Fifth Sunday after Epiphany
Year A
RCL
You Are the Light of the World
By +Brian Ernest Brown, CWC
There is a big difference between a faith that is merely visible and a faith that is actually vital.
We see this tension jump right out at us in our reading from Isaiah. God’s people are frustrated. They’ve been fasting, praying, and showing up to church, so to speak, but they feel like God isn’t paying attention. They complain, “Why do we fast, but you do not see? Why humble ourselves, but you do not notice?”
And God’s response through Isaiah is stunningly blunt. He basically says, “Look at yourselves. You are fasting, but on the very same day, you are oppressing your workers. You are praying, but you are also quarreling and fighting with each other. You think a religious life is just about looking somber, wearing sackcloth, and bowing your head like a bulrush?” God says that’s not a fast.
Then He paints a picture of what a true life of faith looks like: “Is not this the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free… Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house?”
God shifts the focus from an inward performance to an outward relationship. He says if you want your light to break forth like the dawn, you have to stop focusing so much on looking holy and start focusing on the person right in front of you who is hurting.
This is the exact same frequency Jesus is operating on in the Gospel of Matthew. Right after teaching the Beatitudes, He looks at His disciples, this ragtag group of fishermen, tax collectors, and everyday people, and He doesn’t tell them what they should be. He tells them what they already are.
He says: “You are the salt of the earth… You are the light of the world.”
Think about salt for a second. In the ancient world, salt wasn’t just a seasoning; it was a preservative. It was the only thing keeping food from rotting in the desert heat. Salt does its work by getting mixed in, by dissolving, by quietly making everything around it better, fresher, and more alive.
But Jesus gives a warning: “If salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything.”
How does salt lose its flavor? Chemically, pure sodium chloride doesn’t actually lose its saltiness over time. But back then, the salt they gathered from around the Dead Sea was full of impurities. If it got wet, the actual salt would dissolve and wash away, leaving behind a dull, useless white powder that looked like salt but had zero power to change anything.
That is exactly what Isaiah was warning against: a religious life that looks like salt from a distance, but has had all its substance washed away by self-interest and lack of love.
This distinction between outward flash and deep substance is what Paul is writing about to the Corinthians. Remember, Corinth loved eloquence, philosophical debates, and big public displays of intellect.
But Paul says, “When I came to you, brothers and sisters, I did not come proclaiming the mystery of God to you with lofty words or wisdom. For I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ, and him crucified.”
Paul showed up in weakness, in fear, and with a lot of trembling. He didn’t try to wow them with a polished presentation. Why? Because he didn’t want their faith to rest on human cleverness, but on the raw, quiet power of God. The true wisdom of God isn’t a secret code for the spiritual elite; it is a spirit of love and truth given to anyone who is willing to receive it.
When we live with that baseline, trusting God’s power rather than our own performance, the Psalmist tells us what happens to our presence in the world:
“Light shines in the darkness for the upright; they are generous, merciful, and just… They will not be afraid of any evil tidings; their heart is right, they put their trust in the Lord.”
When you are the “salt of the earth” and the “light of the world,” you don’t panic when the darkness gets thick. You don’t retreat into a defensive huddle. Because you know that the light inside you doesn’t belong to you anyway, it’s Christ’s light shining through you.
So, what does this look like as we go out into the world this week?
First, check your flavor. Are we being “salt” in our families, our workplaces, and our neighborhoods? Salt doesn’t draw attention to itself; it draws out the good flavor in other things. When you walk into a room, do you bring peace, encouragement, and life? Or do you add to the bitterness, the cynicism, and the gossip? Let’s pray to be people who preserve the good around us.
Second, think about Isaiah’s fast. This week, where can you “loose the bonds” or “pour yourself out” for someone else? It doesn’t have to be a massive, global initiative. It can be listening patiently to someone who is incredibly lonely. It can be a quiet act of generosity that no one else sees. It can be choosing to forgive a debt or a grudge that you’ve been holding over someone’s head.
Finally, remember who you are. You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid. You don’t have to have a perfect, unblemished life to shine. Sometimes, it is precisely through our cracks and our weaknesses, just like Paul’s trembling speech, that the light of Christ is best seen.
Let’s drop the burden of trying to look religious, and simply step into the joy of being who Jesus says we are: salt, light, and a watered garden for a world that is deeply thirsty.
Amen.