The Gospel today follows directly from the Beatitudes.
Jesus has just described what life in the kingdom looks like.
Now He tells us what that life is for.

“You are the salt of the earth. You are the light of the world.”

Notice what Jesus does not say.

He does not say, “Try to become salt.”
He does not say, “Work hard so that one day you may be light.”

He says: You are.

To belong to Christ is already to be visible.
Discipleship is not something that can remain hidden without contradiction.

Salt that has lost its taste is useless.
Light that is hidden is pointless.

If faith does not shape how we live,
it has lost its purpose.

The first reading from Isaiah makes this unmistakably clear.

The people are religious.
They fast.
They pray.
They perform rituals.

Yet God says something devastating: “This is not the fast that I choose.”

Why?

Because their worship has become detached from truth lived in action.
Detached from justice.
Detached from mercy.
Detached from care for the poor.

Isaiah names true religion plainly:

Sharing bread with the hungry.
Sheltering the homeless.
Clothing the naked.
Not turning away from those in need.

Then comes the promise: “Then your light shall break forth like the dawn.”

Isaiah does not reject worship.
He exposes false worship.

Prayer that does not lead to love is empty.
This prepares us perfectly for the Gospel.

Jesus says the light must shine so that others may see our good works
and give glory to the Father.

Not admiration for us.
Glory for God.

Christian witness is not self-promotion.
It is transparency.

The light is not ours.
We carry it.

This is why Jesus insists that the lamp is not hidden.
It is placed on a stand so that it gives light to all.

Faith that hides itself out of fear or convenience has misunderstood its purpose.

Our lives should only make full sense if God is real.

If God were removed from the picture,
our lives should become difficult to explain.

Our priorities should look strange.
Our patience excessive.
Our forgiveness unreasonable.
Our hope unrealistic.

If our generosity can be explained without God, it is probably too small.
If our moral choices cost us nothing, they are not yet Christian.
If our hope rises and falls only with circumstances, it is not yet theological.

Faith is not an accessory added to an otherwise complete life.
It is the centre around which everything else turns.

Salt matters only when it changes the flavour.
Light matters only when it reveals what would otherwise remain unseen.

So when Jesus says, “You are the light of the world,”
He is not asking us to be impressive.

He is asking our lives to insist that
God must be real — otherwise none of this makes sense.

The second reading from St Paul keeps us from misunderstanding this.

Paul reminds the Corinthians how he came to them:

Not with cleverness.
Not with rhetorical power.
Not with philosophical display.

“I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ, and him crucified.”

Paul is not rejecting intelligence.
He is rejecting the idea that truth depends on technique.

Faith does not grow because Christians are impressive, bombastic, spectacular.
It grows because the Cross is real.

Paul’s preaching is simple so that faith may rest
not on human wisdom
but on the power of God.

This is crucial in our own time.

We live in an age that claims to be anti-dogmatic.
Suspicious of truth.
Wary of doctrine.
Hostile to any claim that something is finally and objectively true.

Yet this same culture is intensely dogmatic in another way.

It is dogmatic about what must not be said.
Dogmatic about what must be affirmed.
Dogmatic about which moral claims are permitted
and which are forbidden.

It rejects doctrine
while creating new orthodoxies.

It rejects creeds
while enforcing unspoken creeds.

It claims to be tolerant
while becoming intolerant of any truth that challenges it.

This makes the Church’s task more demanding, not less.

We are not called simply to be kind.
We are called to be true.

But truth must be lived, not merely asserted.

Jesus does not say: “Let your opinions shine.”
He says: “Let your good works shine.”

Truth becomes credible when it becomes visible.

The Church does not persuade the world by volume alone.
She persuades when doctrine takes flesh in holiness.

When what is taught from the altar and the ambo
is recognisable in the lives of the faithful.

When truth and mercy meet in practice.

This is why Jesus speaks of salt and light, not banners and weapons.

Salt works quietly.
Light works steadily.
Both change what they touch without destroying it.

This Sunday challenges a comfortable version of faith:

A faith that stays safe.
A faith that stays silent.
A faith that never risks being seen.

Isaiah will not allow it.
Paul will not allow it.
Jesus will not allow it.

Faith that does not shape how we treat the poor,
the weak,
the inconvenient,
is not faith at all.

And yet this is not moralism.

Jesus does not say, “Try harder.”
He says, “You are the light.”

That light comes from belonging to Him.

Earlier in Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus will say,
“I am the light of the world.”

Now He says it of us.

We do not generate the light.
We reflect it.

But reflection requires alignment.

If our lives are turned away from Christ,
the light cannot shine.

This is why the Gospel comes immediately after the Beatitudes.

Only the poor in spirit,
the meek,
the merciful,
the peacemakers
can truly be salt and light.

Because they are not protecting themselves.
They are open to God.

The Fifth Sunday of Ordinary Time asks us to examine our witness.

Not our arguments.
Not our online opinions.
Not our complaints about culture.

Our lives.

Do our choices make God credible?
Do our actions help others see hope, or only conflict?
Do they encounter mercy, or only judgement?
Do they meet light, or only noise?

Isaiah promises:

“When you call, the Lord will answer;
he will say, ‘Here I am.’”

That is the deepest promise of all.

When our lives align with God’s truth,
God draws near.

“You are the salt of the earth.”
“You are the light of the world.”

This is not a burden.
It is a vocation.

The Gospel leaves us with a responsibility we cannot escape.

Light hidden is light denied.
Salt unused is salt wasted.
Faith kept private is faith misunderstood.

The question at the end of today’s readings
is not whether the world needs truth.

It does.

The question is whether we will allow
the truth we have received
to be seen.

Christ has made us salt.
Christ has made us light.

What remains
is whether we will live
as if that is true.