Salt and Light

 

In the last few weeks, the phrase "salt of the earth" has kept popping into my mind. What does that really mean? A little research shows that the phrase derives from Jesus' sermon on the Mount: "You are the salt of the earth" Matthew 5:13. Jesus preached to the common people, fishermen, shepherds, laborers, farmers, that they were worthy and virtuous. He was alluding to the value of salt, which at the time, was highly prized, and so precious that it was used as money. He suggested that virtuous people are connected to the land, either literally, as farmers and herders, or figuratively as down-to-earth people. A little further into the reading of Matthew, Jesus says to the commoners, "You are the light of the world. A town built on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl, Instead, they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in Heaven" Matthew 5:14-16.

I can't think of a better way to describe my Uncle John.

John J. Sabatka Jr was a lot of things to a lot of different people. He was a husband and father, a brother and friend. To me, he was Uncle. To me, he was, and will always be, fifty percent of the team, who in late 1979 or early 1980, made a promise to a dying young woman, and then kept it. It was no small promise. `

My earliest memories of him are watching him walk across the farm yard from the front window of the dining room of the farm. Off to do chores, dressed in a brown coat, while I stayed inside where it was warm. Later, I remember following the same brown coat into a building on the farm, and realizing, suddenly and shockingly that he had been hunting. There was a deer carcass hanging from the ceiling. He put his arm around my shoulders and led me away from the horror, and if I remember correctly, he snickered the whole time. 

On at least one occasion, while celebrating a holiday, he snuck me a cookie after Aunt Paulette had told me that I had had enough sweets. One time, at the end of a visit, he found me sulking at his kitchen table. When he questioned what was the matter with me, I admitted that I wasn't ready to leave. When he asked why, I told him that I would miss him. We stayed another night. 

I once heard him whispering and cooing to someone on my way to the kitchen, and slowed my step on the off chance that I was about to interrupt a tender moment between a husband and wife, only to find Aunt Paulette coming up the stairs from the basement, and Uncle John murmuring to their little dog.

Often, I found Uncle John on the edges of the party. He always seemed to be standing off to the side, a pillar of quiet strength.  He may not of used a lot of words, but I often found that standing next to him and slipping my hand into his offered me comfort and reassurance. 

He danced with me at a family wedding and whispered to me that he was sure that my mother was proud of me. We two, swaying to the music, tears rolling down our cheeks, didn't say another thing to one another for the rest of the song. 

John J Sabatka Jr was not famous. He was a farmer. He was a laborer, he shepherded his family. He lit a light and let it shine on whoever happened to be in the area at the time. I sit here, a living, breathing reminder of one of his good deeds. Salt and Light. 

To a good, kind, gentle, patient, hard-working man: Rest Easy. Thank You.