We might consider that we are all ‘the salt of the earth’. It’s an important idea, and one that might help us to better sense our connection to ourselves, to each other, and to the all-that-is. Our Service today reflected on this idea, with help from Mary Oliver, Matthew, Mark and Paul. The words of the sermon are below, along with the Salt Communion we shared afterwards. If you are listening (a recording of the sermon and salt communion is above) you might want to have some salt nearby to participate.

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I’ve been on holiday. You know that, and I promise I’m not saying it just to rub it in. But I have been on holiday.

Following our own family tradition – started by us 20 years ago – each August we load up the car and head off to the Suffolk Coast – to Southwold – where we spend a week close to the sea. We are very fortunate to have the use of a beach hut below Gun Hill, at the end of the beach before it washes into dunes to the harbour, and we read, and do very little. It is heavenly.

This year, as part of my commitment to try and get a little more fit, I made a promise to swim in the sea every day. The water never got warmer, and the rush and jump into it never became stylish and graceful, but I did meet the promise, and swam every day.

The water went from calm to ferocious over the week, but I was close enough to the shoreline to feel safe. And once swimming, in the salty North Sea, everything else just dropped from my mind. I Sea-swimming is a meditation practice. It takes you away from the world – literally takes you off the earth itself – and allows you to focus on just two things. The first is keeping afloat, but the second is whatever might start to flow through your mind. There is nothing but the water, perhaps a gull or two, the waves, the sun and you.

It is a time to gather thoughts, to reflect, to recharge. Mary Oliver put it so well in our first reading today –

It is time now, I said,

for the deepening and quieting of the spirit

among the flux of happenings.

And then

About tomorrow, who knows anything.

Except that it will be time, again,

for the deepening and quieting of the spirit.

To find a poem from a writer so beloved by Unitarians, that so perfectly captured my intended theme was surely more than coincidence. The poem is even titled ‘Swimming, one day in August’. Which I was.

And at this time of ‘deepening and quieting of the spirit’, as you merge into the watery landscape – or sea scape – you become one with your surroundings. Water to the left, to the right, ahead and behind. And, as you may have guessed from the focus of this morning’s Service, you become very aware of salt.

Salt surrounds you. You can smell it, you taste it everytime a wave splashes your face. When you leave the water, particularly if it is sunny, the salt quickly dries onto your skin, as the sea water evaporates. This is a very different experience to a swimming pool.

And the difference is salt.

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Salt.

It is right we might talk about salt here, in this sacred space. Salt is, of course, a key ingredient or change agent in a number of different ways. Salt flavours food – and the North Sea – but it also has many other uses. It can be used to clean, to purify, to preserve.

As a naturally occurring product – proper chemical name Sodium Chloride – salt has been with us throughout history. It is no surprise perhaps that salt has, over millennia, become closely associated with society and with the spiritual.

As a preserver – a life preserver – salt is critical to many creation stories and tales of wonder. Salt plays a crucial part in the development of humankind’s understanding it of itself through religion, through ritual, through connection to something deeper.

We don’t have time to go through the detail of all the connections, but as a light summary, the Ancient Greeks were known to consecrate salt in their rituals, notably in sacrifices, where the value and purification virtues of salt was believed to make the sacrifice more suitable for the Gods. The same approach was taken by the Jewish people, where laws set out in Leviticus make clear that salt is part of the Covenant with God, and it was to be included as part of any sacrifice. The connection continued in the Christian tradition, where salt is often used in baptismal waters – to purify and connect to God. It is also an essential element in Holy Water, where it is sprinkled in the shape of a Cross on the surface.

This idea of purification and connection of the water with salt was explained in a story in the Jewish 2nd Book of Kings, where the prophet Elisha is told:

‘The location of this city is good, as my lord sees; but the water is bad, and the land is unfruitful.’ [Elisha] said, ‘Bring me a new bowl, and put salt in it.’ So they brought it to him. Then he went to the spring of water and threw salt into it, and said, ‘Thus says the Lord, I have made this water wholesome; from now on neither death nor miscarriage shall come from it.’ So the water has been wholesome to this day, according to the word that Elisha spoke.

