant—it can be toxic. If you've ever gone to salt a meal and some joker unscrewed the cap so the whole shaker empties out, you know. Years ago, when you conquered an enemy, you would over-salt his fields so nothing would grow for years. We're not meant to sit in a jar and wait. We're meant to be spread around and active, or we're only good to be thrown away.

The Pharisees Grumble

This all ties together. Look at the very next verse, Luke 15:1: "Now the tax collectors and sinners were all drawing near to hear him. And the Pharisees and the scribes grumbled, saying, 'This man receives sinners and eats with them.'"

The complaint of the religious folks is that Jesus receives sinners—He sits with them, eats with them, spends time with them. These are not people the Pharisees want to be seen with, and they're saying Jesus shouldn't either. Notice the free way they communicate this, with no subtlety or shame, loud enough that Jesus can clearly hear it. Their concern is that peers and friends might think that being around such people makes you like them. It's a selfish concern, based on a selfish desire to be seen as holier than others.

We can fall into this. We want approval and acceptance. The problem comes when we're more worried about what people think than what God thinks. That brings us to point number two: people tend to think that value is tied to performance. The Pharisees have a high opinion of their performance and assume it makes them more valuable to God. "Because I do more, I must be better." Jesus didn't suffer from this. He just loved people, and those farthest from God were drawn to Him because He loved them—and they were just as valuable to Him as those serving in the temple.

The Lost Sheep

So Jesus corrects them with a story about sheep, removing their pride from the equation. Sheep were a common sign of wealth, making it less about reputation and more about value.

So he told them this parable: "What man of you, having a hundred sheep, if he has lost one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the open country, and go after the one that is lost, until he finds it? And when he has found it, he lays it on his shoulders, rejoicing... there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance." (Luke 15:3–7)

You count your hundred sheep and find ninety-nine—one percent of your total wealth has vanished. If you make $50,000 a year, that's a $500 sheep. How many of us would go looking for $500? I would. So the shepherd leaves the ninety-nine, who frankly are more well-behaved and pleasant, to find that lost one. Think of the joy of finding a twenty in an old jacket pocket; now make it five hundred or a thousand dollars. He's overjoyed, and he calls his friends and neighbors to celebrate. When we're happy, we naturally want to share it.

On my dad's side of the family, everyone is a ridiculous practical joker. My cousin Randy once bought an April 1st newspaper, kept it pristine for a year, then bought a lotto ticket matching the numbers in that paper. He showed his mom the ticket and the paper—"Mom, look!" She got on the phone, burning up the lines: "Randy won ten million dollars!" Finally he says, "Hey Mom, what's the date on that paper?" Then she had to call everybody back. The joy of finding something like that is good—that's the same way God looks at it. Fortunately, God doesn't joke that way.

Notice the lost sheep didn't make the shepherd's life easy; it made it harder. But the sheep had value, so he put in the effort. How absurd it would be to hear the good sheep grumbling like the Pharisees. The Pharisees thought they were superior sheep of greater value, not realizing the value is set by the shepherd and the cost he's willing to pay—not by the sheep. The joy is in finding what was lost, not in the constant presence of the righteous "who need no repentance," which is the funniest statement in the whole thing, because the Pharisees have fallen short and need repentance too—they just don't recognize it.

The Lost Coin

Rather than let them off the hook, Jesus raises the value of the lost thing.

"Or what woman, having ten silver coins, if she loses one coin, does not light a lamp and sweep the house and seek diligently until she finds it?... there is joy before the angels of God over one sinner who repents." (Luke 15:8–10)

This coin is a full ten percent of her total wealth—$5,000 in our example. Imagine the distress of losing five grand somewhere in your house. That's It's a Wonderful Life sick, like George Bailey losing the bank deposit. I about lost my mind over a $25 Amazon gift card once, tearing the whole place apart. Picture this woman sweeping, shaking out laundry, looking under couches—searching diligently.

Imagine if I told you a $5 Starbucks gift card was hidden under one of the chairs in this sanctuary—because there is. Are we willing to look for it? At first service nobody wanted to look, and they didn't find it until the very end. That tiny reward brought real joy. That's a small picture of the joy of the Father as He searches for what's lost.

The Lost Son

Then Jesus says there was a man who had two sons. The value has now jumped astronomically—from a sheep, to a silver coin, to a son. How do you put a price on a son or daughter?

"There was a man who had two sons. And the younger of them said to his father, 'Father, give me the share of property that is coming to me.'... he squandered his property in reckless living... he hired himself out to one of the citizens of that country, who sent him into his fields to feed pigs." (Luke 15:11–16)

The son demands his inheritance now—already insulting, heartless, and cruel. The father gives it, and the son squanders it in the worst fashion, ending up as a swineherd longing for the pods the pigs ate. Remember Jesus' audience: scribes and Pharisees. At the mention of pigs—forbidden, unkosher—they're already recoiling. This kid is now filthy and defiled. Imagine the heart of the father who has no idea what his son is going through.

