Following the Light When the Way Isn’t Clear

A reflection anticipating Epiphany at St. Peter’s Episcopal Church, Del Mar
Based on the sermon by Madeline Polhill

Most of us know the Epiphany story by heart.

It lives in familiar hymns, childhood Christmas pageants, and images of wise men in bright robes carrying gold, frankincense, and myrrh. The magi follow a star across great distances to find a child born to be king. King Herod panics. Jerusalem buzzes with fear and intrigue. Eventually, the magi arrive—not in a palace, but in the quiet town of Bethlehem—where everything finally comes to rest.

We’re so accustomed to this story, it would be easy for us to lose sight of what it really means. But when we slow down and really take time to imagine the details, it feels less like a tidy tableau and more like a whirlwind.

There’s movement. Anxiety. Wonder. Questions asked and not fully answered. The magi see a star rise and somehow know it matters. They leave home, travel far, stop off in the wrong place, and finally arrive at a humble manger. Nothing about their journey is efficient or predictable. And yet, they keep following that star.

Until it stops.

“When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy.” The noise quiets. The searching ends. They kneel. They worship. In the face of a child, they encounter the Face of God.

Unlikely People, Unlikely Journey

What makes this story even more surprising is who the magi are.

They appear only once in the entire Bible—here, in Matthew’s Gospel—and then disappear just as quickly. They are outsiders. Not Jewish (likely astrologers or magicians). The Greek word used for them, magoi, shows up elsewhere in scripture in connection with false prophets. In other words, these are not the people you would expect to be the first to recognize the Messiah.

And yet, they are.

They are the ones who notice the sign. The ones who move toward it. The ones willing to journey into uncertainty because something about this child feels worth the cost.

Everyone else—the religious experts, the political leaders—stays put. But the magi go. 

And when they arrive, they don’t just observe. They bow. The word often translated as “pay homage” actually means to fall down in surrender. Their entire journey becomes an act of worship.

The Signs We’re Given

Most of us don’t have a literal star lighting the way. (Wouldn’t that be nice?!) But we do know what it feels like to sense that little internal “nudge.” A restlessness that won’t go away. A quiet longing for deeper connection. A feeling that there must be more than busyness, achievement, and keeping up appearances. Fill in the blank.

Living in a place like Del Mar, it’s easy for life to look beautiful on the surface and still feel unanchored underneath. Many of us are wandering—between work and school drop-offs, beach walks and deadlines, wondering where – and if – we actually belong.

The Epiphany story reminds us that God often works through small, unexpected signs. The magi didn’t fully understand where they were going or how it would turn out. They simply paid attention and followed.

And in doing so, they encountered joy.

Conclusion

The prophet Isaiah puts it this way: “Arise, shine; for your light has come.”

Epiphany is not just about what happened long ago. It’s about now. About noticing where light is breaking into our lives and deciding whether we’re willing to follow it – even and especially when it leads us somewhere unfamiliar.

At St. Peter’s, we believe faith is not about having all the answers. It’s about journeying together. Asking questions. Watching for signs of hope. Creating space for stillness in the midst of life’s noise.

The question Epiphany leaves us with is simple, but challenging: Are we ready to follow the light, wherever it may lead?

As we move into a new year, may we be attentive to God’s quiet guidance. And when we see even a glimmer of light, may we have the courage to follow—trusting that it just might lead us to joy, to belonging, and to one another.