Every season is magical in its own way, but there’s something especially wondrous about fall.    

There is much that thrills my soul in this special season.  The gasping heat of summer is replaced by a cool freshness.  The leaves dangle dazzling from every tree.  The air is heavy with the rich scent of woodsmoke, the nights crackle with first frost, and the anticipation builds for the rush and glitter of the holiday season.  But beyond these blessings, fall holds a particular joy for me—because it’s the time of year when I return to the woods.  

Granted, I still explore the wilderness in summer—but it’s much more difficult and much less enjoyable.  The eager underbrush of the growing season tangles among the trees.  Heat simmers over the landscape.  Arkansas humidity leaves me feeling as if I might drown on dry land.  Most formidable of all are the legions of chiggers and ticks that infest my state’s natural areas—take a single step into grass taller than your ankles any time between April and October, and you’re guaranteed a week of torturous itching.  

But in the fall, everything changes.  The brush dies out, the heat fades, the humidity evaporates, and best of all, the chiggers retreat.  So now I’m back in the woods—running through the crunchy carpet of fallen leaves, plunging through the thickets, roaming alongside the silvery streams.  And best of all, I’m enjoying one of my favorite hobbies, one that’s an autumn tradition for me—setting up my game camera.  

For those of you who may not be familiar with this, a game camera is simply a camouflaged camera with a motion sensor, set to snap photos of the wildlife who wander by.  My game camera was a gift from my parents on my nineteenth birthday, and to this day, the process of tinkering with my camera’s setup and sorting through the photos it captures fills me with delight.  

However, I discovered early in my game camera journey that it’s not enough to simply abandon the camera in the woods and hope for the best.  Instead, I must deliberately strategize to attract as many kinds of wildlife as possible.  Fortunately, I have a “secret weapon” to help me do just that, a substance that’s at once humble and heroic—salt.    

Salt for game cameras is available in many forms.  There are jagged hunks weighing twenty pounds or more, tidy bricks that can fit in a palm, or granules to be sprinkled on the ground.  The salt can be plain, mixed with minerals, or spiked with a special flavoring.  However, no matter the form, salt is invaluable to game camera owners because it’s the foundational wildlife attractant.  You see, salt is absolutely essential for the health of all wildlife.  And because of that, animals are strongly attracted to it—whether a natural salt lick or a manmade one at a camera site.  A camera by itself may manage to capture a few photos, but add salt at an ideal distance from the lens, and animals will practically pose!  

Isn’t it amazing?  Salt is a simple substance, yet it can make the difference between success or failure for a game camera site.  But as vital as salt is for my outdoor adventures, it can’t compare to the importance of a different kind of salt—the kind Jesus referred to.  “You are the salt of the earth” (Matthew 5:13a ESV).  

At first glance, salt might seem like an unlikely comparison for God’s chosen people.  Why would Jesus instruct us to be salt, and what does this look like in our lives?  I’m convinced that the clues to understanding this calling might just be found in my own humble salt block.  

First of all, like the salt block, we are an attractant.  Animals can’t resist the taste of salt; in fact, they actually have special cells that signal the brain to release feel-good hormones in response to the flavor of salt!  Just so, we have what the world is craving.  The best advertisement for Christianity isn’t bigger churches, or flashier music, or more intellectual theological defenses.  Instead, it’s everyday people living out their faith with compassion and courage.  When our lives radiate the love of Christ, the world can’t help but be drawn to His heart. 

But there’s a second aspect to this mission, and once again, it’s found by examining the characteristics of physical salt.   

You see, the salt with which I attract wildlife does more than just tease animals’ taste buds; it is a vital element of many body processes, like digestion, respiration, and even nerve signaling.  Without this nutrient, animals would die.  In the same way, we’re not just meant to pique interest; we’re meant to fill a need.  We are an essential “nutrient” in our societies, vital to the health of the world around us.  By comparing us to this vital resource—a precious commodity in His day—Jesus reminded us that we are carrying something rare and priceless:  the gospel, the only hope for this world.

So our identity as “the salt of the earth” is a twofold function—pointing the world to Christ by simultaneously radiating His light and living out His love.  But there’s a problem:  this doesn’t happen automatically. 

Some think that leading a “salty” life is a Christian’s default—that somehow our affiliation with Jesus makes it inevitable that we will live in a way that honors Him.  But Christ followed His announcement about the “salt of the earth” with a less familiar statement, making it clear that this is far from the case.  “But if salt has lost its taste, how shall its saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything except to be thrown out and trampled under people’s feet” (Matthew 5:13b ESV).  These are strong words and a stern warning to us.  How does salt lose its flavor—and how might we stumble into the same trap?

Again, my salt block holds the clue.  You see, there are two main reasons salt can lose its flavor.  First, it can become contaminated with impurities.  When I buy my salt blocks, they’re completely enclosed in plastic, and they display a label guaranteeing all the specified ingredients in the appropriate quantities.  That’s because contaminated salt is useless salt—tasteless and sometimes even toxic.  

The second reason for ruined salt is moisture absorption.  Salt blocks that are exposed to moisture are paradoxically rendered hard and unyielding.  Many times, I’ve had to discard salt that underwent a rain shower and transformed into a rock-like lump.  This problem is sometimes seen in ordinary table salt, too; in fact, one cooking website gives this reason for tasteless salt:  “Salt might have absorbed humidity and eventually evaporated and left behind a substance that looked like salt but did not taste like it.”

A substance that looked like salt but did not taste like it.  

Friends, when I read that, I’m convicted.  How many of us have allowed our faith to evaporate?  We may still look like salt, sure.  We may say the right things and check the right boxes and hold the right opinions.  But when other people come close enough, do they realize we’ve lost our flavor?  Have we taken on the impurities of the culture around us, diluting our witness?  Or have we become hardened by life’s circumstances?

Living as the salt of the earth is not a burden; it’s a privilege.  And it’s a calling we must walk in, not a characteristic we can exhibit on autopilot.  It’s so easy in this weary world to live as something less than what we are.  We have to strive each day to spill our “saltiness” into the world around us—to be spreading not a tasteless imitation but the genuine flavor of the gospel.  

And that’s what I’m reminded of in these enchanting autumn days.  When I strap my camera to a convenient tree and scatter my salt, I acknowledge that physical salt is a vital resource for animals.  But spiritual salt is even more priceless for myself, my community, and my world.  May God forbid we ever become tasteless and stale.  Instead, let’s continually examine our hearts to be sure that we are in line with our calling:  to be “children of God without blemish in the midst of a crooked and twisted generation, among whom [we] shine as lights in the world” (Philippians 2:15b ESV). 

Did you enjoy this post? What are some ways you “spread salt” in your daily life? Let me know in the comments!

I have the most exciting news!  I am so humbled and thankful to announce that I will now be writing a monthly Words from the Wilderness column for the local gazette Ouachita Life!  What sets Ouachita Life apart from other publications is its focus on the true spirit of Arkansas–the people, the heritage, and of course, the great outdoors.  I would like to thank the editor, Mr. John Archibald, for this opportunity, and I am so excited for this ongoing partnership!  My October column, “Welcome to the Woods,” is in print now!  For more information, please click here–and if you’re already a Ouachita Life subscriber, check for my column in the October issue!