Gospel according to Saint Matthew 5:13-16
Jesus said to his disciples: “You are the salt of the earth. But if salt loses its taste, with what can it be seasoned? It is no longer good for anything but to be thrown out and trampled underfoot. You are the light of the world. A city set on a mountain cannot be hidden. Nor do they light a lamp and then put it under a bushel basket; it is set on a lampstand, where it gives light to all in the house. Just so, your light must shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your heavenly Father.”

What is an almud?

Luis CASASUS President of the Idente Missionaries

Rome, February 08, 2026 | V Sunday in Ordinary Time

Is 58: 7-10; 1Cor 2: 1-5; Mt 5: 13-16

In a small village, where the sea breathed slowly and the houses seemed to fall asleep at dusk, lived two twin siblings, Tomás and Alba, who were already 18 years old.

Tomás went out fishing in his small boat every day and returned at sunset.

Alba worked in a bakery and every morning, before sunrise, she lit the old streetlamp on the hill next to her house. No one had asked her to do it; she simply did it because she knew her brother would smile when he returned to the port and saw the light on. Sometimes the wind would blow out the flame, and Tomás would tease his sister affectionately, but Alba gradually improved the old streetlight, putting in new glass to protect it from the wind. It was her way of saying to her brother: I’ll be waiting for you.

One day, a strong storm hit the village. Many houses were left without electricity.

Meanwhile, at sea, the fishermen were battling the waves; they lost their bearings, couldn’t see the coast, and didn’t know where to row. Fear spread like the cold.

The storm had extinguished the lights in the village… except for one: that humble streetlight on the hill, which Lucia had turned on before going to work. That light, small but steady, was what allowed Tomás and everyone else to find their way back. One by one, the boats found their way back to the port.

—ooOoo—

This little story could serve as an example of what Jesus tells us today: if we are truly his disciples, we are the light of the world, even if we do not realize it. Nor do we realize the reach of our little light. It happens that Providence’s response is out of proportion to our efforts and our dreams. This is what the First Reading already announced: When you offer your own to the hungry and satisfy the afflicted soul, your light will shine in the darkness, your darkness like the noonday sun.

Not only that, but the First Reading also announces that the divine response will then be guaranteed, and to those who “do not turn away from their own,” God will answer: Here I am. This is how dialogue with the Divine Persons takes place, through actions. Jesus announces it clearly: Whoever loves me will obey my word, and my Father will love him, and we will come to him and make our home with him (Jn 14:23).

Acting according to His will leads God to respond by acting in the life of the believer: dwelling, transforming, recognizing, and blessing. This is what happened when the woman whom everyone considered a sinner approached Christ, stood beside Him, wept, anointed His feet with perfume, and dried them with her hair. It was an act of love, repentance, and surrender. Her action spoke louder than any words.

That woman did not say a formal prayer, but her gesture was her prayer, and the Master responded by transforming her life.

Even clearer: in the scene of the final judgment, Jesus identifies works of mercy (“feeding,” “visiting,” “welcoming”) as actions directed toward Himself.

And the dialogue of actions is this: human action is to serve the needy; divine action is that Jesus identifies with that service and receives it as if it were for Him. It is a living exchange: human beings act, and God responds by making Himself present in their neighbor.

—ooOoo—

These days, a statistical report is circulating on the Internet showing the decline in participation in the sacraments and religious education in several traditionally Catholic countries. Certainly, this is not good news, but today Jesus is not talking about numbers, for he had the experience of being acclaimed by thousands of people, most of whom later abandoned him or even called for his death. Also, at the moment of his death, few were at his side, but He felt how his life would bear fruit that could not be measured in people of good will in all future generations.

He prefers to explain the logic of his plans to us: he hopes that we will be a small light in the immense darkness of the world and a little salt in the midst of all the corruption and decay that invade the lives of human beings.

The effect of salt is visible: even though the statistics are grim, the truth is that millions of people have access to union with God thanks to the witness of those who embrace self-denial and service, as happened to the Corinthians, who were moved by Paul, who addressed them not with persuasive human wisdom, but in the manifestation and power of the Spirit, as today’s Second Reading tells us.

More than well-crafted speeches or lessons, what moves hearts are acts of service; this is how Jesus concludes today: Let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.

It is precisely after proclaiming the Beatitudes that Jesus invites us to be salt and light, for the Beatitudes describe a type of person who does not dominate through power or impose themselves through violence, yet transforms the world with the humble strength of salt and the luminous clarity of light.

