Fifth Sunday of Ordinary Time 2026

This past week, WCAX ran a story about something most of us don’t think about very much—until it’s missing: road salt. 

After the recent winter storms, there were reports of cars slipping, roads staying icy longer than usual, and people frustrated that streets weren’t being cleared the way they normally are. 

And the problem wasn’t the snow. It was a shortage of salt.

Salt is easy to take for granted when there’s plenty of it. But when it runs low, everything changes. 

• Roads become dangerous. 

• Travel becomes stressful. 

• Something small and ordinary suddenly turns out to be essential.

And that’s when today’s Gospel sounds different.

Jesus looks at his disciples and doesn’t say, “The world could really use more salt.”

He says, “You are the salt of the earth.”

In other words, when salt is in short supply—you’re it.

Salt is small, but it’s powerful. You don’t need much of it. A pinch can change an entire meal. 

That tells us something important about discipleship. Jesus isn’t asking for dramatic gestures or heroic performances. 

He’s asking for ordinary faithfulness lived consistently. Small actions done with love can change the whole environment.

Salt works quietly. When food tastes good, no one compliments the salt. Salt doesn’t draw attention to itself—it brings out what’s already there. 

Being salt in the world means helping others discover goodness, hope, and dignity that may already be present but hidden. 

It means encouraging rather than dominating, accompanying rather than showing off.

Salt also has to be used in the right amount. Too little, and it does nothing. Too much, and it overwhelms. 

That’s a good reminder for our own faith. Being salt doesn’t mean being harsh, judgmental, or loud. 

It means knowing when to speak and when to listen, when to challenge and when to show patience, when to act and when simply to stay close.

And salt has to be spread to work. 

It does no good sitting in a pile or stored away in a shed. Road salt only makes a difference when it’s thrown onto the ice, into the slush, right where things are slippery and dangerous. 

That means being salt will sometimes be uncomfortable. It brings us into contact with messiness, struggle, and tension. 

But that’s exactly where faith is meant to be lived—not at a distance, but right in the middle of real life.

Winter salt doesn’t remove the storm. It doesn’t make winter disappear. 

But it makes it safer to move through it. 

That’s a powerful image of Christian life. We’re not here to eliminate every hardship or conflict. 

But we are called to make the road safer for others—to reduce fear, steady people when they’re slipping, and help them keep moving forward.

The prophet Isaiah describes this kind of salty faith very clearly: sharing bread with the hungry, sheltering the homeless, clothing the naked, removing oppression, ending malicious speech. 

These are not abstract ideals. They are concrete actions that change conditions on the ground. 

And Isaiah promises that when we live this way, light breaks forth like the dawn. The light follows the salt.

St. Paul reminds us that this doesn’t depend on eloquence or strength. 

He came, he says, in weakness and fear and trembling, relying not on clever words but on the power of God. 

That’s reassuring. We don’t have to be perfect to be salt. We just have to be willing to be used.

Jesus’ warning is gentle but real: salt can lose its taste. 

Faith that stays stored away—safe, untouched, unused—stops doing what it was meant to do. 

When salt is scarce, roads stay dangerous. 

When goodness, kindness, mercy, and patience are in short supply, the world becomes a slippery place.

So the question today is simple: where is God asking us to be salt right now?

In a strained family relationship?
In a workplace filled with negativity?
In a community tired of division and complaint?
In a moment when someone needs compassion instead of criticism?

The world is experiencing a shortage of salt.
Jesus looks at us and says: You are it.

Small. Ordinary. Quietly powerful.
And when we are spread with love, we make it possible for others to keep their footing—and give glory to God.