Fifth Sunday of the Year (Year A)

 Fifth Sunday of the Year 

February 08, 2026

Isaiah 58:7-10;   1 Corinthians 2:1-5;   Matthew 5:13-16

(image courtesy: Google)

Joe had always been a helpful neighbour and so the lady next door asked him if he could drive her little son to the hospital. Actually, Joe had other plans but he did not know how to say no. So, he sat the little boy into the car seat, fastened his seat belt, and started off on the 50-mile trip to the hospital. As they were driving along, the little boy slowly turned to Joe and asked, “Are you God?” Startled, Joe said, “No.” The boy continued, “I heard my mommy asking God for some way to get me to a doctor. If you are not God, do you work for him?” Joe replied, “I guess so sometimes. And now that you ask, I will be doing it a lot more.”

That moment changed Joe’s understanding of his own life. Without realising it, he had become the answer to a mother’s prayer.

The first reading from the prophet Isaiah makes it clear that authentic religion is expressed through compassion and responsibility towards others. God is not impressed by rituals that are disconnected from justice and mercy. Isaiah challenges the people to share their bread with the hungry, shelter the homeless, clothe the naked, and care for their own. When such acts are done, God promises that light will break forth like the dawn. This light is not something we manufacture. It emerges naturally when we live with sensitivity and generosity. Joe did not perform a great religious act. He simply responded to a need. Yet that simple response became light in a moment of darkness for a worried family.

St Paul, in his letter to the Corinthians, reminds us that faith does not depend on eloquence, power, or impressive arguments. He says that he came in weakness and fear, relying not on human wisdom but on the power of God. This reading reassures us that God works through ordinary people and ordinary situations. We often think we are unworthy or inadequate to represent God. We wait until we feel confident or prepared. But Paul reminds us that God’s grace works best through simplicity and humility. Joe did not preach or explain theology. He simply showed up. And that presence spoke more powerfully than words ever could.

In the Gospel, Jesus gives us one of the most challenging and encouraging statements in Scripture. He tells his disciples, “You are the salt of the earth. You are the light of the world.” Jesus does not say we should try to become light or make an effort to be salt. He says that this is already our identity. Salt enhances flavour quietly. Light dispels darkness without noise. In the same way, Christian discipleship is not about drawing attention to ourselves but about making life better for others through our actions. Joe did not announce that he was doing God’s work. He simply helped, and through that help, God became visible to a child.

This Gospel pushes us to examine our daily choices. How often do we avoid involvement because it disrupts our plans? How often do we say we are too busy to respond to someone in need? We pray to God for help, solutions, and miracles, yet very often God chooses to answer prayers through human beings. That mother prayed for a way to get her child to the doctor. God answered her prayer through a neighbour who was willing to give his time. In many situations, we ourselves are the instruments God wants to use.

Jesus also warns us not to hide our light. But he clarifies that the light shines through good works done for the glory of God, not for personal recognition. Our kindness, forgiveness, patience, and generosity should lead others not to admire us but to discover God’s presence. When faith is lived authentically, it naturally points beyond the individual to the God who inspires such love.

The story of Joe ends with a quiet but powerful resolution. He realises that being available to God only occasionally is not enough. He decides to be more open to God’s call in everyday life. This is the invitation placed before us today. God does not ask us to be extraordinary. He asks us to be faithful in ordinary moments. When we respond with love, our light will shine, faith will grow, and God will be glorified. And perhaps, through our simple acts, someone may come to recognise that God is close, active, and loving in their own life.

Happy Sunday 

Fourth Sunday of the Year (Year A)

Fourth Sunday of the Year February 01, 2026

Zephaniah 2:3; 3:12-13;  1 Corinthians 1:26-31;   Matthew 5:1-12

(Image courtesy: Google)

On this Sunday, the Word of God invites us to look again at what truly makes a person blessed. The world has its own ideas of happiness: success, power, wealth, applause, comfort. But Jesus, seated on the mountain, turns those ideas upside down. “Blessed are the poor in spirit. Blessed are the meek. Blessed are the merciful. Blessed are the pure in heart.” These are not slogans for the strong and self-sufficient. They are promises spoken to the humble, the unnoticed, the small. Today’s readings gently remind us that God’s heart is always drawn toward simplicity, humility, and love expressed in quiet ways.

