“You’re the cream in my coffee”.

It’s not an expression that we hear these days…

but it has its origins in a Broadway musical song from almost a hundred years ago.

Of course, in referring to another person as “cream”…

the songwriter—

or the singer—

is not suggesting that the other person looks like a blob of off-white, dense, viscous liquid…

skimmed from the top of a bovine-derived bodily fluid.

Rather, they’re suggesting that the other person enriches their personal life experience…

in the way that cream does when added to coffee.

Naturally, that assumes that you don’t prefer your coffee black!

 

We all know that, in this case, cream—

and, indeed, secondarily, coffee—

is being used as a metaphor.

And the philosopher, David Hills— 

from Stanford University— 

describes a metaphor as “a poetically or rhetorically ambitious use of words”.

That’s because—

when we use a metaphor to talk about two things side-by-side—

we’re making a comparison and analogy;

and that comparison and analogy only works because the two things are—

in almost every respect—

completely different.

Otherwise, it actually doesn’t work as a metaphor.

But, given that the two objects being compared are more unalike than they are alike…

the comparison is effectively based on properties of the secondary subject…

which I, as the speaker, believe or assume that it possesses.

As I alluded to before… 

to say “you’re the cream in my coffee” only works if I like cream in my coffee…

and I assume either that you do too…

or, at least, that you would know that I do.

And, therein, lies one of the problems of metaphors—

they’re analogies largely based on assumption.

As David Hills puts it, “every metaphor leaves something implicit”…

it, “reveals by concealing”.

Even if the intended metaphorical comparison is explicit—

in that, I have telegraphed in making it what I believe the point of the comparison to be—

a metaphor can say more than what the speaker intended;

or the metaphor can say other than what the speaker intended.

If a metaphor is an “ambitious” use of words…

then it’s also a potentially “ambiguous” use of words.

 

All of which brings us to this morning’s reading from Matthew’s Gospel…

which begins with two metaphors.

Let’s look at each in turn.

First, “you are the salt of the earth”. 

But Jesus, or the author, qualifies it…

in an effort to make the point of the comparison seemingly explicit…

“but if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything”. 

Thus, the point of the metaphor seems to focus on salt and its taste.

And, of course, the obvious sense is that adding a small amount of salt to foods…

does, indeed, enhance their flavour.

Or, so most chefs and cooks seem to believe—

to be honest, I rarely if ever add any salt to anything I cook;

but probably the historical Jesus…

the author of this Gospel…

and the intended audience…

all considered the addition of salt to be a good, flavour-enhancing thing.

It was much prized in ancient times for just that.

 

But is that the point of the metaphor in this context?

 

Are we, as followers of Jesus, meant to “add flavour” to the world?

What does that actually mean?

Are we meant to make it more interesting?

Are we meant to make it more palatable?

If so, I think we could argue that the church has been a fairly spectacular failure.

But, understood in that way, it doesn’t really make sense theologically.

 

Perhaps, then, the point of comparison is on the loss of saltiness.

But how does salt lose its saltiness?

You don’t need a university degree in chemistry to know that salt cannot stop being salt.

But we may perceive it to be ineffective in imparting a salty taste if it has…

perhaps…

become adulterated;

if it’s been poorly stored and, somehow, something has become mixed into it…

so that when we put a pinch into our soup…

it’s only, in effect, a quarter of a pinch.

In which case, the saying would tend to be a warning…

perhaps…

about making sure that our faith, and the way that it’s lived out…

isn’t somehow corrupted or diluted or denatured…

by our life in the world.

 

And yet, the reference to losing its taste… 

could simply be pointing to the fact that it has become adulterated… 

and, thus, effectively ineffective…

which, in a sense, we would only know by tasting it.

After all, more than a valuable seasoning…

one of the primary purposes of salt in antiquity was as a preservative.

It was also an important component in ancient Hebrew sacrifices.

So…

perhaps the metaphor is trying to suggest that our role as disciples is to preserve…

or save…

or sanctify…

the world;

and we should be careful not to lose our ability to do so.

But, does that not lead to the sort of ethos in certain Christian circles…

which uses guilt to manipulate people into evangelisation?

 

Then, of course, there’s that problem of unintended meanings.

We know—

in a way that people in the first century didn’t— 

about the negative effects of salt;

not least in the problems it causes in terms of blood pressure.

Perhaps, today, it would make more sense to say—

as followers of Jesus—

we should avoid being salt for the health of our world.

We should be striving to enhance the life of the world…

calling it to discover the life-giving love of God…

rather than dragging it down…

and metaphorically clogging its arteries.

 

So, maybe at this point, the second metaphor might help!

“You are the light of the world”.

On the surface, that seems much clearer.

Shine like a light.

Bring illumination…

insight…

truth…

hope…

to the world…

in the way that a lamp does in dispelling the darkness.

What could be clearer than that?

Our role— 

our calling— 

is to dispel the dark. 

It’s a metaphorical image that Martin Luther King jr used often and repeatedly in his preaching.

 

But there’s still so much that’s implicit.

 

What, actually, is the darkness that we’re called to dispel?

And what, specifically, is the light that we’re called to bring to it?
And how, in practical terms, do we go about it?

Some Christians think that means preaching at those whose lifestyles they disagree with…

even telling them that they’re going to hell if they don’t change.

Is that shedding light?

And is shedding light into a darkened room always the best thing to do?

What about if there’s a sleeping baby?

Or someone with a migraine?

Once again, we’re faced with the danger of the unintended meanings of metaphors.

 

Perhaps, in the end…

what’s worth worrying about in all of this is the author’s conclusion to this parable:

“Let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven”.

The point of being light is simply “to shine”.

In the end…

we’re called to live in such a way that our way of life is a beacon of hope…

that it points other people to the transformative impact of God in our lives…

such that they feel compelled to want to know for themselves.

Ultimately, that is the real point—of it all.