Salt, Light, and the Power of Small Things

Texts:  Isaiah 58:1-12 and Matthew 5:13-20

Sometimes, it feels like the world is unraveling: suspicion is up, neighborliness is down, and the Dream of God can seem impossibly far away. It’s easy to wonder if our small lives or little gestures could possibly make a difference.

Yet, the ancient words from Isaiah ring out for moments just like these. God isn’t asking for bigger rituals or perfect religion. What God desires is a faith that gets its hands dirty: a way of living that shelters, heals, feeds, repairs, and restores. Isaiah calls it being “repairers of the breach, restorers of streets to live in.” Real spirituality is lived, not just believed.

Centuries later, Jesus looks out on a hillside full of ordinary people—people who know pain, imperfection, and hope—and he says: “You are the salt of the earth. You are the light of the world.”

Not, “You will be, someday, when you get it all together.”

Not, “You’ll be good enough when you’re perfect.”

No—right now. With your quirks, doubts, wounds, and unique flavor.

Salt is a funny thing: it brings its own “minerals.” You carry your own blend of gifts, oddities, strengths, and hurts. God’s not waiting for a flawless you—God’s asking for your minerals, your flavor, right where you are. Salt is only useful when it’s poured out, mingled into the mess and beauty of daily life.

And light? It isn’t for hiding. It’s for revealing what’s real. Sometimes, being light simply means refusing to turn away from suffering, naming what needs to be named, and letting those who feel invisible know they’re seen.

Don’t let anyone tell you your small acts don’t matter; that kindness is naïve or a waste of time. Don’t let the world convince you that if you can’t fix it all, you shouldn’t bother at all. As the sages remind us, you’re not called to save the whole world—just to ease even 1/60th of someone’s pain is holy work.  Simply by showing up, refusing to let go of hope, refusing to give up on compassion, refusing to stop loving, darkness is scattered and you flavor your small corner of the world and let your light shine.

So this week, how might you show up?

— With a note or call to someone who’s struggling

— By welcoming the stranger or standing up for the overlooked

— By offering a kindness, a listening ear, a reminder that someone matters

You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to do it all. Just show up, just as you are. Let your minerals mix, let your light shine.

The Dream of God is not far off. It’s already breaking in—through the little things, through you.

Blessed are you, when you risk showing up, just as you are.