February 8, 2026 - Fr. Steve Moore

You can listen along while you read by pressing “Play” on the player above.

The grace and peace of God our Father, the love of the Lord Jesus Christ, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you all.

Early in my training as a therapist, when I was doing more child therapy, I learned that every child really needs one person in their life. It’s wonderful if they have more—a whole family—but they need at least one person who believes in them in order to grow. That person might be a family member, but it could also be a grandparent, a teacher, or a coach. It’s almost essential.

They need one person who believes in them, who sees the best in them, and who is there to help them grow. That lesson has stayed with me, because I think about it all the time in my own work. We all need at least one person who will guide us, encourage us, and be on our side.

And how often do we, as people of faith, fail to experience God in that way? Instead, we often imagine a God who is watching us to make sure we do the right thing, rather than a God who sees the best in us.

I thought about that this week as I was praying with our Gospel reading: “You are the light of the world. You are the salt of the earth.” It struck me that we read Scripture in chunks in the Episcopal Church, as do most churches that follow a lectionary. It makes sense—we hear a lot of the Bible, and there’s always something to preach on—but sometimes we break up readings in unnatural ways.

Last week we heard the Beatitudes. What if they weren’t meant to sound like instructions—blessed are the poor in spirit, blessed are those who mourn—as if Jesus were telling people what they must become?

What if Jesus was looking out at the crowd and saying instead, “I see you.” I see you who are peacemakers. I see you who are poor in spirit. I recognize what is already within you. Blessed are you already.

Does that change how we hear these words? Not as commands, but as recognition. Not as something we must achieve, but as something that is already true. Your essential blessedness.

The way you are in the world is salt. It gives flavor. It gives taste. And the way you are in the world is light.

What does it mean to have a God like that—a Jesus who looks at each of us and sees our essential goodness and calls it forth? Does that change the way we experience God? Does it change the way we experience one another? Even ourselves?

So much of the human journey seems to be about fighting against—learning, differentiating, growing. And yet, in that process, we often lose sight of the essence of who we are.

It is often in the presence of those people who truly see us—a teacher, a coach, a parent, a grandparent—those who recognize our blessedness and call it out of us, that we become who we are meant to be.

It’s also important to remember who Jesus is speaking to in the Sermon on the Mount. There may have been some rich and powerful people there, but most were likely poor, ordinary people—people not unlike you and me. And that matters, especially in a time when many of us feel powerless, voiceless, or as though decisions are being made in our name or against people we love.

Jesus looks at the poor and the powerless, the ordinary and overlooked, and says: You are the light of the world. You are the salt of the earth.

It’s easy to jump to the end of the Gospel passage and focus on the law. But most scholars agree that Jesus’ harshest words are aimed at hypocrisy—at using the law to control others while exempting oneself. What Jesus is saying here is revolutionary: it is you—not the rich, not the powerful, not the famous—who are the light of the world.

And perhaps most revolutionary of all, Jesus tells them: you are good.

So often the needs around us feel overwhelming. The days feel short. The problems feel too big. We wonder whether what little we do can possibly make a difference.

But it is much easier to do good when you know that you are good.

Jesus invites us simply to live into who we already are—to embrace the best version of ourselves. When we do that, we do good in ways we may never even notice. We touch lives without knowing the impact we’ve had. That impact is not for us to measure. Our call is simply to be salt and light as faithfully as we can.

And we do this together. We are not just individuals living the Gospel; we are a community, a church, living the Gospel. Our collective gifts are stronger than all the forces working against them.

One of the things I appreciate about the Episcopal Church is how we read Scripture. We read everything—Old and New Testament—but always through the lens of the Gospel, and ultimately through the person of Jesus.

In our liturgy, we stand for the Gospel. It is brought to the center of the community. This reminds us that Scripture is not just about words on a page, but about the living Christ. Even difficult passages must be read in light of Jesus’ life, teaching, and love.

So this morning, Jesus invites us simply to live into who we are. Those who are poor in spirit. Those who mourn. Those who are meek. Those who hunger and thirst for justice. Those who are peacemakers. Those who are pure of heart. Those who have been cast aside.

You are not just blessed.

You are salt.

You are light.

For those of us still learning how to live into this, I commend to you this prayer by Pedro Arrupe, former Superior General of the Society of Jesus:

“Lord, teach me your way of looking at people: as you glanced at Peter after his denial; as you penetrated the heart of the rich young man and the hearts of your disciples. I would like to meet you as you really are, since your image changes those with whom you come into contact. Remember John the Baptist’s first meeting with you, and the centurion’s feeling of unworthiness, and the amazement of those who saw miracles and wonders. I would like to hear and be impressed by your manner of speaking and listening, especially in the Sermon on the Mount, where your audience felt that you taught as one who had authority.”