In the days when an ice cream sundae cost much less, a 10-year-old boy entered a hotel coffee shop and sat at a table. A waitress put a glass of water in front of him.  'How much is an ice cream sundae?' he asked. 'Fifty cents,' replied the waitress. The little boy pulled is hand out of his pocket and studied the coins in it.  'Well, how much is a plain dish of ice cream?' he inquired. By now more people were waiting for a table and the waitress was growing impatient.  'Thirty-five cents,' she brusquely replied. The little boy again counted his coins. 'I'll have the plain ice cream,' he said. The waitress brought the ice cream, put the bill on the table and walked away. The boy finished the ice cream, paid the cashier and left. When the waitress came back, she began to cry as she wiped down the table. There, placed neatly beside the empty dish, were two nickels and five pennies. You see, he couldn't have the sundae, because he had to have enough left to leave her a tip.

No sermon is preached. No miracle is announced. Yet something holy happens at that small table. A child lives the Beatitudes without ever hearing the word.

In the first reading from Zephaniah, we hear God’s promise to leave in the midst of the people “a humble and lowly people.” Not the proud. Not the powerful. Not the clever. God chooses those who seek him with quiet trust. The little boy in the story belongs to that group. He is not rich. He does not demand. He does not complain. He simply looks at what he has and asks, “What is the loving thing to do?” That is the spirituality Zephaniah speaks about. It is not loud religion. It is honest goodness.

Saint Paul, writing to the Corinthians, deepens this truth. He tells them that not many of them were wise by human standards, not many were powerful, not many were born noble. Yet God chose them. God chose the weak to shame the strong. God chose the foolish to reveal true wisdom. The world often celebrates people who take more, keep more, and climb higher. But God delights in those who know their limits and still choose generosity. That little boy had very little, yet he gave something away. In God’s eyes, that is greatness.

The Gospel of today is the Beatitudes, the heart of Jesus’ teaching. They are not commands but promises. Jesus does not say, “Try harder to be poor in spirit.” He says, “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” The Beatitudes describe people who live with open hands rather than clenched fists. The boy in the story is poor in spirit. He knows he cannot have everything. He accepts that gently. He is meek. He does not argue with the waitress. He is merciful. He thinks of her tiredness and her work. He is pure in heart. His intention is simple: to do what is right.

One of the most striking parts of the story is that the waitress only understands what happened after the boy leaves. At first, she is impatient. She sees him as an inconvenience. How often we do the same. We judge people quickly, especially those who seem slow, unsure, or small. Only later do we discover the quiet goodness they carried. The Beatitudes train our eyes to see differently. They ask us to slow down, to look again, to recognize grace where we least expect it.

There is also a powerful lesson here about sacrifice. The boy does not choose the plain ice cream because he prefers it. He chooses it because love sometimes costs us something. Real love always involves letting go. In family life, in community, in religious life, in parish life, we are often asked to choose between what we want and what love requires. The Beatitudes are not comfortable words. They ask us to give up our sundae so that someone else might receive kindness.

This story also speaks to our understanding of dignity. The boy assumes that the waitress deserves a tip. He does not see her as invisible. He does not think, “I am only a child; it does not matter.” He recognises her work and honours it. This is deeply Gospel centered. Jesus constantly restored dignity to people whom society ignored: fishermen, widows, sinners, children. Living the Beatitudes means recognizing the sacred worth of every person we meet.

Another quiet message of this story is intention. The boy does not leave the tip accidentally. He plans for it. He counts his coins twice. Goodness rarely happens by chance. It is usually the result of small, deliberate choices. Holiness is not built only in great moments but in ordinary decisions made with love. Choosing patience instead of anger. Choosing honesty instead of convenience. Choosing generosity instead of excess. These are Beatitude moments.

For us today, the question is simple and challenging. Where are we being invited to live like that child? What is our “sundae”? What comforts, privileges, or desires do we hold onto, even when love asks us to loosen our grip? The Gospel does not ask us to become poor for the sake of poverty. It asks us to be free enough to love. Freedom is the true blessing Jesus speaks about.

The waitress cried not because of the money, but because she encountered unexpected goodness. The Beatitudes have that power. When lived sincerely, they move hearts. They remind people that kindness still exists, that humility still speaks, that God is still at work in the small and hidden places of life.

As we come to the Eucharist today, we are invited to bring our small coins to the altar: our limited love, our fragile faith, our simple efforts. God does not ask for grand gestures. He asks for honest hearts. Like that little boy, may we learn to choose love even when no one is watching. Then, quietly and surely, the kingdom of God will be revealed among us.

Happy Sunday