Sunday, January 4, 2026: “Epiphany: The Road That We Live On”
The First United Presbyterian Church
“Epiphany: The Road That We Live On”
Rev. Amy Morgan
January 4, 2026
Matthew 2:1-12, 16-18
In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, magi from the east came to Jerusalem, asking, “Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star in the east and have come to pay him homage.” When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him, and calling together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born. They told him, “In Bethlehem of Judea, for so it has been written by the prophet:
‘And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah,
are by no means least among the rulers of Judah,
for from you shall come a ruler
who is to shepherd my people Israel.’ ”
Then Herod secretly called for the magi and learned from them the exact time when the star had appeared. Then he sent them to Bethlehem, saying, “Go and search diligently for the child, and when you have found him, bring me word so that I may also go and pay him homage.” When they had heard the king, they set out, and there, ahead of them, went the star that they had seen in the east, until it stopped over the place where the child was. When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy. On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother, and they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road.
It had been a joyful and fun but also long and tiring Christmas day at my in-laws’ house. We were driving home, and from the back seat came the question of all sleepy but over-stimulated young children, “are we almost home?” As the question was repeated several times along our 45-minute drive, I tried to placate our son, Dean, with answers like, “we’re getting there,” and “just a little while longer.” Finally, Dean started seeing houses and shops that looked familiar and asked, “is this the road that we live on?” And my husband, Jason, came up with an ingenious answer.
He said, “no, this isn’t our road. But we’re on the road that leads to the road that leads to the road that leads to the road that we live on.” After the next turn, it was, “we’re on the road that leads to the road that leads to the road that we live on.” Another turn and Dean chimed in with Jason, “we’re on the road that leads to the road that we live on.” And finally, we all triumphantly shouted, “we’re on the road that we live on!” We still give directions this way in our family today.
It feels comforting to know how close we are to home, how many turns we have left to go. We feel safe when we know the way, when we follow familiar paths.
The magi from the east in Matthew’s gospel had a roadmap of sorts. They had a star. For many months, most likely, they followed the road that led to the road that crossed through the desert that forded the river that led to the place where the star came to rest. They were triumphant when they arrived and celebrated together the child God had sent to be the liberating king of a conquered and oppressed people.
These foreign visitors - magi from the East – have been traditionally depicted as three male kings. They were given names around the 8th century, which aligned them with three different continents. The idea was that all the powers of the world came to worship Jesus. But the term magi most likely refers to Zoroastrian priests from an Old Persian culture, and both men and women could hold this title. Matthew names three types of gifts, but there’s no mention of how many visitors came to bring those gifts. The people of the east in the first century were mostly nations that had been conquered centuries ago by Alexander the Great. So the magi following a star to the place where Jesus resided may well have been a diverse community of seekers for whom news of a king born to an oppressed people brought hope that, too, might one day receive a similar gift. By paying homage to the Christ child, they were not necessarily welcoming God’s reign over all the nations, they were living into hope for a world where peace reigned instead of oppressive empires.
This community of magi had a star to guide them along the road to Jesus, along this path toward hope. But they knew this was still a perilous road. They were outsiders traveling with valuable goods. They were ancient enemies of the current regime. And when they decided to heed the warning they received in a dream and travel home by another road, they were defying the direct orders of a brutal authoritarian with spies embedded all over his territory.
But they did not allow this fear – this well-founded fear – to paralyze them, to keep them from taking a journey of hope, to keep them from celebrating liberation, to keep them from being transformed. According to theologian Boyung Lee, to return home “by another road,” signifies not just taking a different physical route but living a transformed life. The epiphany in this story is not merely the moment of recognizing Jesus as God’s Messiah; it is the beginning of a new path in life. It is living into hope, living in such a way that fear does not rule us, and it does not get the last word.
In a way, Jesus himself is a road. He is the road to freedom, to liberation, to restoration of God’s reign. He is the road to transformation, a new creation, good news of great joy for all the people. He is the road to our true home.
But this road is filled with twists and turns. It is sometimes unfamiliar. It is anything but safe. It is a gravely dangerous road, in fact. And it feels like a very, very long road sometimes.
Just as we began the Advent season with the gospel of Luke setting us “in the days of King Herod,” Matthew begins this post-birth narrative, “in the time of King Herod.” Jesus has been born. And it seems like nothing has changed. Herod, that despotic tyrant, that sycophantic puppet of the Roman empire, that violent maniac, is still sitting on his throne, demanding information and lying through his teeth. All roads, familiar or unknown, are dangerous. The arrival of Christ the King is not an occasion for celebration but an instigation of fear.
Because the people know what happens “in the time of King Herod” when another power threatens his paranoid reign. People disappear. Massacres are unleashed. There are real and terrible threats for people to fear when a challenge arises to King Herod.
These magi from the east are not naïve about these threats. They know the roads they are traveling are filled with peril. They know it would be safest to give Herod what he wants, to give up the location of the Christ child and travel home along the same route that brought them here. They can trust the road that leads to the road that leads to the road that they live on and let the chips fall where they may back in Bethlehem. What difference would it make to them? Why should they risk their necks to protect this child? Why should they enter uncharted territory, travel unreliable roads, for a king that isn’t even theirs?
Because they were a community that journeyed with hope. They would not allow fear to stop them, nor would they allow fear to imperil the redemptive work of God. They were transformed by joy and liberated by hope. Even in a time of fear, even when nothing seemed to change, even when vengeance and brutality seemed to rule, the magi did not allow it to have ultimate power over them.
Fear can cause us to succumb to empire, authoritarianism, despotism, violence. We can sacrifice and scapegoat others to save our own skin. We can become paralyzed, go along to get along, and keep to the familiar paths that make us feel safe, even if that puts others at risk. Especially in times of great fear, in times that feel like everything keeps getting worse instead of better, in times when nothing seems to make a difference – especially in times like these, we need to follow the way of the magi. We need to be a community that journeys together in hope, that is transformed by joy. We cannot let fear stop us in our tracks. We can find another way home.
We can celebrate every sign of liberation and hope, even in the midst of terror and tragedy. Celebration can be its own form of rebellion. We can take unfamiliar paths that will lead us home, and that can be a subversive act.
It can also be an epiphany, an act of transformation. We can take the road that leads to the road that leads to the road that we will live a new life on. It may not feel safe and familiar, it may be full of twists and turns, and it may feel very, very long. But Jesus is still the road to liberation, to the restoration of God’s reign of peace, to a new creation, to good news of great joy, to our true home.
As Boyung Lee writes, “In the face of fear, let us travel together. Let us defy empire not with swords, but with solidarity. Let us kneel in awe, not before the powerful, but before the powerless Christ, whose birth marks the beginning of God’s peace campaign.”
In times of danger and fear, we may have to go home by another road. We may have to navigate challenging terrain and unfamiliar territory. But the end of the road is not fear. It is love. It is home. It is the community that has traveled with us, traversed danger and faced fear with us, worshiped and rejoiced with us. And when we reach home together, we can all shout triumphantly, “we’re on the road that we live on!”
To God be all glory forever and ever. Amen.
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