Christ gives a serious warning: be careful that the salt that we are does not lose its flavor, and be careful not to hide the light under an almud or a bushel, which was a kind of box used to measure the volume of grains and seeds.

The images Christ gives us are striking: how can salt be distorted if its purpose is to preserve food? Who would think of putting a light under an opaque box? In reality, these are unnatural events; the first reveals an artificial attitude, contrary to the nature of salt, and the second an incoherent and absurd use of something as precious as light.

֍ Christ is using a very powerful metaphor that his listeners understood immediately: unlike today’s refined salt, the salt that was collected from the Dead Sea was mixed with gypsum and other minerals. If the actual salt dissolved with moisture, what remained was a white powder with no taste or use. That is what Jesus was referring to: salt that no longer salts. We can understand this as a faith that is lived in a superficial, routine, or irrelevant way. And this does indeed happen when we allow our faith to be mixed with other ideas or desires that compete to fill our interiority, our inner lives.

This is what happens to many people in their marriage or in their religious community life. The faith that could change them, keep them moving, allow them to grow… becomes sterile because nothing can salt the salt, nothing and no one can make faith grow except the gift we receive from the Holy Spirit, because He knows that we will welcome it.

֍ No less powerful is what Jesus wants to tell us when he speaks of the light that we foolishly hide under a bushel or an almud. We are easily capable of covering up the light we have received, which can bring joy where there is heaviness, hope where there is cynicism, and humanity where there is indifference. It is to fill that exteriority, which needs listening and reconciliation of small or large conflicts. Light reveals what was hidden, and we must not forget that it is the favorite image of God himself, with which Jesus is confirming to us that we can be light, like Him.

Fear, comfort, sadness or fatigue, the lack of sensitivity produced by my ambition or routine are capable of hiding (not extinguishing) the light of faith. If we do not fully understand this, let us remember these examples from the Gospel:

1. Fear hid the light when Peter denied Jesus (Mt 26: 69-75). Peter loves Christ, believes in Him, but fear of rejection and danger paralyzes him. The light he received is hidden behind fear.
2. Comfort obscured the light when the disciples said they did not want Jesus to go to Jerusalem (Mt 16: 21-23). When the Master announced his passion, Peter tried to stop him, because he did not want complications, suffering, or risks.

Comfort can lead us to imagine and prefer a Jesus “without a cross,” a path without demands, and that obscures the light of mature faith.

3. Sadness or fatigue hide the light when the disciples fall asleep in Gethsemane (Mt 26: 36-46). Jesus asks them to watch with him, but “their eyes were heavy with sleep.” Tiredness, sadness, and emotional exhaustion can extinguish our inner vigilance and cause the light to be covered by your weakness and mine.
4. Ambition desensitizes and hides the light at the moment of the request of the sons of Zebedee (Mk 10: 35-45). James and John ask for the first places in the Kingdom; ambition and the desire for recognition distort their faith; they no longer see Jesus, but only their own interests.
5. Routine hides the light in the lives of the Pharisees who fulfill the Law without heart (Mt 23: 23-28): they follow rules, but without inner life. Faith becomes mechanical, repetitive, without love. Religious routine can empty faith of meaning, leaving the light on but enclosed in formalities.
6. The lack of spiritual sensitivity was manifested when the disciples did not understand the multiplication of the loaves (Mk 8:15-21) and Jesus reproaches them: Are your hearts hardened? They are so focused on the material (the lack of bread) that they do not see the spiritual sign.

Jesus commanded them: Open your eyes and beware of the leaven of the Pharisees, and also of the leaven of Herod. They said to one another: He says this because we did not bring bread. But Jesus realized this and said to them: Why are you arguing about not having bread? Do you still not understand or realize? Are your minds still closed? Do you have eyes, but do not see? Do you have ears, but do not hear? Do you not remember? When I broke the five loaves among the five thousand, how many baskets full of leftover bread did you collect? They said: Twelve.

And when I broke the seven loaves among the four thousand, how many baskets full of broken pieces did you pick up? They answered, Seven. Then he said to them: And how is it that you still do not understand?

The same thing continues to happen to us: excessive concern for the immediate hardens our hearts and hides the light that we have already received and that our neighbor so badly needs.

_______________________________

In the Sacred Hearts of Jesus, Mary and Joseph,

Luis CASASUS

President