Lectionary Commentaries for January 6, 2025
Epiphany of Our Lord

For Epiphany the lectionary offers us a tale of two kings: the holy child Jesus and the godless Herod.

Hemmed in by Herod’s menace and flanked by holy dreams from God, the passage is also a tale of two cities: Bethlehem, city of David, introduced in 2:1 as the birthplace of Jesus, whom we already know to be the Christ, child of the Holy Spirit, Savior, and Emmanuel; and Jerusalem, also a holy city of prophecy (Isaiah 65:17–25; Revelation 21:1–22:5), but now the royal city of Herod and the place where Jesus will die. 

But first, behold, magi! “Behold” or “look” (not present in all translations) signals something important—a star (2:9), angels (1:20; 2:13, 19), a holy birth (1:23), and, here, surprising visitors from the East, some combination of astrologers, philosophers, magicians, religious advisors, courtiers, intellectuals of prestige and wealth, but not kings and not three. We cannot say how many there are. In some traditions they become 12. Others assign them names and ages. What we can be sure of is that they are Gentiles not from these parts, that the light of glory has shone beyond Jesus’ own country to draw the world to his saving grace, as the other lectionary texts for the day also suggest.

These surprising Gentile visitors will move the passage from Jerusalem to Bethlehem and then will follow a dream in order to save the Christ, but not before they strike fear in the heart of Herod.

The magi give the holy child another title, king of the Jews, another nod toward what is to come in Jerusalem, city that kills the prophets but which Jesus still regards with mothering love (23:37). The title will not appear again until the passion narrative, as the charge against Jesus that will be written above his head on the cross. 

The magi have seen his star and, even more alarming to Herod, have come to pay him homage. This verb refers to a physical display of reverence for royalty or a god. In Matthew, this is directed almost always to Jesus by those who need him, follow him, and recognize him as the risen Lord. The devil will request this homage in vain from Jesus in the wilderness in return for all the kingdoms of the world.  

When Herod hears about a baby king already attracting the reverence of foreign elites with cosmic signs, he is frightened. Indeed, all Jerusalem is frightened at the prospect of a competing king to trouble (another translation of this verb) ruthless Herod. A troubled Herod is a dangerous Herod. 

By contrast, Jesus, troubled when he sees Mary of Bethany weeping, raises her brother Lazarus from the dead. Jesus, troubled when he realizes he will soon die, embraces the hour for the glory of God. Jesus, troubled that one of his own is about to betray him, comforts his friends and promises them infinite joy to come, and the presence of the Spirit to guide them. That is where a troubled spirit leads Jesus. A troubled Herod is moved to cunning and violence.

Herod calls in the chief priests, who are his own appointed religious elites, and the scribes, who will be complicit in Jesus’ suffering and death (16:21) and whom, along with the Pharisees, Jesus condemns at length in an excoriating critique of their hypocrisy and corruption (23:2–36). With a combination of Micah 5:2 and 2 Samuel 5:2, they point Herod to Bethlehem, and he directs the magi to go and then come back with news, which clearly does not bode well.

The magi have followed the logic of the kingdoms of this world to the place where they expect a royal birth, Jerusalem. But as soon as they turn toward the city of David, behold! The star they have seen in their distant homeland leads them to the holy child and his mother (not in temporary accommodation with a manger, but in a house—as there is no star in Luke, there is no census here). 

The overwhelming joy of the magi, which contrasts starkly with the terror of Herod and his subjects, suggests that they feel themselves in the presence not only of a king but of a savior. They have toted their treasures to a royal palace, but the cosmic sign has led them instead to the kingdom of heaven, where treasures are best placed (6:19–21; 13:44).

As the visitors have captured the imagination of theologians, poets, musicians, and artists for centuries, so have their gifts, which have been interpreted symbolically, theologically, artistically, richly in ways the text does not support, but which its openness and evocativeness have invited. What we can say without doubt is that frankincense and myrrh are costly, imported items, which, like gold, are suitable for even the wealthiest giver and noblest recipient. The magi are, most of all, models of faithfully following signs to the holy and laying our treasures there, then heeding the God of holy dreams, even if it means disobeying a king and taking the long way home.

Herod is left infuriated. His response in the second half of the story (2:13–18) is cruel. Children are murdered. The Christ and his parents flee by night to become political refugees in Egypt. Even then, the family of Herod is not finished. His son’s presence ruling over Judea will lead the holy family to Nazareth, and another violent son will murder John the Baptist to please a dancing girl. Then, later, another ruthless ruler, ignoring a warning in his wife’s dream, will kill Jesus at the behest of other religious professionals. 

