You know, when we think about the story of the Epiphany, our minds naturally gravitate toward those exotic travelers from the East – the Magi. And why wouldn't they? They're fascinating figures who've captured our imagination for two thousand years. But I want us to consider something this morning that might seem a bit counterintuitive. I want us to think about why the shepherds, that other group in our Christmas narrative, never quite captured our hearts in the same way.
Have you ever wondered about that? We have elaborate legends about the Magi – their names, their ages, their kingdoms. We've painted them, sculpted them, written songs about them. But the shepherds? They show up, they see the baby, and then they sort of fade into the background of our collective memory. Why is that?
I think Matthew gives us a clue in today's Gospel. Look at what the Magi experience. They see a star – just a star, nothing more. No angelic announcement. No heavenly choir. No detailed directions. Just a celestial light that suggests something significant has happened somewhere. And so they set out on this long, dangerous journey with nothing but that astronomical observation and their own faith to guide them.
Compare that to Luke's shepherds. Those shepherds are practically spoon-fed the entire experience. An angel appears to them – not a distant star, but a personal messenger – and this angel tells them everything: "Today in the city of David a savior has been born for you who is Christ and Lord. And this will be a sign for you: you will find an infant wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger." I mean, they get GPS coordinates! And when they arrive, there's angelic verification. And when they leave, there's a whole heavenly chorus singing them home.
No wonder we don't tell stories about the shepherds. They didn't really have to search. They didn't have to struggle with doubt or uncertainty. They didn't have to interpret signs or wonder if they were on the right path. Everything was handed to them on a silver platter, so to speak.
But that's not our experience, is it? That's not how faith works for most of us. We don't get detailed instructions from heaven. We don't get angels showing up at our bedsides telling us exactly what to do with our lives, our families, our vocations. We don't get heavenly choirs confirming that we've made the right decision.
No, our experience is much more like the Magi. We see signs – subtle, ambiguous signs – and we have to decide whether to follow them. We have questions about life's meaning, about suffering, about God's will. We face obstacles – our modern Herods who try to distract us or lead us astray with with empty promises, with the culture's competing values. We wonder about our children's futures, about illness, about loneliness, about death. And we'd love to have those shepherd-style assurances, but the fact is, most of us don't.
At this time of the year, of course, we are interested in a certain group of travelers in that desert, travelers conjured up by Matthew to provide all generations with an ancient insight to the Child who was about to be born, that this Child was indeed for all ages, for all peoples, for all places, for all times. From north to south, from east to west, God is Emmanuel, "with us."
But here's what I find most compelling about the Magi: they searched together. They didn't make this journey alone. They traveled as a community, supporting one another through the desert, encouraging one another when the way was unclear, pooling their wisdom to interpret the signs they encountered.
And that's the lesson for us, isn't it? We can't be shepherds – we can't expect everything to be revealed to us clearly and unambiguously. But we can be like the Magi. We can be searchers who journey together.
Think about it: when we gather in a church. we're not just a collection of individuals. We're a caravan. We're a pilgrim people. We listen to the Word together. We break bread together. We support one another through life's deserts. There's a strength in that communal searching that we simply cannot achieve on our own.
The Magi didn't have all the answers when they set out. They had a wicked king trying to manipulate them for evil purposes. They had a long, uncertain journey ahead of them. But what they did have was fellowship with one another and that light – however distant and mysterious – to guide them forward.
But here's the best part of the Magi story, the part that gives me hope: at the end of their long journey, they found what they were looking for. They encountered the Christ child. Their search was rewarded. Their faith was vindicated. Their long journey through the desert wasn't in vain.
And that's the promise for us too. We may not be shepherds with clear instructions and angelic messengers. We may be Magi, struggling through the desert with only a distant star and our faith community to guide us. But if we keep searching, if we keep journeying together, if we keep following that light – however dim it sometimes seems – we will find what we're looking for. We will encounter Christ. Our search will not be in vain.
Lord, I pray for all my Sonshine Friends in this New Year of 2026, that we support one another on this journey. Let's keep our eyes on that star, trusting that it will lead us home. And let's remember that we're not alone – we have each other, we have the Church, and we have the promise that those who seek will find.
