“You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt should lose its taste, how can it be made salty? It’s no longer good for anything but to be thrown out and trampled on by men.” — Matthew 5:13 (HCSB)
I need to tell you about something I’m not proud of. During the last election, I let the political fight spill onto my social media — strong opinions, posted with equal force — and it cost me something I never meant to lose: my witness with a sister in Christ. To borrow today’s verse, my salt lost its flavor. Let me explain.
Jesus tells His followers, “You are the salt of the earth.” Salt does two quiet things: it preserves and brings out flavor. A Christian in the world is meant to be a preserving, life-giving presence — someone whose life helps those around them taste something of God. But Jesus adds a sobering line: salt can lose its saltiness, and when it does, it’s good for nothing. Here’s the hard truth I had to face — few things make a believer go flat faster than caring more about winning an argument than loving the person on the other side of it.
A while back, a family friend — younger in her faith and someone I care about — asked to be added to my devotional list. She read them faithfully and told me how much they meant to her. Then the election heated up, and so did my feed. My posts troubled her, and she pushed back. We went back and forth. And little by little, the thing I’d been given — an open door into her spiritual life — closed. She unsubscribed. I had traded a sister’s trust for the satisfaction of making my point. How did I let that happen? How did I let politics get between me and someone’s soul?
Around that time, I read Henry Blackaby’s devotional “You Are Salt” — which is where today’s title comes from. Two lines stopped me cold. “There is a deep significance today for a godly life that is involved in its community.” And: “If people around us are deteriorating spiritually, we need to go to our Lord and allow Him to adjust our lives so that we can be used to preserve others.” Notice who needs adjusting in that sentence. Not her. Me. I had been asking God to change her mind when He was trying to change my heart.
So I did the only thing that mattered. I stopped trying to win. I reached back out — not to land the final point, but to reopen the door I’d let slam shut. When she later sent me something sharp, I didn’t take the bait to argue; I asked, gently, what she was really after, and I told her the truth: that whatever happens between us politically is okay — what I actually want is for both of us to know the Lord better and to taste how good His love is. That’s the message I wish I’d been sending all along.
Here’s what the Lord has been teaching me: being salt means caring more about people’s souls than about being right — and abstaining from anything that dilutes my witness. For me it was politics, but it’s rarely only politics. It’s any hill we plant a flag on: a parenting opinion, a theological fine point, a hot take we just have to post, who was right in the family argument. My opinions aren’t the problem; I’m allowed to have them. But the moment my need to be right costs me the people God has put in front of me, I’ve lost my flavor. And a watching world is far more moved by a believer who loves across a disagreement than by one who wins it.
Salt doesn’t argue. It preserves. It quietly makes everything around it better. Lord, make me that kind of salt again.
BIG IDEA: We’re called to be salt — a preserving, life-giving presence in the world. But anything we let matter more than the people God puts in front of us can quietly cost us our flavor. Steward the calling; guard the salt.
Questions to Ponder: Can you think of a relationship where something — a political opinion, a strong stance, a careless word, or a need to be right — has cost you your witness? Sit with the question beneath it: why did that thing feel worth more than the person? What were you so afraid of losing, or so eager to prove, that their soul took second place? And it isn’t only conflict — are there other ways your saltiness slips: the words you speak, the way you act, the things you consume? Then consider how intentional you are about preserving your saltiness — do you weigh it daily, or does it rarely cross your mind? If it’s off your radar, why do you think that is?
Application: With your journal in hand, ask the Lord to show you where your saltiness has gone flat — and don’t limit the search to a single argument. Where has your witness lost its flavor: in a relationship you’ve let politics or pride damage? In the way you talk? In how you act when you think no one’s watching? In what you consume? List what He brings to mind. Then choose the one that costs the most and take a concrete step. If it’s a person, reopen the door — send a message that doesn’t relitigate anything, offer a genuine apology if you drove a wedge, or ask a question that shows you care more about them than the point. If it’s your words, conduct, or what you consume, name the specific thing and cut it off. And pray the Blackaby question — not “how do I change them?” but “how do You want to adjust me so I can be used to preserve others?” Being salt isn’t mainly about what you say — it’s about what you’re willing to lay down to keep your witness.