If you ask how the Church should reach the world today,
you’ll hear many answers.

We need better messaging.
Better presentation.
Better strategies.

If we were more polished…
more persuasive…
more modern…
surely people would listen.

This is not a new instinct.

The Corinthians thought the same way.
They lived in a culture
that admired clever speech
and impressive personalities.

And St Paul tells them something surprising:

“When I came to you… I decided to know nothing
except Jesus Christ — and him crucified.”

Paul did not try to win them by performance.

He brought them the Cross.

And that sounds almost backwards.

If you wanted to impress a crowd,
the Cross is the last thing
you would lead with.

It speaks of weakness.
Suffering.
Sacrifice —
not success.

Yet Paul says: this is where real power lies.

Faith grows
not when the messenger is amazing…
but when people encounter the love revealed in Christ crucified.

And this matters especially now.

We live in a culture
that claims to resist dogma —
uneasy with firm truth,
suspicious of anything final.

Yet the same culture
shows its own dogmatism:

strict about what may be said…
insistent on what must be complied with…
deciding which moral claims are permitted
and which are not.

It rejects doctrine
while creating new orthodoxies.
It speaks of tolerance
while tolerating only
what agrees with it.

And it helps to notice something important.

The real issue is not
whether dogma exists.

Every culture has boundaries.
Every culture says:

“These things must be affirmed…
these things must not be questioned.”

The difference is not
that side has dogma
and the other does not.

The difference is
what the dogma is for.

Cultural dogmatism tends to protect
fashion,
consensus,
or comfort.

It shifts with the moment.
What is unquestionable today
may be rejected tomorrow.

The Church’s dogma is different.

It is rooted in what God has revealed —
truth meant not to control people,
but to free them.

Church dogma says:

“This is what we have received —
truth about God,
about humanity,
about love —
and we believe it leads to life.”

Cultural dogmatism says,
“Conform so things stay comfortable.”

The Church says,
“Receive what is true —
even when it stretches you —
because truth saves.”

And at the centre
of the Church’s dogma
stands the Cross.

Not power.
Not victory.
But self-giving love.

The Church holds firmly to that, not to dominate the world,
but to offer something that does not change with fashion:

a love that remains true even when it is difficult.

And Paul brings us back to that centre:

Christ — and Him crucified.

And when that truth is embodied,
hearts change.

That is the background to Jesus’ words today:

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

Salt and light are not flashy things.

They simply do what they are meant to do —
and everything around them changes.

Salt preserves what would otherwise decay.

It gives flavour.
You don’t see it…but you know when it’s missing.

Light quietly pushes back darkness.

It doesn’t argue with the dark.

It shines.

Jesus is saying:

This is what a Christian life should be like.

Not spectacular.
Not self-advertising.
But real — and transformative.

And here is the connection:

The Cross is the source of that saltiness…that light.

When Christ’s self-giving love takes root in a person,
their life begins to change the environment around them.

Isaiah gives us the practical picture:

Feed the hungry.
Shelter the homeless.
Clothe the naked.
Do not turn away from those in need.

Then comes the promise: “Your light shall rise in the darkness.”

Isaiah does not say: appear compassionate.

He says: be merciful, actually give, actually care.

And then — light appears.

That is how the Church becomes effective.

Not by looking powerful…but by living sacrificial love in ordinary places.

Most transformation is quiet.

The parent who forgives instead of shouting.

The worker who refuses dishonesty.

The friend who stays loyal when it costs something.

The neighbour who shows up when others disappear.

These moments rarely make headlines.

But they carry the taste of Christ. They shine with His light.

And Jesus says our good works are to be seen — not so people admire us…
but so they glorify the Father.

The Christian life is meant to be transparent.

If people stop at us, we have missed the point.

Salt and light always point beyond themselves.

Earlier Jesus said: “I am the light of the world.”

Now He says it of us.

We do not generate that light.
We reflect it.

But reflection requires alignment.

If faith remains only words — agreed with but not lived — the salt loses its taste.
the light grows dim.

So the question today is simple:

Does my life carry the taste of Christ?

Does it show His light?

When people encounter me, do they meet patience or irritation?

Mercy or judgement? Hope or cynicism?

The Cross does not make us spectacular. It makes us loving.

And love — steady, sacrificial, persistent — changes hearts.

The world does not need a Church that performs better.

It needs a Church that lives what it proclaims.

And even small lights matter.

Darkness retreats
wherever light is present.

Jesus does not say, “Become salt.” He says: You are.

He has entrusted us with His light.

Salt works by contact.
Light works by exposure.
Faith works when it is lived.

And when it is lived, people see —
not us —
but the Father at work.

That is how the Church
changes the world: not by chasing approval — but by lives shaped
by the love of Christ crucified.

And even the smallest faithful light
is enough
to begin pushing back the darkness.