But none of them achieve their ultimate aim because, although the Herods of this world think every story is theirs, they are never the real king, and the kingdom of the One guiding the holy family and the faithful magi transcends all the kingdoms of the earth and does not follow their rules.

The Gospel will end with life. And behold, God-with-us always.

And still the story continues, with people worshiping and protecting the vulnerable Christ—present still in the stranger, the prisoner, the hungry (25:31–40)—and following holy dreams of God a long way in wisdom and love. 

Isaiah 60:1–6 resonates strongly with Epiphany’s theme of the manifestation of Jesus as the light to the Gentiles and is thus paired this week with Matthew’s account of the visitation of the magi. Even though Matthew 2 explicitly cites Micah 5, a different prophetic text, some scholars suggest that the Matthean account was actually composed with Isaiah 60 in mind: “Nations shall come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your dawn” (Isaiah 60:3); “they shall bring gold and frankincense, and shall proclaim the praise of the LORD” (Isaiah 60:6).

In its literary placement, this passage appears in Third Isaiah (Isaiah 55–66), a section of the book with a dominant pessimistic and frustrated tone. Elsewhere in Third Isaiah, the anonymous voice complains of God’s silence (Isaiah 63:15; 64:12), pleading for divine intervention against rampant injustice (Isaiah 57:1–2; 64:1–4) and unfaithfulness (Isaiah 57:3–10; 65:3–4). It laments, “Justice is far from us and righteousness beyond our reach” (Isaiah 59:9). Its words depict a suffering and divided community, likely that of Judeans living in the Persian province of Yehud after their repatriation from Babylon in the fifth century BCE. This same “postexilic” context is reflected in the books of Ezra, Nehemiah, Haggai, Zechariah, and Malachi.

The small cluster of chapters found in Isaiah 60–62, however, more clearly echoes the hopeful tone of chapters 40–54, a collection commonly called Second Isaiah, which was likely written earlier, during the forced displacement of Judeans to Babylon (“the exile”). Both Isaiah 60–62 and Second Isaiah espouse elaborate promises of the restoration of Jerusalem: The city is offered comfort (Isaiah 61:2–3; see also Isaiah 40:1), those willing to return to Jerusalem are promised divine protection (Isaiah 60:19–20; 61:3–4; see also Isaiah 41:17–20; 43:14–17), and Jerusalem is characterized as a bereft mother awaiting her children’s return (Isaiah 60:4–5; see also Isaiah 49:14–23; 52:1–2; 54:1–8). 

Indeed, Isaiah 60 envisions sons and daughters streaming into the city along with the riches of the nations. The one who was once forsaken and hated (60:15) will now be served and honored by its former oppressors (60:10–11). The city will take on a new status: holy, redeemed, sought out, no longer forsaken (62:12).

Why has the hopeful oasis of Isaiah 60–62 been placed here, in the midst of Third Isaiah’s despair? In the historical context of the postexilic period, this reminder of the hopes of the past may have served to temper the harsh realities of the present. Those living in the Persian province of Yehud may have longed for Jerusalem to be larger, more prestigious, and more honored than its status as the small outpost of a larger empire reflects. Similar hopes for the expansion and glorification of Jerusalem are found in Isaiah 2:1–5 (paralleled in Micah 4:1–7), also likely composed in the Persian period. 

In the present, however, it is easy to romanticize the promises of the past, to repeat the hopes of our ancestors without recognizing the shortcomings of their aspirations. Indeed, for all of its hopefulness this passage does not advance an image of equality. The nations transfer their wealth to the restored Jerusalem; the nations who do not serve will perish (Isaiah 60:12). 

In Isaiah 61:5, strangers and foreigners become laborers who serve, and the wealth of the nations comes to those who receive good news and comfort (61:6). 

It is also easy to reclaim beloved imagery from the past without paying careful attention to its potential harm. The metaphor of a mother welcoming her children home can communicate comfort, but it also can reinforce gendered stereotypes that recognize women as important only for their roles as mothers. The metaphor also can be interpreted in ways that perpetuate the hurtful trope that the loss of one child can be healed by the birth of another.

When we read Isaiah 60 in the larger literary context of Third Isaiah, however, we see ways in which this community was not limited by the aspirations of the past. In the midst of its frustrations, Third Isaiah envisions a new kind of community. Isaiah 56:3–8 welcomes foreigners and sexual minorities (here typified by eunuchs) into the community, and Isaiah 66:18–24 explicitly includes “sons of foreigners.” All who commit to maintaining justice and to the community’s core identity, here indicated by the observance of the sabbath (Isaiah 56:2–8), are embraced, including those who historically have been marginalized.

