We’ve all heard the sayings: Don’t judge a book by its cover or All that glitters is not gold. They’re meant to remind us that what we see isn’t always the full story. Still, that idea can be frustrating. You mean I can’t just look at something, or someone, and instantly know what’s going on beneath the surface? As Christians, we sometimes wrestle with that tension ourselves. Shouldn’t people be able to tell we’re followers of Christ by how we look, how we talk, or how we live? Or do we quietly decide, I’ll just live my life, and the world can draw its own conclusions? Somewhere between visible faith and private conviction lies a question many of us carry, whether we say it out loud or not.
So how should we carry ourselves in the world in a way that genuinely points others to Christ? Is it about our clothing choices, or how we wear makeup or if we have piercings? Is it the kind of music playing in our car or echoing through our office or dorm room? Is it how much Christian language we use in everyday conversation? (You know, that Christian-ese we toss around) None of those things are inherently right or wrong on their own. But the deeper question is this: what actually makes our witness effective? What helps others see not just that we believe, but who we believe in?
Jesus speaks directly into this in the Sermon on the Mount:
“You are the salt of the earth; but if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything, but is thrown out and trampled under foot.
You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid. No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.
Do not think that I have come to abolish the law or the prophets; I have come not to abolish but to fulfill. For truly I tell you, until heaven and earth pass away, not one letter, not one stroke of a letter, will pass from the law until all is accomplished. Therefore, whoever breaks one of the least of these commandments, and teaches others to do the same, will be called least in the kingdom of heaven; but whoever does them and teaches them will be called great in the kingdom of heaven. For I tell you, unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.”
— Matthew 5:13–201
I grew up in church as a third-generation PK, a preacher’s kid. Yep, I’m one of those. Church wasn’t just something we attended; it was the air we breathed. Sundays morning and night, Wednesdays, revivals, campmeetings, and special services — you name it, we were there. It all shaped how I saw the world. For a long time, I assumed the worldview that I knew and lived was universal. Well, it wasn’t. Still, being “salt” and “light” came naturally, even if at times it was motivated by fear more than maturity (remember those rapture movies from the 70s and 80s, wow). My dad was even invited to give the invocation at my public high school graduation (Go Admirals). A few of my classmates called me “Preacher Boy”, not because I was preachy, but because my demeanor, words, and actions marked me as different — and my dad was a pastor. Now, I was far from perfect, but I learned early that how we live leaves an imprint. Like it or not, people are watching, how we treat others, how we speak about those we disagree with, how we carry ourselves in tense or ordinary moments. Beneath it all, every person is seeking something, whether they know how to name it or not. We were made for communion with God.
That awareness can feel heavy. Knowing the world is watching can make us self-conscious or anxious. But there’s also hope here. We’re not called to perform or to retreat into religious bubbles. As J.C. Ryle wisely wrote, “True holiness does not make a Christian evade difficulties, but face and overcome them… Christ would have His people show that His grace is not a mere hot-house plant…but a strong, hardy thing which can flourish in every relation of life—like salt in the midst of corruption, and light in the midst of darkness.”2
This week, maybe faith looks simple: a kind word, a held door, a genuine smile, a moment of patience. May we be reminded that we are called to be salt and light in a challenging world, and through our very hands and feet, the greatest story ever told can still be seen.
Luke Gambill 