You Are the Light of the World - Matthew 5:13-16

In today's Gospel, Jesus speaks directly to each one of us with words that are both a gift and a responsibility. He does not say we might become the salt of the earth or that we could one day be the light of the world. He says we already are.

"You are the salt of the earth." Salt was precious in the ancient world. It preserved, it healed, and it brought out the deeper flavors of everything it touched. Jesus is telling us that our lives are meant to do the same — to preserve what is good, to bring healing where there is brokenness, and to draw out the beauty in the people and places around us.

But salt can lose its taste. When we become indifferent to the suffering of others, when we go through the motions of faith without letting it shape how we live, we risk becoming something that no longer serves its purpose. Jesus warns us plainly: tasteless salt is good for nothing.

Then comes the image of light. "You are the light of the world. A city set on a mountain cannot be hidden." Light, by its very nature, is meant to be seen. It exists not for itself but for everything around it. A lamp placed under a basket defeats its own purpose. And so it is with us — a faith that stays hidden, that never touches another person's life, is a faith that has forgotten what it is for.

What is striking about this passage is how personal and how universal it is at the same time. Jesus is not speaking to a select few. He is speaking to ordinary people — fishermen, tax collectors, mothers, laborers — and telling them that their lives matter in ways they may not yet understand. The same is true for us.

We do not need to perform grand gestures to be salt and light. A kind word to someone who is struggling. A moment of patience when frustration would be easier. A willingness to show up for the people in our lives, even when it costs us something. These are the good works that Jesus speaks of, the ones that cause others to give glory to our Father in heaven.

Today's reading from Isaiah echoes this same truth. When we share our bread with the hungry, shelter the homeless, and refuse to turn away from those in need, then our light breaks forth like the dawn. There is a beautiful simplicity to this. God is not asking us to be extraordinary. He is asking us to be faithful in the ordinary moments of our lives.

As we go through this week, let us ask ourselves: Where has my salt lost its flavor? Where have I hidden my light? And what is one small thing I can do today to let it shine?

The world does not need more darkness. It needs the quiet, steady light of people who take their faith seriously — not with loud words, but with lives that speak of something greater than themselves.

Let your light shine.