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But it’s not just in the Jewish and Christian scriptures. Chinese folklore talks of the discovery of salt by the Phoenix. Norse mythology credits a salty ice-block as the birthplace of the gods, as the sacred cow Audumbla lifted the first god Buri out of the block. Buri was, for completists, Odin’s grandfather.

In Sumerian and Babylonian religions, Tiamat is the salty goddess of the ocean, the symbol of primordial chaos in Creation itself. And so it goes on, with the Hittites, and the Aztecs. The Pueblo in the American South West worship the Salt Mother, and other American tribes have strict rules on salt use.

The Japanese Shinto religion uses salty to purify – including the space that Sumo wrestlers where a handful of salt is thrown in to the centre to drive away evil spirits.

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This sense of connection to God, or the gods, and to the earth. This notion of purification, of the removal of malevolent spirits. A moment of renewal, of restoration.

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In our second readings, beginning with the words from Matthew, we were told of Jesus’s reminder that we are all the salt of the earth. From the early Jewish veneration of salt, we know from this that Jesus saw humanity as sacred, as precious, pure, and as a living covenant with God. We are all the salt of the earth.

However, this came with a warning:

“but if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything, but it is thrown out and trampled under foot.”

We hear this again in the passage from Mark – most likely a record from the same source – where Jesus says to his disciples:

“Salt is good; but if salt has lost its saltiness, how can you restore its saltiness? Have salt in yourselves, and be at peace with one another.

And this is a step further than Matthew. There is a suggestion that the sense of retaining a saltiness, salt in ourselves, is a step towards the restoration of saltiness overall.

Mark is also leaning here to an indication that living peacably with others is a way to regain that inner salt. That necessary connection to the all-that-is.

And then, perhaps reflecting on these stories himself, Paul wrote to the early church in Colossae with advice to speak graciously and kindly to others -

“Let your speech always be gracious, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how you ought to answer everyone.”

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I do not see these as especially Christian teachings. We can see from the wealth of references to salt in so many faither traditions – always with the same underlying meaning of purity and connection to something greater – we can see from this how we might use the idea of salt, the notion of salt, perhaps salt itself, as a physical prompt to a spiritual renewal. Salt provides a timeless connection to thousands of years, to millions of people, searching for truth, for renewal, for peace and for the strength to overcome evil and wrongdoing.

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Salt is essential to life. To our physical lives, and also to our understanding of our spiritual selves.

My experience of the sea, the overwhelming realisation of the presence of salt all around me – and the intimate connection between me and the sea through our common dependence on salt was a telling one. For me, this provided a deeper, unrealised connection to something greater. The true significance only became clear as I took my experience and began to research.

But away from the books, away from the exegesis of ancient texts, away from the specific religious claims, no matter which tradition you might with to focus upon, at the core of this was my Unitarian realisation of the interconnected nature of all things, of the common bonds of faith, and of the crucial importance to take a step away, to immerse, and the refresh.

My sea-swimming initiated restoration. Through the salt of the ocean, and my own covenant with the greater web of life. Through salt, I connected to thousands of years of renewed spirituality and a chance to bring my own saltiness.

SALT COMMUNION

To bring an opportunity for us each to reflect on the possibility of refreshment and renewal, I offer a Salt Communion. A chance to connect to the flavour and inspiration of salt, and thus to reflect on our individual covenant with God, with the greater something, with the Universe, the all-that-is. However you might define it.

I shall walk to each of you and offer a small spoon of salt. If you wish to, just accept on your hand and then taste as you wish.

When we each have salt, I shall being us to a time of stillness and reflection. I shall break that stillness with words, and then connect us to the sounds of the sea to continue those reflections.

I shall invite you to share salt

I invite you to share salt to acknowledge the power and vitality of the natural world

I invite you to share salt with the knowledge that judgement must be used. Too much becomes a poison in the system. Too little becomes a hunger and a longing.

I invite you to share salt in affirmation that ‘you are the salt of the earth’. In the salt of sweat and tears, we taste our humanness.

As salt is passed, I invite you to take and taste.