Preached at Creekside United Church of Christ (Minneapolis, Minnesota). Texts: Matthew 2:1-12 and Isaiah 60:1-6.

Rev. Sandy Johnson—a retired UCC pastor here in the Twin Cities—describes a chilling benediction she once heard in seminary chapel. The text for the worship service came right after today’s passage, where in the next verses Herod orders a massacre of children ages 2 and younger. Herod is an incredibly jealous king, constantly fearful that someone will try to take over his throne. He is so paranoid that when the astrologers don’t return to say where they have found this child “king of the Jews”, Herod orders the death of all children in the age range of Jesus. Sandy Johnson says that in place of the customary “go in peace” to end the service, the preacher that day in chapel offered a different final blessing. “Do not go in peace. Herod is still on the throne and the children are not safe.”

Ugh. What a hard and true word for us today. “Herod is still on the throne and the children are not safe.” It recalls all the kids who are not safe—adults too—from ICE raids, healthcare cuts, and the gutting of social safety nets. Far too many of our kids live in homes where parents anguish over housing bills for which there are insufficient funds. Some who are queer or trans return tomorrow to schools where they will face bullies and wonder anew if there’s a place for them in this world. Children and adults are not safe from violence in Gaza, and Venezuela, and dozens of situations less in the headlines right now. Because we rightly cannot say “go in peace” to such circumstances, what is there in this coming year, or in this present moment, to offer hope?

Today, Scripture invites us to consider the example of these foreign travelers. The Greek word for them is magoi, also where we get the word for “magic.” The magi come from the East, shorthand in the Biblical story for strange, faraway lands. They were astrologers, migrants looking for meaning in the movement of the stars, roving scholars following the stars to seek out wisdom. They do three things in today’s Scripture that might be lessons for our own times.

First, they are curious and courageous across difference, following the star of wisdom to unfamiliar places and unlikely people. From the perspective of Judaism, these wanderers are “Gentiles in the extreme.”^[1] But the magi see the light of the star and draw near to find out its meaning. They follow it to tiny Bethlehem, to a young Jewish boy and his peasant parents. It is the last place that such foreigners might have expected to find the light of the world. Where are the unlikely places we will find wisdom in this new year? When we find ourselves in strange company or unfamiliar places, may the example of these astrologers lead us to look for wisdom wherever we are.

Second, the magi practice a holy disobedience for the sake of a higher obedience. Such sages could travel all over the world only by following the rules, keeping powerful people happy, and rarely stepping out of line. Yet here they value innocent life more than the orders of a tyrant. Their failure to comply with Herod’s instruction comes from a deeper loyalty to love the God of wisdom who is found in vulnerable human flesh. In the words of Kalie.may_ on Threads, “the Christmas story includes lying to the government to protect an immigrant family.” When there is challenge, conflict, and danger in the year ahead, may we have the wisdom to know when holy disobedience is required for the sake of obedience to Jesus the table-turning prophet of justice and love.

And third, the magi offer what they have from a place of joyful light. Shoulders heavy from travel across the globe, faces toughened by the winds of the world, heads brimming with knowledge of a dozen philosophies, they bend with gifts before a young child Christ. In this encounter, they are “overwhelmed with joy”. This Epiphany, do our gifts proceed from joy? Frederick Buechner describes vocation as “the place where our deep gladness meets the world’s deep need.” God wants us to be just as overwhelmed with joy as the magi, so thrilled with the encounter of Christ in neighbor and stranger that our own gifts come to light.

Beloveds, what light is yours to shine in the New Year? How are you called to honor the Other, practice holy disobedience, and follow Wisdom? It’s as though the candlelight many of us held in hand on Christmas Eve is implanted now within us, eager to be shown with joy in a gloomy season. And gathering in community is a reminder that none of us acts alone. We shine the light we each give—everyday individuals joining forces—in a great push to protect trans people, resist ICE raids, feed those sheltering at home, and otherwise fend off the fascism of Herod’s American regime. We’re all part of something much greater than individual efforts, and the spirit of Christ is still at work across the sky and within the heart, stitching together lives of joyful purpose that advance the cause of Love. This is the elemental conviction of common life, congregations, and organizing: we are better together, and the Divine is manifest where people of good will can do more collectively than can be individually done.

