Julia Child, Bach, and the Salt of the Earth
The Fifth Sunday after the Epiphany | February 8, 2026
Opening Thought
Are you sweet or salty? I have been accused of both! But perhaps being salty isn't such a bad thing after all. Life is dull and bland without a little saltiness.
Salt is a funny thing. In the ancient world, it was a precious commodity, sometimes used as currency (it's where we get the word "salary"). Today, it is cheap and common. It sits in a shaker on every table in America. But regardless of its price, salt has one job: to make things taste like themselves.
A steak without salt is bland. A tomato without salt is boring. But add a pinch of salt, and suddenly the flavor wakes up. The salt doesn't create the flavor; it draws it out.
In our Gospel this Sunday, Jesus tells us: "You are the salt of the earth." Notice he doesn't say "You are the sugar of the earth." He doesn't call us to be merely sweet or agreeable. He calls us to be salt—to be the agent that brings out the "God-flavors" of the world. We are here to preserve what is good, to stop the decay of what is bad, and to bring out the zest of life.
He also calls us the "light of the world." Light, like salt, isn't meant to be the center of attention. If you stare directly at a lightbulb, you get a headache. Light is there to help you see other things—to illuminate the path, to reveal the truth, and to chase away the shadows. This Sunday, we are reminded that our faith isn't a private hobby to be kept in a cupboard. It is meant to be sprinkled out. It is meant to shine.
Engaging the Word
Isaiah (58:1-9a) delivers a blistering critique of empty religion. The people ask God, "Why do we fast, but you do not see?" God answers clearly: because your religion stops at the church door. God declares that the "fast" he chooses is not about bowing your head in false humility, but "to loose the bonds of injustice... to share your bread with the hungry... and not to hide yourself from your own kin." It is a powerful reminder that authentic worship always leads to justice.
Psalm 112 picks up this theme, describing the righteous person as one who is "gracious and full of compassion." Verse 4 is a perfect Epiphany text: "Unto the upright there arises light in the darkness."
1 Corinthians (2:1-12) continues Paul’s argument about true wisdom. He admits that when he came to Corinth, he didn't come with "lofty words" or superior arguments. He came in weakness and fear, knowing only "Jesus Christ, and him crucified." He reminds us that our faith doesn't rest on human cleverness, but on the power of God.
Matthew (5:13-20) continues the Sermon on the Mount immediately after the Beatitudes. Jesus uses the metaphors of Salt and Light to describe the disciples' relationship to the world. He warns against losing our "savor" or hiding our light under a bushel basket. He then pivots to the Law, assuring his listeners that he hasn't come to abolish the old traditions, but to fulfill them—to bring them to their full, flavorful potential.
A Journey in Song: Our Musical Guides
Our music this week is framed by a "musical bookend" of J.S. Bach, and features two works by the great Anglican composer Charles Villiers Stanford.
Opening Voluntary: We begin with one of J.S. Bach’s most celebrated organ chorales: "Deck thyself, my soul, with gladness" (BWV 654). This piece is from the "Great Eighteen" chorales. Bach takes the melody (which we will sing later) and adorns it with an incredibly ornate, dancing solo line in the right hand. It is a musical picture of the soul "decking" or adorning itself with joy to meet the Lord.
Entrance Hymn: We stand to sing "Thy strong word did cleave the darkness" (#381). This powerful hymn connects the creation story ("Let there be light") to the light of salvation in Christ. The rousing "Alleluia" refrain sets a triumphant tone.Sequence Hymn: We move to a simpler, folk-like melody with "I want to walk as a child of the light" (#490). This hymn touches on the themes of both the Gospel (light) and the Anthem (walking with God). It is a prayer of intention: "In him there is no darkness at all."
Offertory Anthem: The choir offers the beautiful "O for a closer walk with God" by C.V. Stanford. Stanford sets the text by William Cowper with great sensitivity. The melody is memorable and yearning, capturing the plea of the believer who feels distant from God: "Return, O holy Dove, return!" It is a song of restoration, asking for the "light to shine upon the road."
Communion Hymn: We sing the hymn version of our opening voluntary: "Deck thyself, my soul, with gladness" (#339). Having heard Bach’s meditation on the tune, we now sing the text ourselves as we approach the table, preparing our hearts to receive the "daylight of our souls."
Post-Communion Hymn: We conclude with "Immortal, invisible, God only wise" (#423). This hymn celebrates the mystery of God who dwells in "light inaccessible, hid from our eyes."
Closing Voluntary: We finish with the Postlude in D Minor by C.V. Stanford. Unlike the gentle pleading of his anthem, this Postlude is bold, dramatic, and full of energy, sending us out to be "salt and light" in the world.
A Closing Note on our Journey
There is a detail about salt that challenges me. For salt to do its job, it has to disappear.
If you can see the granules of salt on your food, it’s usually just a crunchy garnish. But for salt to truly flavor a soup or a sauce, it has to dissolve. It has to lose its own form to improve the whole.
One of my favorite dishes to prepare for guests is Boeuf Bourguignon. It is a labor of love, requiring hours of simmering beef, red wine, mushrooms, and onions. But the truth is, without salt, this masterpiece is completely unappealing. You might as well not even attempt to make it. It would be worthless—just a pot of bland, gray meat.
As the great Julia Child always taught, you must salt generously. Why? Because the salt is what pulls the flavor out of the beef and marries it with the wine, transforming separate ingredients into one of the most savory dishes in all of culinary creation.
When I serve this to friends, and we gather around the table, I can see the enjoyment on their faces. I can feel the heartiness it brings to their souls. But no one says, "Wow, this salt is delicious." They say, "This beef is delicious." The salt has done its work by disappearing into the pot to make everything else shine.
Sometimes, we want our faith to be loud and visible. We want credit for being "good Christians." But Jesus calls us to be salt. He calls us to dissolve into the world around us—into our workplaces, our families, and our communities. We aren't there to be the center of attention. We are there to bring out the goodness, the mercy, and the justice in the situations we find ourselves in. We are there to make the world "taste" more like God's Kingdom.
So this week, don't worry about being seen. Worry about being salty.
A Prayer for the Week Ahead
Let us pray to be authentic in our faith.
For the grace to be salt that preserves and flavors the world.
Lord, in your mercy, hear our prayer.
For the courage to let our light shine before others, giving glory to God.
Lord, in your mercy, hear our prayer.
For a closer walk with God, that we may see the road that leads to the Lamb.
Lord, in your mercy, hear our prayer.
For the wisdom to loose the bonds of injustice and share our bread with the hungry.
Lord, in your mercy, hear our prayer.
Collect for the Fifth Sunday after the Epiphany:
Set us free, O God, from the bondage of our sins, and give us the liberty of that abundant life which you have made known to us in your Son our Savior Jesus Christ; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever.
Amen.
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