Epiphany (Observed) 2026

Text: Matthew 2:1–12

As Lutherans, we often feel a quiet disconnect from other Christians.

They speak about Bible study as “quiet time,” a space for meditation—reflecting on the names of God, His characteristics, His attributes, and what those things are stirring within them. They speak easily about where they are in their “faith walk,” about growth, progress, and what God is doing in them at this stage of life.

They build practices around that inward focus—prayer closets, spiritual journals, labyrinths meant to aid reflection and discernment. And if we are honest, much of that feels foreign to us. Sometimes even strange.

And yet there is another reaction we have to acknowledge.

There is often a seriousness there that puts us to shame. A rigor. A willingness to order time, habits, and priorities around faith in ways that actually shape daily life. Their faith costs them something. It disciplines them. It leaves marks.

And ours should do the same.

But the answer to that is not imitation. The problem is not that we lack techniques. And the solution is not to become more inwardly focused.

Because when faith is turned inward—when it becomes a matter of monitoring your spiritual condition, assessing your depth, interpreting your own heart—faith quietly becomes a project of self-examination.

And Scripture never sends sinners there for certainty.

When sinners look inward for assurance, they do not find clarity. They find accusation. They find inconsistency, mixed motives, and fatigue. And so the work never ends. Either you grow anxious, or you grow dishonest, or you quietly lower your expectations.

Epiphany gives us a chance to see something different.

Not a better spiritual method.

Not a deeper inward awareness.

But where God has actually chosen to be found.

That is what Matthew shows us in today’s Gospel.

You have probably heard someone say, in connection with Epiphany, “Wise men still seek Jesus.” Except that is not what Matthew shows us. The wise men are not presented as spiritual seekers in the modern sense. Matthew never describes their inner life. He does not tell us what they were feeling, discerning, or wrestling with. He tells us what they were shown.

They saw a star.

Something external. Something given. Something they did not generate or summon from within themselves. God placed a sign in creation, and they responded to it.

And that pattern governs the entire account. The star appears and disappears at God’s choosing. Scripture speaks before anyone moves. God warns, guides, and redirects through dreams. At every point, revelation is given, not achieved.

And when that revelation reaches Jerusalem, we see how easily it can be resisted.

Herod is troubled, not because he lacks information, but because what was revealed is a threat to him. A true King always unsettles false ones. Herod cloaks fear in religious language, speaking of worship while planning violence.

Jerusalem responds differently, but no better. The Scriptures are known. The prophecy is cited accurately. Bethlehem is identified correctly. And yet no one goes. Knowledge remains inert. Familiarity replaces worship.

So Matthew draws the contrast sharply. The problem is not ignorance. The problem is what happens when revelation is managed, feared, or kept at arm’s length.

The wise men, however, follow where God leads. And when the star stops, it stops over a house—not a palace. Over a child—not a throne.

And there, they fall down and worship.

They do not analyze the child. They do not refine their spirituality. They do not try to understand Him before bowing. Revelation has done its work. The sign has led them where it was meant to lead them.

And yet even here, Epiphany does not end in brightness alone.

The gifts they bring quietly tell the truth about the kind of King this child is. Gold for a king. Frankincense for God. And myrrh—burial spice.

From the beginning, this revelation is cruciform.

From the manger to the cross, God reveals Himself not in power, not in triumph, not in spiritual elevation, but in humility, weakness, and mercy. The true King will be crowned with thorns. The light of Epiphany will shine most clearly from the cross.

And that is the Gospel—not simply that God reveals Himself, but how He does so, and for whom.

Christ does not come for seekers who have refined their inner life. He comes for sinners who cannot find God by looking within. He gives Himself where forgiveness is poured out, where the old self is put to death, and where a new life is given.

That is why Epiphany finally answers the problem we began with.

Christianity is not another path of self-discovery. God is not found by looking within. You will not uncover Him by deeper introspection or more serious self-examination.

God has revealed His Son to you from outside yourself.

And you are not asked to find God. Christ has already come to you. And by finding Him in the cross, you are given a clearer sight of yourself than any inward reflection could ever provide.

There, you see who God is: merciful, self-giving, faithful unto death.

And there, you see who you are: forgiven, redeemed, and made new.

That is what gives Christian seriousness its proper shape.

Not anxiety.

Not constant self-monitoring.

Not imitation of someone else’s spiritual methods.

But identity.

You are not managing a faith journey.

You are not maintaining a set of ideas.

You are a new creature in Christ.

And that changes what faithfulness looks like.

Daily Scripture is no longer a “quiet time” for self-exploration, a moment to measure where you are spiritually, or to search for insight within yourself. It is where God speaks to you again from outside yourself—naming you as forgiven, correcting you where you need correction, and anchoring you once more in what is true.

Prayer is no longer an inward exercise meant to cultivate depth or awareness. It is the cry of a child who already knows where his Father is, because that Father has revealed Himself in mercy and promised to hear.

Even discipline takes on a different character. Christian rigor is not self-improvement. It is not proving sincerity. It is living out the identity you have already been given—ordering your days, habits, and priorities around the reality that you belong to Christ.

You take your faith seriously, not because you are searching for yourself, but because you already know who you are.

From the manger to the cross, God has revealed Himself for you.

And in that revelation, He has revealed you to yourself.

The light has shone.

The King has been revealed.

And in Him, you now know yourself.

Amen.