There’s a phrase we hear a lot these days, especially in talent shows like Britain’s Got Talent or The Voice. Just before someone walks nervously onto stage, there’s that moment when a presenter or judge will say, “Go on, it’s your time to shine.” Cue the music, cue the lights, cue the drama. And if all goes well, a spotlight finds them and a star is born. 

I find that phrase “your time to shine” a little loaded. As if it’s all up to you to dazzle. As if the light has to come from just inside you, and it needs to be bright enough to impress the world. That can be quite a burden.

I often feel a little out of step with that kind of expectation. People are sometimes surprised when I tell them that I’m quite an introvert by nature. I stand in front of people week by week, lead worship, preach, sometimes even try to sing the liturgy, but it doesn’t mean I’m always comfortable being in the spotlight. I know what it is to tremble a little inwardly, to feel my way into a space quietly, to wrestle with the thought, “Am I good enough?”

Which is why today’s Gospel has resonance. Jesus doesn’t say, “Now is your time to shine,” as if we must summon some inner brilliance. He says something very different. He says, You are the light of the world.

Not because we’re dazzling, not because we’ve passed an audition, not because we’ve got everything together. But because someone, is already shining through you. It’s not about the spotlight being on us. It’s about us becoming a window through which others glimpse the love and mercy of God. To fishermen around the Sea of Galilee, shepherds, farmers, ordinary people like you and me, Jesus says, “You are the light of the world.”

In today’s Gospel, Jesus continues the Sermon on the Mount, not with commandments, but with images. Salt and light. Simple, earthy, necessary things. Salt gives flavour, preserves goodness. Light gives direction, warmth, hope. And that, he says, is our vocation in the world. Not to draw attention to ourselves, but to help make the love of God visible, to help others see.

Isaiah, writing centuries earlier, reminds us what true religion looks like, not performance, but love… It”s about sharing bread, loosing the bonds of injustice, sheltering the poor. St Paul, speaking from his own vulnerability, adds another crucial dimension. “I came to you in weakness and in fear and in much trembling…” These are not words of a confident public speaker.

It’s easy to think that “shining” must mean having charisma, eloquence, public acclaim. That we must always be extroverted, assertive, radiant. But many of us live quiet lives with inner trembling, with introverted personalities, with private doubts. Paul assures us, those are not barriers to the light of Christ. They may be precisely where His power shines through. St John Chrysostom taught that the light is not merely in you, you are light, if you dwell in Christ. Think too of other metaphors, that as the moon has no light of its own but reflects the sun, so we reflect Christ when we are turned towards him.

Artists have often imagined saints with halos, radiant with divine glory. But the real miracle is that such radiance is meant not for a few, but for all who live in love. Not to make us the focus, but to make God visible through our living. We see grace not only in grand gestures but in the ordinary sacramentality of life. Salt, light, oil, water, bread, wine, material things, gently transfigured by God’s presence. And so too with us. We don’t separate the sacred from the everyday, we find the sacred in the everyday. Christ, the true Light, enters the world through flesh, through action, through community. And now, he chooses to shine through us.

Think of the young care assistant who takes time to comb an elderly patient’s hair just the way they like it, because it restores their dignity. Or the parent, frazzled and tired, who still reads that same bedtime story night after night with love. Or the church volunteer who quietly sets about their tasks, unseen by most, but faithfully undertaken. None of these moments will trend on social media. But they are radiant.

So, this is not about seeking our “15 minutes of fame.” It’s not the light of performance or perfection. It is the steady, gentle light of kindness, of forgiveness, of faithfulness in genuine service. So let your light so shine, not to impress, but because we belong to Christ, and in our trembling and weakness, may his love be made known. Amen.

Image: Swanson, John August. Festival of Lights, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=56546 [retrieved February 7, 2026]. Original source: Estate of John August Swanson, https://www.johnaugustswanson.com/.