February 5, 2026
Dear Friends in Christ,
After last week’s lesson on the beatitudes, we’re getting part 2 of the sermon on the mount this Sunday: You are the salt of the earth and the light of the world. I’ll cover the salt part a bit in my Annual report on Sunday. For now, let’s talk about light.
“You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid.” It’s important to note that Jesus does not say, “You need to try really hard to become light,” or “One day you’ll become light.” He names something that’s true right now whether we recognize and live into it or not. By our baptisms into Jesus’s death and resurrection, we have been drawn into God’s own work of lighting the world —showing, by word and deed, what Christlike love looks like.
To be a light is not to be perfect, loud, or self-righteous. Light does not draw attention to itself; it reveals what is already there. It helps people see clearly—both beauty and truth. Being a light begins in worship. Each time we gather—whether for Eucharist or Morning Prayer—we reorient ourselves back toward God’s vision for the world. We confess, we are forgiven, we are fed. Then, at the dismissal, we are sent: “Go in peace to love and serve the Lord.” The light we receive at church is never meant to stay there. It is meant for kitchens and classrooms, hospital rooms and city streets, voting booths and dinner tables.
To be a light in our moment also means choosing courage over comfort. Light exposes injustice and challenges systems that thrive in darkness. This does not mean that the Church aligns itself with a political party, but it does mean that we take seriously the gospel’s call to dignity, compassion, and the belovedness of every human being. When we speak against racism, care for immigrants, protect the vulnerable, or tend the earth, we are not being “political” for its own sake—we are being faithful.
At the same time, light is gentle. A harsh glare can blind as easily as darkness can hide. We are called to speak the truth in love, to listen deeply to those with whom we disagree, and to remember that every person we encounter bears the image of God. In a culture shaped by outrage and fear, a calm, prayerful presence is itself a radical witness.
I see this light already shining at Good Shepherd: in quiet acts of generosity, in prayers offered without fanfare, in volunteers who show up again and again, in those who keep loving even when it is costly. These are not small things. Jesus tells us that even a lamp set on a stand—just one—can light an entire house.
So let us not underestimate what God can do with a community willing to live the gospel with integrity and hope. Let us keep our lamps trimmed with prayer, fueled by the sacraments, and guided by love. And when the world feels heavy or dim, let us remember that light shines brightest not when it curses the darkness, but when it simply, faithfully burns.
Blessings,
Fr. Steve
Isaiah 58:1-9a, [9b-12] 1 Corinthians 2:1-12, [13-16] Matthew 5:13-20 Psalm 112:1-9, (10) |