"Light Given, Light Found" - 01/06/2026

Today is January 6th, the Day of Epiphany. In the Christian calendar, Epiphany celebrates the revealing of Jesus Christ to the nations, remembered through the arrival of the Magi who came from afar to honor him. The word carries the sense of an unveiling, an appearing, a holy disclosure. Christmas lingers in the air, yet Epiphany turns the gaze outward, toward the wideness of God’s mercy and the surprising ways divine light reaches beyond expected boundaries.


Scripture
“When they saw the star, they were overjoyed. On coming to the house, they saw the child with his mother Mary, and they bowed down and worshiped him. Then they opened their treasures and presented him with gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh.”
- Matthew 2:10–11  NIV


Reflection
Night holds a particular kind of silence in early January. Darkness arrives early and stays long, and the world feels pared back to essentials: cold air, quiet roads, the steady patience of winter. It is into a world like this, ordinary and shadowed, that Epiphany speaks.

The story does not begin with certainty. It begins with a sign that could be missed. A star appears, and it does not command. It invites. It shimmers at the edge of understanding, drawing seekers who are willing to move without having the whole map. The ancient name for Epiphany carries this sense of disclosure: ἐπιφάνεια (epiphaneia, appearing). Not a loud announcement, but a presence made visible, a reality gently uncovered.

The Magi arrive from outside the familiar circle, guided not by belonging but by longing. Their journey suggests that God’s self-giving light is not fenced in by heritage, language, or geography. The Holy One does not wait only at the center of the expected. Grace travels. Revelation crosses borders. The star leads them to a house, not a palace, and to a child, not a throne. The scene is small enough to be overlooked, and yet it bears the weight of eternity.

They respond with bodies before words. They bow. They worship. Treasure chests open, and what has been carefully carried is released. Gold, frankincense, myrrh. Gifts that speak without speeches. Reverence expressed through offering. Love made tangible in what is placed at the feet of Christ.

Epiphany holds a quiet question: what kinds of light are already present, even now, even here. In Korean, 빛 (bit, light) can name both brightness and guidance, the sort of illumination that helps a person keep walking when the road is not fully seen. Epiphany’s light is like that. It does not remove every shadow. It grants enough radiance for the next faithful step, enough clarity to recognize holiness in humble places.

The Magi do not solve the mystery. They meet it. They kneel within it. And in that kneeling, the world expands. The child is not only Israel’s hope, but the world’s. Not only near, but for the far off. Not only for the known, but also for the searching.


Prayer
God of holy appearing,
let true light rise in the hidden places of the heart.
Let Christ be recognized in quiet rooms and ordinary days,
and let every offering become a form of worship.
Gather the distant and the near into one widening joy,
until all creation shines with your peace.
Amen.