5th Sunday in Ordinary Time (A)

 Is. 58:6-10; 1 Cor. 2:1-5; Mt. 5:13-16

From the earliest days of human history, light has held a sacred place in our traditions, stories, and collective memory. Ancient peoples gathered around fire not only for warmth but for safety, for community, and for hope against the darkness of night. In many cultures, a lamp was lit at sunset as a sign that life continues, that the home is alive, and that strangers might find welcome. Even today, festivals across religions revolve around light: lamps lit during Diwali, candles during Hanukkah, the Paschal candle at Easter, and simple oil lamps glowing before household shrines. Light has always meant more than visibility; it has meant guidance, truth, protection, and life itself. It is from within this deep human experience that Jesus speaks in the Gospel: “You are the light of the world.”

Jesus does not say, “You are the light.” This is both a gift and a responsibility. He uses images familiar to His listeners: a city on a hill, visible from far away, and a lamp placed on a stand so that it gives light to everyone in the house. These images remind us

4th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Zeph. 2:3; 3:12-13; 1 Cor. 1:26-31; Mt. 5:1-12

Every human heart long for happiness. From the earliest civilizations to the modern digital age, people have searched for happiness in wealth, power, success, relationships, pleasure, and security. Advertisements promise happiness if we buy the right product. Social media suggests happiness lies in popularity and recognition. Society tells us: “Blessed are the rich, the powerful, the famous, the strong.”

But when Jesus begins His greatest sermon—the Sermon on the Mount—He shocks His listeners. He does not speak of success, strength, or achievement. Instead, He speaks of poverty, mourning, meekness, hunger, mercy, purity, peacemaking, and persecution. He calls these people “blessed,” or truly happy.

The Beatitudes are not rules or commandments; they are portraits of the heart of Christ. They reveal what the Kingdom of God looks like from the inside. They turn the world’s values upside down and invite us to walk a path that seems foolish to the world

3rd Sunday in Ordinary Time (A)

 Is. 9:1-4; 1 Cor. 1:10-13, 17-18; Mt. 4:12-23

On a cold evening during the Second World War, a small village lay in darkness under a strict blackout. Inside a modest home, a frightened child noticed a single lamp glowing in the distance. “Why would someone risk lighting a lamp now?” he asked. His mother replied softly, “Because someone else needed hope more than safety.” That solitary light did not end the war, but it pierced the darkness and changed a heart forever. The Gospel today begins in a similar way—not with armies or palaces, but with a light dawning in darkness and a simple invitation spoken to ordinary people: “Follow me.”

When Jesus hears of John the Baptist’s arrest, he withdraws to Galilee. Matthew carefully notes that Jesus settles in Capernaum, in the land of Zebulun and Naphtali, fulfilling Isaiah’s ancient prophecy: “The people who sat in darkness have seen a great light.” Galilee was considered insignificant. Yet it is precisely there that God’s light shines first. This tells us something essential: God’s call does not wait for ideal conditions. Jesus enters places of confusion, pain, and uncertainty.