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Salty Food

6/2/2026

A Reflection on the Gospel for Sunday, February 8th, 2025:
Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Matthew
5.13-16

Jesus said to his disciples: “You are the salt of the earth; but if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything, but is thrown out and trampled under foot.

“You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hidden. No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before human beings, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.”

Pause. Pray. Reflect.

Growing up, my dad did all the cooking for our family. He’s also been living with kidney disease for many years, so we all ate a very low-sodium diet to help keep him healthy. He got very creative with bouillons, seasonings, herbs, and spices to add flavour without salt. But when I moved out and started cooking for myself, I began experimenting with adding salt to my food. It was truly astonishing the dramatic difference it made! Vegetables went from something I ate because that’s what you’re supposed to do to something I genuinely looked forward to. I discovered that meat could be enjoyed and not just tolerated. And potatoes — I can’t eat potatoes without salt anymore!

It’s a funny thing, this mineral. We need some of it, but not too much. Unlike most animals, we humans don’t usually eat salt on its own – that has a strong and often unpleasant taste. But when salt is added to the right food in the right amount, the food seems to sing. It comes alive in new and miraculous ways.

When Jesus describes his disciples as “the salt of the earth,” I relate to it more now than I ever did when living at home. My adventures with salt have helped me see this passage in a new light, one that would have been familiar to the audience of Jesus’ day for whom salt was essential and hard to get. (Fun fact: The English word “salary” dates from a time when Roman soldiers were paid in salt!)

The Bible is the Word of God, but the pages of a bible all alone are like unseasoned food — good, nutritious, but not always palatable or easy to swallow. Disciples (those who follow Christ and encourage others to do the same), we’re the salt — not useful on our own, but essential for making the Good News easy to understand and delicious! Faith is not something we undertake alone, at least not for long — it’s far too lonely and challenging. But faith with friends, fellow disciples, a church family, a community in Christ — that is a faith we can truly enjoy, look forward to, and rely on.

Consider for a moment who was your “salt of the earth” when you first came to faith or renewed your passion for Jesus. For me, it was a lovely woman named Dawn. She made the words of the Bible come alive for me and retold the stories in ways I could understand and relate to. Her joy in the Gospel was contagious, as was her love for youth ministry and, years later, I would end up leading the ministry she led me in.

I encourage you to pray for your “salt of the earth” person today and consider sending them a short message to thank them for their “saltiness.” Next time you’re at Mass or another church gathering, look for people who might need a pinch of salt, and ask the Holy Spirit to send you if you’re the one He wants to use today.

Jenna Young

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Faith Over Eloquence

5/2/2026

2 Comments

A Reflection on the Second Reading for Sunday, February 8th, 2025:
Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time

1 Corinthians
2.1-5

When I came to you, brothers and sisters, I did not come proclaiming the mystery of God to you in lofty words or wisdom. For I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ, and him crucified.

And I came to you in weakness and in fear and in much trembling. My speech and my proclamation were not with plausible words of wisdom, but with a demonstration of the Spirit and of power, so that your faith might rest not on human wisdom but on the power of God.

Pause. Pray. Reflect.

Church is fancy.

Scripture is tricky to translate. Mass itself is formal in its ritual; sometimes it is celebrated in Latin. Am I out of my depth? Yes. Often.

But, I do love a good speaker. In the past I have even gotten caught up in the compelling delivery of a message and lost track of the meaning altogether. Holding an audience captive in a story like that is a gift, one that I admire. I would love to possess the ability to communicate so beautifully.

In January 2023, I signed up for the Order of Christian Initiation of Adults (OCIA) and was baptized during the Easter Vigil that same year. During the first few OCIA classes, I wondered if the ability to speak about Jesus would ever come naturally to me. The program leaders asked a question early on: "How do you know Jesus is real?" I remember my response: “I believe He is.” Not so eloquent or insightful. Certainly not the educated words I would expect of a “disciple.”

