For the past two weeks I have been trekking through the book of Leviticus. It is an annual pilgrimage. A marathon more than a fun run. A journey more than a vacation. Still I persist. Short on stomach strength and long on mental imagery, it seems I am often up against some verbal depiction I am hesitant to read. Or fully comprehend. Bloody sacrifices. Growing, discolored skin lesions. Bodily discharges. Child sacrifices. I often reach the end of the book with a sigh and heartfelt gratitude that I’m not hauling the little black bull affectionately dubbed “Snuffles” to the slaughter for no fault of his own. That and the fact that I live on this side of the New Testament.
Leviticus is a much more comfortable read from our 21st-century vantage point. We have 63 additional Biblical books to read along with it. Books that complete the story. Books that tell us how Jesus came to be the ultimate sacrifice. Books that record the tearing of the temple veil giving humanity direct access to the Father. Books that tell us we don’t have to sacrifice animals and grain to nullify our sin. Oh, yes, Leviticus is a much better read from where we now sit.
At least it usually is. Until this year. This year, Leviticus took me by surprise. Nearly buried at the end of chapter 2, tacked almost as an afterthought to the meticulous instructions for grain offerings comes a command that tangled the thought lines of my 21st-century brain. It inextricably mixed my Old Testament commands and my New Testament teachings, although it seems not to easily fit in either place. The verbiage is reminiscent of a frequent kitchen reminder. In common colloquialism, it would likely read, “Don’t forget the salt.”
Immediately my mind had questions. My logic asks why. Why salt a sacrifice? God isn’t going to eat it. He’s not going to taste the acrid smoke of burning bread floating up to Heaven. It seems such a strange addition to the exacting instructions for the handling of acceptable offerings. And they were exacting! So detailed were the requirements, it is clear the method mattered as much as the sacrifice. Perfect, spotless animals. Carefully prepared grain offerings. Bread baked following precise instructions. Flour. Oil. Hold the leaven. Don’t forget the salt.
When God’s words projected from Moses’ mouth into the ears of the people, they must surely have had a response similar to mine. Questions arose in their minds. Eyebrows went up. Someone sucked in a sharp breath. Salt was a treasured commodity. Useful for multiple things. Food preparation. Preservation. Medicinal properties. It didn’t come easily. They didn’t cultivate it in their fields or rear it in their barns. They likely were not excited about tossing salt on every sacrifice.
They would do it. It was non-negotiable. God required it. And God always has a reason for His requirements. They are never just whims He thought up to push or press us to our wit’s end. He spends not one moment thinking up ways to annoy, irritate or frustrate His children. No. There is always a reason for God’s requirements. Salting the sacrifice was no different. God wouldn’t taste the sacrifice, but it would still make His taste buds dance. Why? Because every time they tossed that liberal pinch of salt on their sacrifice it was a reminder to themselves and a statement to God that they were still aware of the covenant they had made with Him. They were still willing to do what it took to be His people. They still accepted Him as their God above all other gods.
It was also a reminder that they were still in covenant with God Himself. He was at work on their behalf. He was fighting their battles. He was moving behind the scenes to protect and prosper His people. When they stood in places where things seemed impossible, the God who had entered into covenant with them was the same God with whom nothing would ever be impossible. They could trust Him. Not just to rescue them from unfavorable predicaments, but to hold up His end of the covenant. Because God had never, could never, would never renege on His word. That salt reminded them that no matter where they were, no matter the circumstances they were up against, their covenant-keeping God would never leave them or forsake them. He would always hold up His end of the bargain. (Isaiah 41:10; Luke 1:37; Genesis 18:14; I Kings 8:56)
Little has changed in the intervening centuries. We are still called to offer sacrifices to God. Not blemishless bulls and rams. Not precisely prepared birds and grains. Just ourselves. God wants us. All of us. Every. Single. Part. Minds and bodies. Time and talents. Thoughts and words. Resources and relationships. God wants it all. Every part of us. He wants us to come out from the world. Be different. Be changed. Be renewed. He wants us to enter into a covenant relationship with Him that cannot be undone by persecution, trials, frustrations, or fears. He invites us to fully lean into our covenant-keeping God. He wants us to trust Him. And He wants some salt on it. (Romans 12:1-2; Matthew 22:37; Luke 14:26; Proverbs 3:5-6)
More than 1,400 years after Moses spoke God’s words to the Children of Israel, at a different place, in a different time, to different people Jesus was still asking His followers to salt their sacrifice. Not in the same words. Not in an identical context. But salt just the same. At the end of the beautiful blessings we know as the Beatitudes, Jesus reminds us that we are the salt. The salted living sacrifice presented to God for His use. We are His ambassadors. We are His likeness. We are the presence of God in the middle of a nation far from Him. The preservation of godly principles in a world that is quickly tossing them over. We are the covenant keepers, the life preservers, the salt shakers. (Matthew 5:13; II Corinthians 5:20; II Timothy 2:15-25; Romans 6:13)
Just as the salt on the sacrifices of those Old Testament people cost them, being the salt of the earth might cost you. Not everyone will be enamored with or excited by the accuracy of your moral compass or your map that takes the high road. Do it anyway. Don’t break the covenant you made with God to be His person, His salt, His messenger in a world fraught by fainthearted, indecisive, amoral opinions. Don’t waver when persecutions, falsehoods, and evils come against you either. The God who entered a covenant with you has never left, will never leave, His people alone to fight on His behalf. He will be with you in trouble to deliver you. You can trust Him. Stay the course. (Romans 8:28; Philippians 1:12; Matthew 5:10-11; James 1:2; Deuteronomy 31:8; Psalm 91:15; Exodus 14:14)
Admittedly, the social climate of our day is violently unrelenting in its endeavors to turn you away from following God. They tell you a God of love wouldn’t ask you to sacrifice your own wants, whims and wishes to follow Him. They try to convince you the Bible can’t possibly mean what it clearly says. They say God doesn’t care what you do. They live like they believe it. They press and pressure you to do the same. Don’t do it. God always has a reason for His requirements and that reason is always in your best interest. Don’t fall to social pressure. Be the salt. (II Timothy 2:15-25, 3:1-5; I Corinthians 2:14; II Corinthians 4:4; James 4:4)
In a time when you are pressed on every side to forget who you are in Christ and become something you were never meant to be in the world, remember who you are. You are a finite, flawed human being in a covenant relationship with an infinite, impeccable God. Be awed and amazed by that. The great God of the universe who needs nothing and relies on no one chooses to enter a binding, indissoluble covenant with mere humanity. A covenant of loyalty and friendship. A covenant that promises His presence and protection through every circumstance on your earthly journey. The requirements are few but exacting. Offer yourself a living sacrifice to God. All of you. Every. Single. Part. And don’t forget to be the salt! (Colossians 3:2; Ephesians 4:24; Acts 17:24-25; Isaiah 42:5; Psalm 89:34; Hebrews 13:5; Matthew 28:20)