 |
| Photo created by James Dacey, Jr. using Co-Pilot |
We spend so much of our lives chasing
happiness, yet the harder we pursue it, the more it seems to slip away. Here's
a truth worth remembering: happiness isn't found by turning inward and
obsessing over why we're not content. It arrives quietly as a byproduct of
something greater fulfillment. When we stop asking "How can I be
happier?" and start asking "How can I become something
meaningful?", everything shifts. Self-preoccupation breeds misery, but
purpose breeds joy. Think about your own experience. When are you most
miserable? Usually, when you're spiraling inward, replaying past mistakes,
worrying about what others think of you, and anxiously monitoring your own
emotional state. This kind of self-consciousness becomes a prison. The key to
freedom isn't found in better self-analysis or more sophisticated
introspection. It's found in the radical act of forgetting yourself entirely.
Jesus understood this deeply when he told his followers, "You are the salt
of the earth, the light of the world, a city on a hill." Notice what these
images have in common: none of them exist for themselves. Salt doesn't season
itself; it enhances the food it touches. Light doesn't illuminate itself; it
reveals everything around it. A city on a hill doesn't benefit from its own
visibility; it guides travelers finding their way. Each metaphor points to the
same truth: we are designed to be something for others. This isn't just
poetic language; it's a fundamental reordering of how we understand our
purpose. In the ancient world, before refrigeration, salt was the difference
between preservation and decay. It was precious, essential, life-giving, but
only when applied to something else. The same salt, unused in a container, had no value whatsoever. Your life works the same way.
Think about what it means to be salt in practical terms. Christians aren't
called to huddle in isolated communities, congratulating themselves on their
purity while the world rots around them. We're called to invade every corner of
culture, business, entertainment, education, sports, technology, politics, and
bring the flavor and preservation that only the gospel can provide. This means
being fully present in the secular world, not as tourists or critics standing
at a safe distance, but as participants who bring something radically different
to the table. The marketplace needs salt. The boardroom needs salt. The
creative arts need salt. The question isn't whether you should engage with the
world, but whether you're willing to be so distinctively Christian that your
presence actually changes the taste of everything around you.
The light metaphor goes even deeper. You never actually see light itself; light
is invisible until it strikes an object and reveals it. A flashlight beam in
empty space shows you nothing; shine it on a path, and suddenly you can
navigate. This is the Christian's role: not to draw attention to ourselves, but
to make everything else visible, beautiful, and clear. When you live with
genuine love, integrity, and courage, you don't become the focal point; you
become the reason others can finally see what matters, who they're meant to be, and where they should go. Think of the saints throughout history. Their lives
functioned like floodlights suddenly switched on in a dark room. People
stumbling in moral confusion saw their example and thought, "Oh, that's
what it means to be human. That's what courage looks like. That's
what sacrificial love can accomplish." Your calling is identical.
Somewhere, someone is lost in darkness, and your life, lived well, could be the
light that shows them the way home.
This is the spiritual secret hiding in plain sight. Your distinctiveness, your
gifts, your very existence, they're not meant to be hoarded or used solely for
self-improvement. They're meant to spice up the world, to illuminate dark
corners, to help lost people find their bearings. Imagine waking up each
morning not asking, "How can I be holier?" but rather, "How can
I make the world more compassionate today? How can my presence become a light
that helps others see their path?" This shift in focus changes everything.
Instead of the exhausting project of personal perfection, constantly monitoring
your progress, beating yourself up over failures, comparing yourself to others,
you're freed to simply serve. And here's the beautiful irony: the holiness you
couldn't achieve through white-knuckled effort arrives naturally when you stop
trying to manufacture it. The wound of discontent heals when you stop prodding
at it and turn your attention to healing others.
The practical application is beautifully simple: feed the hungry, shelter the
homeless, clothe the naked, visit the sick. These concrete works of mercy
aren't optional add-ons to the Christian life; they're the very substance of
it. But it goes deeper than charitable acts performed at arm's length. It means
removing oppression from our midst, refusing to spread malicious gossip, and declining to participate in the character assassination that floods our
screens. In our age of social media, this last point deserves special
attention. How much of our online engagement consists of tearing people down,
enjoying their public humiliation, participating in digital mob justice? Every
moment spent in malicious speech is a moment your light grows dimmer. Every
false accusation you spread, every cheap shot you take, every dehumanizing
comment you post, these don't just fail to help others; they actively poison
your own soul. Remove them. The happiness you're desperately seeking won't
arrive through winning online arguments or perfectly crafting your personal
brand. It arrives when you become a source of genuine goodness in the lives of
others.
This is the paradox at the heart of the spiritual life: lose yourself to find
yourself. Stop trying to cultivate private holiness behind protective walls and
instead become a gift to the world around you. Your saltiness, your light, your
visibility, they're not badges of personal achievement. They're tools for
helping others taste something better, see something true, and discover the way
home. The church exists for the world, not for itself. Your faith exists for
your neighbor, not just for your own consolation. This is what it means to live
as salt and light. Not timidly, not apologetically, not hidden away in fear of
contamination, but boldly, distinctively, extravagantly poured out for the sake
of a world that desperately needs what you have to offer. And in that
self-forgetful giving, you'll discover what you were chasing all along: a
happiness so deep and real it can only be called joy.
©2026 James Dacey, Jr., OFS