I believe Jesus is the Way. He is the Truth. And He is the Light. I believe deep in my bones that He is all of these things. If you asked me, I would tell you He carries the weight of my challenges, anger, and frustration. Through the Holy Spirit, He guides me to peace every time I ask Him to; He draws my attention to the beauty of the world, and He blesses me with genuine friends to join me on my path.

He is everywhere.

I cannot quote scripture on demand; I cannot hold an audience captive with storytelling. But I can tell you the difference He has made in my life and in the lives of some of my sisters in Christ.

This was Paul’s way — a way I understand. It is simple, straightforward, and from the heart. Paul shares "heart knowledge": the basics of Jesus Christ’s journey to resurrection. What Jesus did for us is all we need to know.

He. Died. To. Save. Us.

No fancy words needed. He loves us that much. He healed the sick, put others before Himself, and washed the feet of His twelve disciples. And He died a cruel death just to save us — to save us so we would have the opportunity to be forgiven. I think I would have liked to hear Paul speaking to the people of Corinth in this way. With his plain language, I think I would have hung on every simple word.

Jacinda Whebby

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A Light You Don't Realize You're Carrying

4/2/2026

3 Comments

A Reflection on the Psalm for Sunday, February 8th, 2025:
Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Psalm 112

R. Light rises in the darkness for the upright.

Light rises in the darkness for the upright: gracious, merciful and righteous. It is well with the person who deals generously and lends, who conducts their affairs with justice.

R. Light rises in the darkness for the upright.

For the righteous person will never be moved; they will be remembered forever. Unafraid of evil tidings; their heart is firm, secure in the Lord.

R. Light rises in the darkness for the upright.

That person’s heart is steady and will not be afraid. One who has distributed freely, who has given to the poor, their righteousness endures forever: their name is exalted in honour.

R. Light rises in the darkness for the upright.

Pause. Pray. Reflect.

“Light rises in the darkness for the upright.”

There is a quiet kind of holiness that rarely makes headlines. It isn’t dramatic. It doesn’t feel extraordinary. It doesn’t announce itself with confidence or certainty. More often, it looks like showing up again. It looks like loving imperfectly but sincerely. It looks like choosing goodness in ordinary moments.

Psalm 112 reminds us that light rises in darkness for the upright, not because life is easy but because God’s grace settles into hearts that keep choosing Him, even when no one is watching. Light does not always burst into a room. Sometimes it glows softly. Sometimes it flickers. But it is still light.

Many of us women believe we are behind others, failing. Not spiritual enough. Not patient enough. Not productive enough. Not joyful enough. We measure ourselves against worldly ideals we were never meant to emulate. Scripture, however, paints a very different picture of righteousness.

The just person is not described as flawless. She is described as steady. Steady in kindness. Steady in generosity. Steady in hope. Steady in choosing the next right thing. She will never be moved. Her heart is firm, trusting in the Lord.

This is the woman who keeps loving her family when she is tired. Who keeps praying when she feels dry. Who keeps choosing gentleness when irritation would be easier. Who keeps trying, even when she feels she is falling short.

That is light.

Not spotlight, light. Not polished, perfectly filtered light. But living-room-at-2am light. Kitchen-sink-prayer light. Folded-laundry-and-whispered-Hail-Mary light.
God does not wait for us to become impressive before calling us radiant. He sees the generosity in our unseen sacrifices. He sees the courage in our quiet perseverance. He sees the faith woven into our small daily yeses.

You may not feel like light. But light is rising from your faithfulness.

You don’t have to become someone else to shine. You don’t have to prove your worth. You don’t have to manufacture holiness.

You are already carrying a light.

Today, may you release the pressure to be extraordinary and instead embrace the grace of being faithful. Because in God’s eyes, that is more than enough.

Theresa Langley

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"Healing Shall Spring Up"

3/2/2026

4 Comments

A Reflection on the First Reading for Sunday, February 8th, 2025:
Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Isaiah
58.6-10

Thus says the Lord:
Is this not the fast that I choose:
to loose the bonds of injustice,
to undo the thongs of the yoke,
to let the oppressed go free,
and to break every yoke?
Is it not to share your bread with the hungry,
and bring the homeless poor into your house;
when you see the naked, to cover them,
and not to hide yourself from your own kin?

