Introduction
Epiphany is often treated as a cozy story of familiarity. The magi have become decorative figures. Drawn from extra-canonical tradition, our nativity sets offer characters of different races, draped in rich colors, neatly numbered, safely placed beside the manger.
But Matthew’s version of these visitors is far from neat. These visitors from the east are not background characters, they are catalysts. Their arrival exposes fear, unsettles power, and sets the trajectory for everything that follows in Matthew 2. Epiphany, in this text, is not simply about light being revealed. It is about what happens when that light is seen, and who is threatened when it is named.
Narrative Context
Matthew situates the birth of Jesus squarely within the reign of King Herod, a detail that is easy to overlook but essential to the story. Herod is not merely a historical marker, he is a client ruler of Rome, known for paranoia, violence, and ruthless preservation of power. From the outset, Matthew places Jesus’ birth in tension with brutal earthly authority. The question of kingship is already in the air before a word is spoken.
Into this political and religious landscape come the magi from the east. Matthew offers no names, no number, and little clarity about their origins. They are likely from Persia or Babylon. They may be practitioners of astrology, an occupation that would have raised suspicion, if not outright condemnation, within Jewish tradition. They are outsiders in every sense: ethnically, religiously, and politically. And yet they arrive in Jerusalem asking the most politically and theologically charged question imaginable: “Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews?”
That question alone is enough to disrupt the city. Herod is frightened, and Matthew tells us that “all Jerusalem with him” shares in that fear. Herod seeks answers immediately. The religious leaders know the Scriptures well enough to answer Herod’s inquiry. They can cite the prophet and locate the Messiah’s birthplace without hesitation. But they do not go. Knowledge remains in Jerusalem, while worship happens in Bethlehem.
The Cost of Epiphany
What is striking is not simply that the magi recognize Jesus, but that their recognition comes at a cost. Their search draws Herod’s attention to the child. Their question introduces a threat to the throne. Their faith, sincere as it is, becomes the means by which violence is set into motion. If the magi never arrive, Herod is never provoked. If they never ask their question, Joseph is never warned. If they never follow the star, there is no flight into Egypt.
Matthew does not resolve this tension for us. The magi are not villains, nor are they portrayed as naïve. They are faithful seekers who respond to the light they have been given. And yet their presence reveals how fragile power reacts when it feels exposed. Epiphany, in Matthew’s telling, is not a gentle unveiling. It is a revelation that provokes resistance. It provokes violence.
There is also irony in where discernment resides. The magi rely on a star and dreams, while the religious leaders rely on Scripture. But it is the outsiders who move, who kneel, who worship. The insiders remain stationary. Matthew seems less interested in who has the correct credentials and more interested in who is willing to be changed by what they see.
Theological Consequence
The usual trajectory of preaching this text insists that God’s self-revelation is not controlled by the usual boundaries. God speaks through foreign seekers, through contested practices, through signs in the sky and warnings in dreams. The light of Christ does not belong to one people, one system, or one set of expectations.
At the same time, Matthew refuses to separate revelation from consequence. Seeing Jesus clearly does not make the world safer. In fact, it may make it more dangerous. The presence of the true king exposes the violence required to maintain false ones. Epiphany names that truth without flinching.
Another familiar preaching move centers on the final verse: warned in a dream, the magi return home by another road. This is often read as a gentle image of personal transformation. Encounter with Christ changes direction. Worship leads to discernment. Faith does not simply bring us closer to God; it sends us back into the world differently than we came.
But that reading risks softening what actually happens. Changed by revelation, the magi take a political action. They do not return to Herod. They withhold information. They refuse cooperation with a violent ruler. They choose allegiance to the true king they have found. This is not passive avoidance; it is active faithfulness. The “other road” is not merely a new path home; it is the costly path of discipleship that honors God over power.
Matthew makes that cost explicit almost immediately. Encounters with God demand response, and faithful response carries consequences. But consequence is not a reason to avoid revelation or obedience. It is the inevitable result of choosing to live under the reign of the true king.
And there will be significant consequence to their decision. Joseph is warned in a dream and the family must flee to Egypt. Herod, exposed and enraged, responds with violence, ordering the slaughter of children. Matthew does not draw a straight line of blame from the magi to the massacre, but he also refuses to pretend that faithful witness exists without cost. Revelation does not cause tyranny, but it reveals it. A tyrant will always be a tyrant. What changes is whether the truth is named or concealed.
For Matthew, hiding the truth of God’s revelation is never the faithful option. Silence does not neutralize violence, and cooperation does not prevent it. The question is not whether following God will have consequences, but whose reign will be honored when those consequences come. The magi choose allegiance over safety, worship over appeasement. They cannot control Herod’s response, but they can choose to be disciples.
Preaching Possibility
Actions Have Consequences
Our society is quick to remind us that actions have consequences. We learn it early, often framed as a warning. But beneath that lesson is something more subtle: consequences are assumed to be negative, and causing negative consequences is treated as a moral failure. Do not stir the pot. Do not muddy the waters. Do not make things harder than they need to be. The path of least resistance is praised as wisdom, and avoidance is often mistaken for faithfulness.
Occasionally we celebrate those who disrupt the system. Those who speak truth, who challenge injustice, who refuse to go along quietly. But even then, the praise usually comes after the fact, once the risk has passed and the cost has been absorbed by someone else. In real time, faithfulness that unsettles power is far less welcome. In real time, we are encouraged to be careful, to stay quiet, to consider the consequences before we act.
Matthew does not allow that framing to guide the story of the magi. He does not ask whether they would have followed the star if they had known where it would lead. He does not entertain speculation about whether their journey was worth the cost. That question, for Matthew, is beside the point. The driving question is not, What will this cost us? but What is God doing? and How are we called to respond?
Epiphany reframes discipleship away from risk management and toward faithful attention. The magi see what God is revealing, they act on it, and they honor the true king, even when that choice carries real consequence. They cannot control Herod’s violence, but they can refuse to participate in his deception. They cannot prevent suffering, but they can choose allegiance. For Matthew, this is what faith looks like: not calculating outcomes, but following the light given and proclaiming what has been revealed, regardless of the repercussions.
This text invites the church to consider whether we have allowed fear of consequence to become a substitute for discernment. Epiphany does not promise safety. It promises revelation. And the question it places before us is not whether following Christ will be costly, but whether we will recognize what God is doing and have the courage to follow where that light leads.
Micah Krey 
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