Magi: Another Road

Matthew 2:1-12 Magi: Another Road

Epiphany Sunday, January 11, 2026

Rev. Heather Carlson, St. John’s Presbyterian Church, Medicine Hat, AB

 

There is an old story told about a man who hated Christmas. It was late on Christmas Eve, and despite his wife’s gentle urging, he refused to go to church. The whole idea of God becoming a human being made no sense to his logical, orderly mind. A divine baby born in a stable seemed irrational, sentimental, and unnecessary.

 

After his family left, the man stood alone at the picture window, watching heavy snow fall in the dark. The world looked cold and quiet. As he stared outside, his thoughts turned to the birds. Earlier that day he had scattered seed for them, but now the feeders were buried under snow. He turned on the backyard light, but the snow was so thick that neither birds nor seed could be seen.

 

So he put on his heavy coat and boots and went outside. He opened the big barn door and turned on the light inside. Then he spread birdseed just inside the barn, hoping the birds would see the light and find shelter. But they didn’t. They fluttered helplessly in the storm, frightened by every movement he made.

 

Desperate to help them, the man tried to shoo the birds toward the open barn. He waved his arms and walked behind them, but the more he tried to help, the more afraid they became. They were only inches away from warmth, food, and life—and yet he could not make them understand.

 

Standing there in the snow, he suddenly thought, “If only I were a bird. If only I could become like them, then I could show them the way.”

 

Just then, he heard church bells ringing in the distance, announcing Christmas morning. And suddenly, everything came together. Epiphany. He understood why God came in Jesus. At that moment, the man believed.

 

Epiphany is a Greek word that means “manifestation,” or “revealing.” It is the moment when something hidden becomes clear. It is a sudden insight, an aha moment. It is when scattered pieces finally form a picture.

 

Epiphany is not just about learning new information. It is about seeing differently. 

 

Without epiphany, the Bible is just an old book. Without epiphany, Jesus is only a historical figure. But with epiphany, the story opens up. The light breaks through. Faith becomes encounter.

 

That is what today—Epiphany Sunday—is about.

 

Matthew tells us that in the midst of deep darkness, God was already at work. Israel was a small, weary nation living under Roman occupation. Many felt forgotten. Many wondered if God was still paying attention.

 

And yet, Matthew says, God’s light was already rising. The surprise is where and for whom that light appears.

 

“After Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea,” Matthew writes, “wise men from the East came to Jerusalem.” These Magi were outsiders. Gentiles. Scholars who studied the stars and searched for meaning in the heavens. They did not belong to God’s covenant people. They did not know the Scriptures the way Israel did.

 

And yet, they saw something.

 

They followed a star—an unexpected sign—trusting that God was speaking to them in a language they could understand. Their journey itself was an act of faith. They left what was familiar. They risked misunderstanding and danger. They traveled far, guided only by a light they did not fully comprehend.

 

When they arrived in Jerusalem asking, “Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews?” they shook the city. Herod was frightened. The political and religious leaders were disturbed. Power is always threatened when God shows up in unexpected ways.

 

Herod knew of the Scriptures. His advisors e knew where the Messiah was to be born. But knowledge alone did not lead him to worship. Fear led him instead to manipulation and violence. The same light that guided the Magi exposed Herod’s darkness.

 

The Magi, however, kept going.

 

And when the star stopped over the place where the child was, Matthew tells us they were “overwhelmed with joy.” They entered the house. They saw the child with Mary his mother. And they knelt down and worshiped him.

 

This is Epiphany.

 

Not power bowing to power, but wisdom bowing to vulnerability. Not certainty, but trust. Not control, but surrender.

 

They offered gifts—gold, frankincense, and myrrh—symbols of kingship, divinity, and suffering. Without fully understanding, they recognized that God was doing something new, something world-changing, through this child.

 

And then Matthew adds one small but crucial detail: “Having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road.”

 

Epiphany always sends us on by another road. What has been seen, cannot be unseen.

 

This is true not only in Scripture, but throughout the history of the church.

 

Think of Augustine, a restless young man searching for meaning in pleasure, ambition, and success. One day, he heard a child’s voice saying, “Take and read.” He opened Scripture and encountered Christ in a way that transformed his life. His epiphany did not make life easy—but it gave his life direction.

 

Or Martin Luther, tormented by fear and guilt, suddenly realizing that salvation was not something he had to earn, but something God freely gives by grace. That epiphany reshaped not only his faith, but the church itself.

 

Or John Calvin, whose sudden conversion, as he described it, brought his heart into “teachable obedience.” His epiphany led him to a lifetime of disciplined discipleship, shaped by humility before God’s Word.

 

Or Harriet Tubman, who trusted God’s voice so deeply that she followed it into danger again and again, leading others out of slavery. Her epiphany was not abstract—it took flesh in courage, resistance, and love.

 

Epiphanies are not always dramatic. Sometimes they come quietly.

 

A parent realizes that loving their child as God loves them means letting go of control.
A person facing illness discovers that God’s presence does not disappear in weakness.
A congregation comes to see that following Christ means opening doors wider than comfort would prefer.

 

Even today, Christians experience epiphany moments that strengthen their discipleship.

Someone realizes that faith is not just about belief, but about how we treat our neighbor.
Someone recognizes that forgiveness is not excusing harm, but choosing freedom.
Someone hears Christ calling them—not to safety, but to faithfulness.

 

Epiphany does not remove darkness from the world. Herod is still there. Fear, violence, and injustice remain. But epiphany changes how we walk through the darkness. It gives us light enough for the next step.

 

That is why we gather here. We open this ancient Book not because it is comfortable, but because it is living. We listen for God’s voice not only in the text, but in our shared life. We look around and see God bringing hope where there was despair, courage where there was fear, love where there was loneliness.

 

And sometimes—often when we least expect it—we realize: God is here.

 

Not only in what happened long ago, but in what is happening now. In the Font of baptism. At the Table of the Lord’s supper.  In this community. In our lives.

 

Epiphany Sunday reminds us that faith is a journey. Like the Magi, we are people on the move—guided by light we do not fully understand, trusting God step by step.

 

And like the Magi, when we truly encounter Christ, we do not return the same way we came.

 

So as you leave today, carry this with you:

Look for God’s light—especially where you least expect it.
Pay attention to what stirs your joy, your compassion, your courage.
Do not be afraid when faith leads you onto a new road.

 

Because Epiphany is not just something we celebrate once a year.
It is something we live.

 

And when Christ is revealed to us—  we go home by another road.