The multifaith effort that I founded a year ago—Prism Organizing Network—works through these principles of community organizing to advance LGBTQ safety, dignity, and liberation across Minnesota. After listening to what that means in communities throughout the state, this month we’re launching a Rainbow Road for 2026 that will help grow leaders and build people power to help make it so. We’re building regional leaders who are themselves developing leaders, with a goal that LGBTQ people and our allies will shine more brightly this year on Trans Day of Visibility, at Pride festivals, on Coming Out Day, and in transformative voter education around school board elections. No Prism person can do it all alone; it takes each of us shining our light in coordination. If you’re interested in finding out more, join us at 6pm this Tuesday in Edina, on Wednesday in Apple Valley, or later in January in the East Metro and online. You can learn details at prismorganizing.org, or by talking with Jonathan Swoyer or myself today after worship. This is just one example of how our human lights, gathered together, are powerful resistance against the gloom.

I’ve been thinking also of the literal lights I saw recently in the face of the night. A few weeks ago my husband Javen and I attended the annual Las Posadas pilgrimage in south Minneapolis, hosted by Saint Paul’s-San Pablo’s Lutheran Church. This Mexican Christmas tradition recreates the arrival in Bethlehem of Joseph and pregnant Mary. We first gathered to sing and pray in the sanctuary at Saint Paul’s-San Pablo’s, a group of more than a hundred multiracial and multilingual people of all ages. Before we went out on ritual pilgrimage into the night, a child was chosen to carry the star. Then we were all handed paper lanterns on sticks, holding them high to accompany a larger-than-life Joseph and Mary. Our pilgrimage took us to points in the neighborhood that had been terrorized by ICE, beginning with the intersection of Bloomington and Lake avenues. We visited a Mexican grocery and a Somali coffee shop, and at each place we sang of hospitality. The crowd was much larger than the previous year, all of us huddled against the cold, narrowly shuffling along sidewalks and trying to keep our balance on the ice. The children with us played in their snow pants, climbing and sliding on the icy mounds beside the road. When we finished the pilgrimage and returned to Saint Paul’s-San Pablo’s, the church had been transformed into a place of warm, radiant hospitality, with delicious Mexican food, children chasing piñatas and other games, plus live music and carols of the season late into the night. This is what it looks like—literally—to offer light, love, and welcome in the face of dark night. It was none other than President George HW Bush who spoke of “a thousand points of light, of all the community organizations that are spread like stars throughout the nation, doing good”. Creekside, Saint Paul’s-San Pablo’s and Prism are just some of the many, many such organizations and people with whom we see and share light.

We go into a coming year much like the years of Christ’s life. “Herod is still on the throne and the children are not safe.” But we have the light of Christ by which to travel and with which to share. Such light is different in each vessel, but you will know it when it heals those who are sick in body, frees those who are captive of heart, gives courage to the meek who would challenge the powers of the earth, grants purpose to those who feel like their usefulness has been used up, and comforts those who are alone, with all the compassion of a dear friend. Might this be the moment long-ago promised by the prophet Isaiah, the way that “God will arise upon you, and God’s glory will appear over you”? “Lift up your eyes and look around,” Isaiah prophesies, until you see the children protected in safety. “They all gather together; they come to you; your sons shall come from far away, and your daughters shall be carried in their nurses’ arms. Then you shall see and be radiant; your heart shall thrill and rejoice.”

Beloveds, we are the wandering magi God commissions today, called in all our imperfect glory to seek and then show Christ. Here in worship we encounter the light, presence, and body of Christ. And when we go, Christ’s light goes in us, with us, and through us. Carry that light of hope, love, compassion and healing into all the world. “Arise, shine, for your light has come.” Arise, shine! Amen.

Cover Image: Las Posadas at Saint Paul’s-San Pablo’s Lutheran Church, shared by Cheryl Persigehl.

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[1] M. Eugene Boring, commentary in The New Interpreters Bible: Volume VIII (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1995), 145.