Seemingly, the community of Third Isaiah was inspired by the words of the ancestors but also was willing to reframe hope for its own context. How can preachers help hearers do the same? How can the past inspire us but not limit our welcome? In our worship as we read familiar texts, repeat familiar liturgical metaphors, and find comfort in familiar hymns, how can we also train our ears to hear whom our words exclude and how we might allow new light to shine?

For Further Reading

Julia M.  O’Brien, Prophets Beyond Activism: Rethinking the Prophetic Roots of Social Justice (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2024).

The Greek meaning of “epiphany” is to reveal or uncover.¹

Yet every season, Jesus is “uncovered” or “revealed” twice.  Luke “reveals” the identity of the baby in the songs of the angels, so we celebrated Jesus as Lord 12 days ago. Then, Luke moves on quickly, and last week Jesus was 12 and visiting the Temple with his parents. It seems a step back to join the wise men this morning for the celebration of Epiphany, or the “revealing” of the baby as the King of the Jews.

Is there a difference between “Lord of All” and “King”? We could easily dismiss this as semantics, but there is an important distinction.  As Lord, Jesus is understood as apart from us, something different, with only God and the celestial beings. The title of King moves into the realm of humans. It is about politics and power and communities and individuals. Remember, it was not Jesus as Lord that threatened Herod and the Romans and the Jewish leaders. It was the declaration of Jesus as King that ultimately led to the cross.

So, if today is about the politics of Jesus as King, there is no better psalm than Psalm 72. This psalm is understood by most scholars to be a coronation hymn for the king of Judah. It speaks of the prayers of all of the people for the king and the importance of understanding the king’s role in relationship to his God and the people.

The psalm opens with a plea, “Give the king your justice, O God, and your righteousness to a king’s son” (verse 1). The king is to administer God’s justice and righteousness, not his own. This defines the relationship between God and the king. The king is to be God’s representative or conduit on earth. The ruler is a servant of the Lord, not a political god unto himself.

The psalm continues with wishes for the king’s reign, but these are not about political treaties or great infrastructure or law and order. The wishes are for the king to judge in righteousness and with justice for the poor. The psalm is concerned with how the king governs the people with the same words used in verse 1: “justice” and “righteousness.” The wishes are not action items or a political platform, but a view of the world and one’s people. In other words, it is about the king’s heart from which springs action.

Verse 3 connects the righteous reign of the king with “mountains yield[ing] prosperity and the hills, in righteousness.” This is a view of all of God’s creation living in harmony, and both the land and the people prosper. God is in control and the king manages the kingdom as God’s agent.

Verse 4 is the heart of the job description of the human ruler. “May he [or she] defend the cause of the poor of the people, give deliverance to the needy, and crush the oppressor.” The king’s job is to ensure that the poor and needy are given care and concern and that he defends them with force if necessary. He is not to wage war for booty or territory but only against those who threaten the weak.

Pearl Buck wrote in The Good Earth, “The test of a civilization is the way it cares for its helpless members.” Quotes like it have been attributed to others. Did the idea come from the Bible or is this simply the measure of a responsible society regardless of nationality or religion? Either way, these words in Psalm 72 make it the responsibility of the king, and since he is the ruler to care for the helpless, by extension it also becomes the responsibility of all the people to do the same.

Verses 3–7 provide wishes for the long life of this king and that he be like the rain falling on the grass. In the arid regions of Judah and Israel, the winter rains bring life and are necessary for the land and the people to prosper. The rain is a blessing from God. The king is to be the same: God’s blessing to the people.

In verses 10–11, kings of other nations come to Jerusalem to pay homage to the king. The usual reason for a king to bow down to another king is as an acknowledgment of the latter’s power and privilege. A king bows to another king because he has been defeated or is a vassal.

But Psalm 72:11–12 states, “May all the kings fall down before him, all nations give him service, for he delivers the needy when they call, the poor and those who have no helper. He has pity on the weak and needy and saves the lives of the needy.” The kings bow before him not because of power, or military strength, or wealth. They bow before the king because of his just ways. Note that most English Bibles separate the adoration of the kings from the cause of their adoration. Verse 11 is actually a dependent clause of verse 10. It is the reason the king is honored.

Each leader of Judah failed to live up to this job description. Human self-interest and power often cloud our vision. Eventually, Jesus was the only one who could fulfill these words. But the intent of the psalm does not end with King Jesus but stands as a call to all of God’s people. Ours is not a religion focused only in the spiritual realm, but in the flesh-and-blood world. It is political because it is our duty to help the weakest among us and to ensure a just society and nation.

