Paulist Fr. Rich Andre preached this homily on the 5th Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year A) on February 8, 2026, at Old St. Mary’s Catholic Church in Chicago, IL. The homily is based on the day’s readings: Isaiah 58:7-10; Psalm 112; 1 Corinthians 2:1-5; and Matthew 5:13-16.

Today’s gospel passage follows directly after last week’s passage. We’re still near the beginning of the magnificent Sermon on the Mount, in which Matthew lays out Jesus’ teachings in programmatic, systematic order. Today’s passage — just four short verses — is very familiar to us. Let’s be careful that our familiarity doesn’t lead us to hear Jesus’ words as mere folk wisdom. As Paul reminds us in our second reading, our faith does not rest on human wisdom but on the power of God . At Mass two weekends ago, we re-committed ourselves to enthroning the Word of God and its life-giving power in our hearts. 

Jesus calls us to be the light of the world and the salt of the earth. If we need a refresher on what it means to let our light shine, Isaiah lays out a good starting list for us in our first reading. It’s a great examination as we prepare for the season of Lent. (This is your reminder: there are only 10 days left until Ash Wednesday!) 

Even though we may not have followed God’s commands in the past, God offers us the gift of mercy and invites us to renew our commitment again.

When I was a student with the Paulist Fathers, we still lived in St. Paul’s College in Washington, DC, a behemoth of a building that had once housed our own theologate and faculty. In my time, we had so many guest rooms that we would host lots of overnight guests who had business next door with the US Conference of Catholic Bishops.

One Sunday evening in 2007, one of these newly-arrived guests came to the novices’ common room and asked to join the novices in watching TV. They welcomed him. I think that it was only after the guest sat down that he realized that they were watching  Deadwood , a cable drama about the rough-and-tumble life in the Dakota territory in the 1870s. It was one of the earliest premiere cable TV series that was noted for its extensive use of profanity. The guest politely watched the hour-long show with them. At the end, he thanked the novices for giving him new insight into his diocese. You see, the novices had not realized that their guest was the Catholic bishop of Rapid City, South Dakota, a guy named Blase Cupich. 

I was a student, not a novice, and I was not watching TV that evening — Deadwood was not my cup of tea — but I also met Blase Cupich for the first time on that same evening. Over the next 18 years, I would notice when his name came up in the news, never realizing that some day he would be my boss. I admired how skilled he was at challenging people on both ends of the political spectrum to value the fullness of Catholic Social Teaching. Since Cardinal Cupich has become Archbishop of Chicago his critics have become more vocal. Last year, when outsiders tried to paint one of Cardinal Cupich’s decisions as unorthodox — a decision that even Pope Leo publicly praised — Cardinal Cupich wrote this insightful response :

As I look back on my 50 years as a priest and 27 years as a bishop, I have seen the divisions within the Catholic community dangerously deepen. These divisions harm the unity of the church and undermine our witness to the Gospel. Bishops cannot simply ignore this situation because we have a duty to promote unity and assist all Catholics to embrace the teachings of the church as a consistent whole.

The tragedy of our current situation in the United States is that Catholics find themselves politically homeless. The policies of neither political party perfectly encapsulate the breadth of Catholic teaching. Additionally, polling tends to show that when it comes to public policies, Catholics themselves remain divided along partisan lines, much like all Americans. This impasse has become more entrenched over the years and our divisions undermine our calling to witness to the Gospel.

Granted, not many people at Old St. Mary’s are destined to become cardinals.¹ (It’s only happened once.) And the Church is not only comprised of bishops. How are the rest of us supposed to be salt and light for the world? Through the words of Isaiah, God told us to satisfy the afflicted by sharing our bread with the hungry, sheltering the oppressed and the homeless, and clothing the naked. God commanded us to eradicate oppression, false accusation, and malicious speech. But Matthew makes it clear that acts of charity are not enough. By putting Jesus’ call to be salt and light immediately after declaring that those who have every kind of evil falsely uttered against them will be blessed, Matthew emphasizes that we’re supposed to supposed to speak up about all social injustices, whether or not they line up with our chosen political party’s platform. 

We are called to rise above the partisan divides. Whether we are liberal, conservative, or independent, we are each obliged to do our part to persuade both of our political parties and all of our leaders to embrace a greater breadth of Catholic teaching. 

I’d like to end with another quote. This is from a meme that’s been rolling around the internet for more than a decade, long before some of our political issues were framed as they are today. As we prepare for Lent, this still can be used as a timely examination of conscience on how we engage with politics:

When I talk about greater justice for immigrants, I’m called a Democrat.

When I speak up against abortion, I’m called a Republican.

When I talk about racism and racial inequality, I’m called a Democrat.

When I mention small localized government, I’m called a Republican.

When I support the common good and solidarity, I’m called a Democrat.

When I say the family should be strengthened, I’m called a Republican.

When I speak up against the death penalty, I’m called a Democrat.

When I refuse to fund contraception, I’m called a Republican.

In truth, I’m a member of an institution that teaches that freedom is when a person no longer acts under the influence of someone else. An institution that encourages free will and free thought. An institution that doesn’t fit inside a human-made box. I’m Catholic.