11.02.2026
Saint Francis
Pastor Christian Jennert
Fifth Sundy after Epiphany (Year 5A)
February 8, 2026
Salt and Light -- For Such a Time as This
What we believe about ourselves has a way of shaping how we live.
If we believe we are unwanted, not good enough, or invisible, that belief almost always shows up -- in how we carry ourselves, how much space we take, and whether we risk reaching out at all. But when we know that we are loved, that we belong, that there is a place where we are welcomed, something shifts. We stand a little taller. We become more geneous. We are more willing to engage the world around us.
That is why today's Gospel matters so much. It's a spicy text.
Jesus doesn't say, "Try to be salt." He doesn't say, "Work hard t become light." He simply says: "You are the salt of the earth. You are the light of the world." This is not a task. It is an identity.
Salt preserves. Salt adds depth. And salt, used well, brings out the best in everything else. Ever had a dish that tasted flat? Saltless French fries anyone? Everything might technically be there, but something essential is missing.
Salt, used well, doesn't draw attention to itself. It doesn't overpower the dish. It draws the other flavors together. It helps create something nourishing out of what is already present.
And light -- light nurtures life. Light warms. Light helps us see clearly where we are and where we are going. Together, salt and light sustain, reveal, and invite life to flourish.
Jesus is saying: This is who you already are.
The question is not whether we are salt and light, but whether we will trust Jesus' words enought to live like it.
That question feels especially close to home today.
This morning, we gather not only for worship, but also as a congregation preparing for our Annual Meeting. We look back at a year filled with ministry, transition, faithfulness, and change. We read reports, remember stories, and give thanks for what has been. And then we look ahead, knowing that St. Francis is entering a new chapter, including a call process that invites discernment, patience, and hope.
As your Bridge Pastor, I want to name this clearly and gently: This is not a pause in the life of the church. This is a threshold. And moments like this invite us to ask not only What have we done? but Who are we becoming?
The prophet Isaiah speaks directly into moments like this one. Not with polite religious language, but with clarity and courage. Isaiah reminds us that worship disconnected from justice, compassion, and real human need is not what God desires.
So let me offer a shortened word from Isaiah this morning:
Is not this the fast that I choose?
To loose the bonds of injustice, to share your bread with the hungry, to bring the homeless poor into your house, and not to hide yourself from you own kin? Then your light shall break forth like the dawn. Notice the promise: then your light shall break forth. Light does not emerge from perfection. Light comes from faith lived outward -- toward others.
I see that faith lived out here, quietly and consistently.
Just this past week, on a Thursday afternoon, I walked through the church kitchen and saw our brothers William and Paul preparing food for the interfaith Winter Shelter at St. Mark's -- work that would later help feed unhoused men. They were chopping, preparing, getting thing ready. Nothing flashy. Just faithfulness.
And here at the church, I've witness neighbors ringing our doorbell asking for food -- and being met with lunch bags, sandwiches, and kindness. I've handed out sme of those bags myself. There were no speeches. No conditions. Just food shared, dignity honored, and hunger met.
I am grateful to our own Alice Ann, who faithfully prepares these snacks and sandwiches so that when someone comes hungry, we are able to respond.
This is salt.
This is light.
Jesus knows the world can feel dim. He doesn't deny that. And honestly, it does feel dim in many places right now. But instead of asking us to curse the darkness, Jesus entrusts us with light. And instead of asking us to dominate the world, Jesus invites us to season it -- to bring depth, care, and presence to what is already there.
That feels especially important for a congregation like St. Francis.
You have long known what it means to be salt -- not overpowering, not self-serving, but faithful. To show up. To preserve what is life-giving. To bring out the best in one another and in the wider community. You have chosen welcome when it was costly, compassion when it was uncomfortable, and presence when others looked away.
And today, as you reflect on the past year and look toward the future, Jesus says again-- not as pressure, but as promise:
You, people of St. Francis, are the salt of the earth.
You, people of St. Francis, are the light of the world.
Our hymn of the day gives us language for this calling:
Christ, be our light.
Shine in our hearts.
Shine through the darkness.
Not a spotlight. Not a floodlight. But enough light to see one another clearly. Enough light to welcome the stranger. Enough light to take the next faithful step.
And perhaps that is what this season is about: not having all the answers, but trusting the light we've been given. Not trying to be everything, but being faithful with what we are -- seasoning the world with grace, hope, and love.
Church is not only for the soul. It is for bodies. For every body. For lives as they really are.
So as we move forward -- together -- in this new year, may we trust that Christ still shines here. And stand tall as we spice up the world around us with God's extravagant love, continuing to invite, welcome, and reach out.
As we pray, and live, the words we sing:
Christ, be out light.
Shine in your beautiful church, gathered today.
Amen.
