“We saw his star at its rising and have come to do him homage.”

The Feast of the Epiphany is not simply about the visit of the Magi; it is about revelation. It is the moment when God makes clear what had been quietly unfolding since Christmas: this Child is not for one people alone, but for all nations. The light that dawns in Bethlehem is a light meant to be seen, followed, and adored by the whole world. Isaiah captures this vision with poetic power: “Rise up in splendor, Jerusalem! Your light has come.” The prophet speaks to a people who knew darkness—exile, fear, and uncertainty. Yet into that darkness, God promises light, not as a private consolation, but as a beacon. “Nations shall walk by your light, and kings by your shining radiance.” God’s glory is never meant to be hoarded; it attracts, gathers, and draws others into hope. The Magi embody this prophecy. They are outsiders, Gentiles, seekers from the East. They do not have the Scriptures of Israel, but they are attentive to the signs God places before them. They see a star rise and dare to believe it means something. Their journey is long, costly, and uncertain, yet they persist. Faith, the Epiphany reminds us, often begins not with full understanding, but with the courage to follow a small light in the darkness. The Gospel places two responses side by side. Herod hears of the newborn king and is “greatly troubled.” He represents the fear that arises when God’s light threatens our control. The Magi, by contrast, are filled with joy. When the star stops, “they were overjoyed at seeing the star.” The same revelation that unsettles the powerful becomes a source of deep joy for the humble. God’s light exposes hearts, revealing whether we seek to protect ourselves or to surrender in trust. Saint Paul, writing to the Ephesians, names the heart of today’s mystery: “The Gentiles are coheirs, members of the same body.” Epiphany proclaims a Church without borders. In Christ, no one is an outsider. The Magi kneeling before the child are the first sign of a new humanity, gathered not by race, status, or achievement, but by grace. The promise given to Israel now opens outward, embracing all who seek the Lord. When the Magi finally arrive, they do not find a throne or a palace, but a child with his mother, Mary. And yet, “they prostrated themselves and did him homage.” True worship recognizes greatness hidden in humility. They offer gold, frankincense, and myrrh—symbols of kingship, divinity, and sacrifice. Without fully knowing it, they honor not only a king, but a Savior whose path will lead through suffering to glory. The story ends quietly but powerfully: “They departed for their country by another way.” An encounter with Christ always changes our direction. We cannot meet the Light of the world and remain the same. Epiphany is not only about finding Christ; it is about allowing Christ to redirect our lives. Today, we are invited to see ourselves in the Magi. What star is God using to draw us closer—perhaps a longing, a question, a restlessness of heart? Are we willing to follow it, even when the journey is unclear? And when we arrive, are we ready to kneel, to offer our treasures, and to go home changed? On this feast, the Church proclaims with confidence and hope: the Light has come, and it is for everyone. “We saw his star at its rising and have come to do him homage.” May we not only see the Light, but follow it—and become, in our own time and place, reflections of that same light for the world.