The Sermon
Prepared by The Revd Shan Rush.
The turning of the calendar to a New Year often invites reflection. We may look back on the paths
we have walked, the moments that have shaped us, and look forward to the hopes we quietly carry
into what lies ahead. Our journey of faith mirrors this rhythm. Like any pilgrimage, it begins
without full knowledge, requires trust, and discovers meaning along the way.
Recently, I have been trying to plan a journey I have wanted to undertake for several years: to walk
100 kilometres of the Camino de Santiago. Planning it has not been straightforward. Flights, buses,
and trains must align with annual leave. Routes must be manageable, long enough each day to be a
bit of a challenge but not so far that it becomes exhausting or unrealistic to achieve.
Accommodation must be booked. Each step of planning seems to introduce a new challenge.
Amongst the enthusiasm, uncertainties remain - enough to raise doubts and fears. The excitement
of the idea is real, but it is dampened by not knowing exactly how everything will unfold.
My experience has made me wonder how the Magi managed without technology, timetables, or
carefully planned itineraries.
Their journey began with attentiveness. As part of their working lives, they noticed a star - and
recognised it as significant. That recognition stirred them to act. Following the star gave them
direction, but not certainty. They came from the East, from outside of the land of Israel. They
were not Jews, but gentiles. They had no map, no detailed destination, no guarantee of what they
would find. In order to follow the star, they would have travelled in the dark, both literally and
metaphorically, at night, against convention. They did not know how long the journey would take,
whether they would be welcomed or mistrusted as foreigners, or even whether they had
interpreted the sign correctly. Some people at the time believed the promised Messiah would
come only for the Jews, but Matthew turns this idea upside down, illustrating that the Church is
not an elite club open only to specific people, but welcomes anyone committed to exploring their
relationship with God.
The Magi’s pilgrimage was filled with uncertainty, yet they were willing to risk it. They were
seekers - open, curious, and unafraid to approach others for help and subsequently to share what
they had seen and learned.
Along the way, they were sidetracked to Jerusalem, expecting to find a king in a palace. Instead,
they were redirected to Bethlehem, to somewhere far smaller, humbler, and more profound than
they had imagined. There, not in power or splendour, they encountered the Christ child. Their joy
was overwhelming - but even then, having reached the unknown destination, the journey did not
end neatly. They had to trust in a message received in a dream rather than the authority of Herod
and return home by another way.
For the Magi, seeking truth did not remove uncertainty; it required them to walk through it. The
joy was not found in control or full understanding, but in faithfulness to the light they had been
given. They returned changed, carrying a quiet certainty that they had encountered something real,
even if they did not fully understand it and could not fully explain it.
This is the heart of Epiphany. Epiphany means revelation - God making known what was hidden. In
Matthew’s Gospel, God reveals Christ to the Magi, outsiders and Gentiles. In Ephesians, Paul
proclaims the great mystery now revealed: that Gentiles are included fully in God’s promises.
God’s salvation is not limited to one people; it is for all. Before his encounter with Jesus, Paul
violently opposed the church, particularly its common life that encouraged Greek and Jew to
worship God and live in fellowship together. Following his conversion, an act outside of his control
and a result of God’s grace, we are told they “are no longer strangers and foreigners, but fellow
citizens.”
Again and again, God chooses to reveal himself not first to the powerful or expected, but to those
on the margins. Paul, who persecuted Christians, The Magi - foreigners and scholars - find and
worship Christ, while Herod responds with fear and control. Epiphany asks us a question: when
God reveals himself to us, will we respond with seeking and joy, or with resistance and fear?
The Magi respond with worship. Paul responds with mission. Revelation always calls for a response
- not just to see Christ, but to follow, to serve, and to share the good news.
The Magi gave Jesus gifts of Gold, Frankincense and Myrrh but what can we offer him today? A
recent cartoon on Facebook showed 3 wise men having a conversation with each other. Two of
them are holding the gifts we expect to see whereas the third is holding an envelope. In response
to the puzzled look on their faces, he says “ yes, I know. But a token is so much lighter.” Will our
response to God be a token gesture or will we offer something much more precious?
The expression, “you don’t know what you have until it’s gone” is so true. Mum having a fall and
lockdown being announced meant I moved to Somerset without full knowledge of what would be
involved. The time I spent with her revealed new pleasures and joys alongside questions and
doubts. With the recent death of my mum, this New Year has prompted me to look back not only
at the last 5 years but to my lifetime and the precious gifts she has given me. The most important
ones are not the physical objects I’m sorting through and trying to decide what to keep, but
memories of her presence, her encouragement and most of all her never ending love.
It’s made me recognise once again that often when we give something to others, we also receive
something we were not expecting in return. Mum was the vulnerable one, dependent on my
brother and I to care for her, and yet she was able to give me gifts I will carry with me for the rest
of my life. My hope is that I’ll not hoard these gifts keeping them only for myself, but allow the
abundance of her gifts to overflow as blessings that will also benefit others.
The wise men left gifts but their epiphany moment was taking away the gift of knowing who Jesus
is, of being blessed and enriched by that encounter and of taking the knowledge of that encounter
beyond geographical boundaries to new places and people.
Pilgrimage, then, is both gift and risk. Faith is not about knowing everything in advance, but about
daring to follow the light we are given. As we celebrate the journey of the Magi, we are invited to
reflect on our own journeys - open to discovering more about ourselves, the world we inhabit,
and the God of love who sustains us.
God reveals Jesus as the Saviour of the whole world. That revelation has the potential to
transform seekers into worshippers, and believers into witnesses. Our presence here today at the
very least puts us into the category of seekers. Some of us have taken a further step and are
worshippers and believers, even though this comes with questions, doubts or fears. At the end of
the Eucharist we are asked to be witnesses, sent to share the light that has been revealed to us
through what we have experienced or heard with others. May we, like the Magi, have the courage
to follow the light - even when the road ahead is uncertain.
I’ll end with words of an Epiphany Eucharistic Prayer written by Ann Lewin.
Come freshly to us now, Lord God,
as we offer you our lives,
renew in us your gifts:
the gold of our potential,
the incense of our prayers and aspirations,
the myrrh of healing for our pain;
feed us and nourish us,
that we may grow in the life of Christ;
fill us with your Spirit
that we may overflow with your love,
and transform the world to your glory. Amen.
Prayer for Venezuela
God of power and might, your broken world cries out from the depths,
a world dominated by the darkness of war, terror, pain and suffering.
We pray for the rapidly evolving situation in Venezuela,
We share the pain and anguish of those whose lives are affected,
desperate for a new start free from fear and war.
May they see your light, feel your strength and power
and know the truth of your promise
that we shall not be overcome by the dark shadows of life
or the darkness of human nature. Amen