Notes

1. Commentary previously published on this website for January 6, 2019.

Here Paul grounds his apostolic vocation—including its hardships—in God’s glorious work of unifying Jew and Gentile in Jesus Christ. Although his outward circumstances are humble and, being a prisoner, even shameful, Paul wants the church to know that everything about his life is a testimony to the redemptive and reconciling work of God. 

Within the flow of Ephesians, the section of 3:1–13 is an encouragement that sets up a prayer. The prayer begins at 3:14. The encouragement occupies the majority of our text. It comes in a standard “if … then” construction, beginning at verse 2 and ending in verse 13: “For if [New Revised Standard Version “surely”] you have heard of the commission of the grace of God given to me … then [New Revised Standard Version “therefore”] I pray that you may not lose heart over my sufferings for you.” Puzzlingly, the lectionary separates the “if” clause (verses 1–12) from the “then” clause (verse 13); the logic of the passage does not resolve until verse 13. 

In any case, the crucial point is that Paul interprets his life as a participation in the work of God. What may seem on the outside as disgrace and defeat is on the inside the working of God’s gracious power. Indeed, the juxtaposition of Paul as a prisoner who advances the proclamation of God’s wisdom highlights that expansive power of God that runs through this passage.

The encouragement Paul aims to communicate is grounded in his biography as an apostle. As such, this text offers a rich opportunity for reflecting on the triumph of grace in the life of Paul (see also 1 Corinthians 15:8–11; Galatians 1:13–24; Philippians 3:4–11). 

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. As such, Paul’s life had stood in radical opposition to what he calls here “the manifold wisdom of God” (3:10). Paul had lived as an enemy of Jesus and his purposes, but Jesus reconciled Paul to himself and drew him into the truth. Paul knows deeply that he is undeserving of any status among God’s people, but having been personally reclaimed by God’s gracious revelation, he is filled with praise and determined to be faithful to that which has claimed him.

Paul marvels at this grace in verse 8. The adjective he uses to describe it here (“boundless,” New Revised Standard Version, New International Version; “immeasurable,” Common English Bible) is the same one he uses in Romans 11:33, where it refers to the “inscrutable” ways of God. It is grace beyond comprehension. Paul emphasizes this grace further via the “divine passives” in verses 3 and 5.

Significantly, the grace of God Paul extols is not primarily a response to his individual salvation. While Paul is certainly personally involved in the gracious plan of God, the larger drama he emphasizes here is the revelation of the deep ways of God working to restore creation. This is what both Paul and the church are caught up in. Specifically, Paul says that his ministry both proclaims (verse 8) and makes evident (verse 9) the wisdom of God. Tim Gombis argues that “making evident” is not informational but demonstrative: Paul’s ministry that brings together Jews and Gentiles demonstrates God’s wisdom. 

Specifically, this wisdom is made plain to the heavenly rulers and authorities and both expresses God’s eternal purpose (verse 11) and is made possible by the faithfulness of Jesus (verses 11, 12). If we take these words seriously, there is no avoiding the implication that the entire purpose and history of the cosmos (in other words, God’s wisdom) is disclosed in the faithfulness of Jesus and its reconciling effects (see also 1 Corinthians 1:18–30; Romans 11:33–35). 

The church displays God’s wisdom to the “rulers and authorities in the heavenly places” (verse 10). Other references to these powers in Ephesians 1:21; 2:2; and 6:12 suggest that in Paul’s mind they consist of hostile spiritual forces that oppose God and against which believers struggle (6:11). It was these powers that formerly made the Gentiles strangers and aliens (2:11–16). The defeat of the powers and the reconciliation of Gentiles and Jews through the one body of Jesus are inseparable.

The deep ethnic divisions of the church today make this text a challenge to preach. Simply put, many Christians see little evidence of the truth of Paul’s words. Rather, in many places in the world, and especially America, the words of Martin Luther King Jr. continue to pertain: 11 o’clock on Sunday morning remains one of the most segregated hours of the week. Growing forms of “tribalism”—exacerbated by a media landscape run by algorithms that manipulate and divide people, and engender cynicism—create additional divisions. 

Nevertheless, the triumph of God is the destruction of these barriers and alienations that reflect the dark spiritual forces of this age rather than the wisdom and purposes of God revealed in the faithfulness of Jesus the Messiah. We must celebrate the divisions that have been overcome by faith in Jesus and see them as the demonstrations of God’s power that they are, even as we recognize our calling to move more deeply and faithfully into the mystery disclosed in the Messiah. 

References

Lynn Cohick, Ephesians, New International Commentary on the New Testament (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2020).

Timothy Gombis, “Ephesians 3:2–13: Pointless Digression, or Epitome of the Triumph of God in Christ?” Westminster Theological Journal (2004): 313–23.