Then your light shall break forth like the dawn,
and your healing shall spring up quickly;
your vindicator shall go before you,
the glory of the Lord shall be your rear guard.
Then you shall call, and the Lord will answer;
you shall cry for help, and he will say, Here I am.

If you remove the yoke from among you,
the pointing of the finger, the speaking of evil,
if you offer your food to the hungry
and satisfy the needs of the afflicted,
then your light shall rise in the darkness
and your gloom be like the noonday.

Pause. Pray. Reflect.

Healing enters our lives through many doors. Some of the greatest healing I’ve ever experienced has come through the Sacrament of Reconciliation. I recall one occasion in particular. I was oppressed by a very heavy burden of shame and, although I desperately wanted to raise the matter during confession, I struggled as my fear outmatched my courage. (Now, lest imaginations run wild here, I didn’t commit a felony. I didn’t hurt anyone. I didn’t do anything dishonest. But, as many of you will understand, sometimes acts that appear neutral in themselves can inflict grave wounds on our self worth.) Following much to-ing and fro-ing, I steeled myself and headed to confession to lay it all out. What a surprise awaited me. The response I received was such an extraordinarily gentle rebuke that it could only have come straight from the heart of God: “My child, you did nothing wrong.” As the priest continued to speak words of mercy and love, my burden lifted and my weightlessness was transcendent. When I left the confessional, I didn’t walk out; I floated out.

Let me be clear: this was a mountaintop experience. I encountered like seldom before God’s overwhelming love and mercy. Most of my confessions aren’t like this. The priest doesn’t often have a reason to say I did nothing wrong, and at the end I normally walk out on foot. And that’s fine. I’m content to receive overwhelming mercy in occasional doses. Otherwise, I would be … well … constantly overwhelmed, and I’d never get anything done.

If you’re wondering why I’m going on about confession and what it has to do with the First Reading, I’m getting to that part. I see (and I hope you will also see) a connection between the last verse of the Reading and the power of the Sacrament of Reconciliation. When Isaiah says, “[R]emove the yoke, the pointing of the finger, the speaking of evil,” I remember my mountaintop experience, when God lifted the yoke of shame from my shoulders, wrapped the accusatory finger I had pointed at myself in His gentle grasp, and replaced the shaming words I had used to describe myself with words of love and blessing. His mercy poured into my broken heart, making the light of His love rise in me "like the noonday."

And here is the really good news: the blessings of the Sacrament can survive the mountaintop. When I feel my light growing dim, I can strengthen it by sharing with others the love and mercy God showed me on that day, by loving with deliberate action the hungry, the homeless and the naked.

There is a power in the Sacrament of Reconciliation that is about more than the forgiveness of our sins (although that is very good indeed). When God breathes His mercy and love into us through the Sacrament, He inspires in us a renewed vision of ourselves, a vision of our better selves. In consequence, we desire to show others how God sees them by blessing them with acts of mercy and love; we act upon the joy that wells up within us when God pours out His mercy upon us; we become givers of good things. This is God’s healing mercy springing up, healing us and healing the world.

Donna Davis

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Salty Food

A Reflection on the Gospel for Sunday, February 8th, 2025:Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Faith Over Eloquence

A Reflection on the Second Reading for Sunday, February 8th, 2025:Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time

A Light You Don't Realize You're Carrying

A Reflection on the Psalm for Sunday, February 8th, 2025:Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time

"Healing Shall Spring Up"

A Reflection on the First Reading for Sunday, February 8th, 2025:Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time

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A Reflection on the Gospel for Sunday, February 8th, 2025:
Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time

A Reflection on the Second Reading for Sunday, February 8th, 2025:
Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time

A Reflection on the Psalm for Sunday, February 8th, 2025:
Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time

A Reflection on the First Reading for Sunday, February 8th, 2025:
Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time