"But when he came to himself, he said, 'How many of my father's hired servants have more than enough bread, but I perish here with hunger! I will arise and go to my father, and I will say to him, "Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son. Treat me as one of your hired servants."'" (Luke 15:17–19)

Notice this is the son's perspective. He decides he'll beg forgiveness and be a slave. His value, in his mind, is found in his behavior and right living—because he hasn't been good enough, he's now worth less. His value is tied to his performance. That's how most human relationships work: perform well at your job, you get paid; act a certain way, you're accepted. But this is not how God sees us. God does not value us because we are good enough or check certain boxes. He loves us because He loves us.

Our Value Comes from Our Position

That's point three: our value comes from our position, not from our performance—our position as sons and daughters of God. Notice the prodigal never lost value in the eyes of the father.

"And he arose and came to his father. But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and felt compassion, and ran and embraced him and kissed him." (Luke 15:20)

The ever-watchful father sees his son from far off and is moved with compassion—the same heart as the shepherd looking for the sheep and the woman sweeping for the coin. The son makes his declaration of unworthiness, but the father doesn't even acknowledge it. He doesn't say, "Yeah, you're right, you're kind of a bummer."

"But the father said to his servants, 'Bring quickly the best robe, and put it on him, and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet. And bring the fattened calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate. For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found.'" (Luke 15:22–24)

His position didn't change in the father's eyes, even when his actions were insulting. The robe covers his shame; the ring and shoes erase the visible signs of poverty he had brought on himself. And because the father is celebrating, those who love the father celebrate. That's point four: if we love God, we will find joy in what He celebrates.

The Older Brother

Then the other son comes in from the fields.

"Now his older son was in the field... he heard music and dancing. And he called one of the servants and asked what these things meant. And he said to him, 'Your brother has come, and your father has killed the fattened calf, because he has received him back safe and sound.'" (Luke 15:25–27)

You can hear the excitement in the servant's voice. But the older son's reaction reveals his heart. He could have been glad, or relieved his father wouldn't worry anymore, or at least respectful enough to attend the party for his father's sake.

"But he was angry and refused to go in. His father came out and entreated him, but he answered his father, 'Look, these many years I have served you, and I never disobeyed your command, yet you never gave me a young goat... But when this son of yours came, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fattened calf for him!'" (Luke 15:28–30)

His heart is revealed. He sees the rejoicing as an insult and won't even enter. Do you see in the older son the same disregard for the father's wishes that was in the prodigal? The prodigal's disregard was overt; the older son's is quieter, but he still chooses his own ways over the father's. The prodigal ran away; the older son stayed home—but both were lost.

Notice the father comes out and searches for the older son too, just as he had for the prodigal, just as the woman did for the coin and the shepherd for the sheep. The same heart.

"Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. It was fitting to celebrate and be glad, for this your brother was dead, and is alive; he was lost, and is found." (Luke 15:31–32)

The older son believes he's worth more because he didn't do wrong things like his brother. But the father says, "Everything I had was yours. All you had to do was ask." He withheld nothing—not because of performance, but because the son is his son. The party isn't for the prodigal's performance; it's because what was lost has been found.

God Doesn't Keep Score

God doesn't play fantasy football with us. We don't get promoted from the bench for performing well, and we don't get dropped for performing poorly. Our position as children of God is what makes us important. This is a direct rebuke to the Pharisees, who watched Jesus eating with sinners and assigned value based on how those sinners acted. But sinners sin—that's our hallmark. They should act differently, but it doesn't change their value to the Father.

Mark 2:16–17 says the scribes and Pharisees asked, "Why does he eat with tax collectors and sinners?" And Jesus said, "Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. I came not to call the righteous, but sinners." What the Pharisees and the older brothers missed was that they were just as unrighteous as the prodigal and the sinners they looked down on. They both needed the same forgiveness. They kept score and congratulated themselves on being more godlike, while missing that God is the one searching for lost sheep, lost silver, and both lost sons. If they truly understood the God they claimed to serve, they would have been out looking for the lost—but they weren't.

Salt Worth Using

While we call one son the prodigal, both were lost. Neither had the heart of the father. In the end, the prodigal views the celebration with awe, but the older son and the Pharisees view it with disdain.

The danger for the church is that we want to be called salt, but salt is only worth having if we use it. In the shaker it has only potential, and if it stays too long it becomes a brick that isn't useful until it's crushed back down. We are called to be those the Father uses to make life more palatable for others—to help people grow, to make what's bitter sweeter. If we stay in a clump, we're toxic; salt in high quantities is deadly to life and destroys the ground. We're meant to be out in the world working with God on the plan of redemption.

The danger is becoming pharisaical as we start keeping score, sliding into the attitude that performance matters more than position. So when we see sinners, remember we're sinners too. When we call others to repentance, it should be from our knees as we repent. The moment we start looking down on the prodigal feeding the pigs, we'd better jump in and help him come home—even if it means others look down on us because we smell like manure. Because that is where salt is useful.

Closing Prayer

Jesus, as I struggled through this for the last week, Father, as I see myself so much like a Pharisee, I pray that You would break my heart for what breaks Yours. Help us not to be people who keep score, Father God, or confuse our value with our performance. Help us to be those who look for lost sheep and search for lost coins, and who are willing to work with both prodigals and Pharisees to draw them close to You. I just want to glorify You today, Jesus. Amen.