The Epiphany of the Lord, 2026
ISAIAH 60:1-6; PSALM 72:1-7, 10-14; EPHESIANS 3:1-12; MATTHEW 2:1-12
the glory of the Lord has risen upon you
I can imagine that there could be a certain level of discomfort with the message of Epiphany. We live in a pluralist society. We have neighbours, and friends, and we work with people who have different religious, and often non-religious, backgrounds and convictions.
And along with many of you, I love this about living in Canada. I’ve had the chance in my life to take part in formal inter-religious dialogue with Jews and Muslims, but that’s just the formal dialogue; Buddhists, Hindus, atheists, and agnostics are often close at hand. There’s almost always an interesting conversation to be had, new perspectives to be heard, and sometimes things to argue about who have very different religious sensibilities. And most of us know this to be a good thing!
But then we get feasts like Epiphany, and its universalist sensibilities. Isaiah is really intent to speak of a great reversal for Israel and Jerusalem. Where once Jerusalem was occupied territory, or a vassal state paying taxes and under the thumb of other religious empires—no longer so, in Isaiah’s vision. Nations now come to the light of Jerusalem; the wealth of the nations will be gathered to Jerusalem; the nations will come to Jerusalem to “proclaim the praise of the Lord.” In the Psalm we hear that “All nations shall serve [Yahweh],” that “All kings shall bow down before him, and all the nations do him service.” Paul, in Ephesians, speaks of Gentiles—the nations of the world—becoming members of the body of Christ, and coming to Christ. And this is all figuratively represented in the Gospel, in the Magi—foreign intellectuals and watchers of the sky—finding their way to Jesus, offering their gifts, and bending the knee in worship before him.
It all sounds so completely at odds with the respect, tolerance, and value of diversity that makes Canadian society work.
But then I take a closer look at what is happening in the nations. The news is not great, is it, this weekend included. Peace not only evades our grasp, what grip we do have on it seems to slip away. Religious violence continues, and not only in other countries—religiously motivated hate-crime continues to rise in Canada. And it makes me wonder, if maybe we all really could just use a whole lot more of the Prince of Peace.
I hate to disappoint you, but I’m afraid I won’t be able to solve world peace and interfaith engagement. At least not this morning. But I would like to point out perhaps a few things that might help make sense of things. So I’d like to speak briefly today about two things: loving our neighbour, and hospitality.
I said earlier that I’ve taken part in some inter-religious dialogue. What I’ve had the opportunity to do is called Scriptural Reasoning. It works like this: a theme is chosen, texts on the theme are shared from The Quran, the Hebrew Bible, and the New Testament, and Christians, Jews, and Muslims sit down together and talk about what those Scriptures mean to them. There’s no attempt to agree on all things; you express your convictions, and often disagree; but there’s often ways, too, of finding common cause. What is often discovered is that you don’t have to agree about all things
to work together for the sake of the poor, or for the sake of the environment. In fact because it allows participants to be absolutely convicted in their own belief, this kind of dialogue functions as an effective way of peace-building precisely in those places where religious strife is most common because belief is so strongly held.
What I’m suggesting here is that in getting to know our neighbours, we effectively pursue Christian values according to our own Christian conviction. I’ve seen it happen, because I’ve experienced it. And it doesn’t have to happen in a formal way—it happens through conversation, real listening to our neighbours, and often through shared engagement. Interfaith engagement is a form of Christian peace-building.
As for hospitality. Who are we in Isaiah’s vision, and in this story of the Magi? We might naturally imagine ourselves already within the household that is visited by the Magi—that we’ve already taken our place with Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, and that we would be welcoming others, like the Magi, into this household.
There’s some value in that. But I would encourage us to imagine things a bit differently, and perhaps a bit more accurately. When Isaiah speaks of the nations, and Paul speaks of the Gentiles, that’s us. We are the foreigners. We are more like the weird magicians from a faraway land, invited into the household of faith, than we are the hosts of the household.
And I mean this in two ways. For most of us, we are really the Gentiles, the foreigners. We are already the nations streaming into Jerusalem to offer what we have in honour of the Messiah. When Paul speaks of Gentiles, he means us, people who weren’t born into Jewish life and practice, we are the strangely dressed foreigners seeking a place in Jesus, Mary, and Joseph’s very Jewish household of faith. We are the citizens of the nations who are being welcomed into the faith of Israel by way of a weirdly and strangely successful sect of Judaism called Christianity.
It’s bigger than that though too. We may sometimes imagine ourselves as the hosts, welcoming the stranger—and that’s not a bad thing. But we aren’t really the ones with all the answers, dispensing wisdom to those who don’t get it, are we. We are the seekers, too. Because this is not our household in another important way. We are already guests, we are all here looking for something, and finding something worthy of an offering of all we have. We arrive incomplete, and are made whole by being welcomed here by Jesus, not ourselves, into the household of God.
And so we find ourselves alongside others from all sorts of backgrounds, kneeling and standing before Jesus, the one who desires peace for our world, and peace for our souls, and for us to be part of that peace, part of that healing.
So perhaps Epiphany isn’t so much about the conversion of others. It is about conversion—our own conversion, as we walk a road that leads us to God’s household. A road we most certainly should invite others to share with us—but not because we know the way. This is a road that we are on too, led by the heavens, and ever closer to the household of faith where Jesus welcomes us all, each of us, into a life of peace.
Angus Sinclair was appointed Director of Music of St. John the Evangelist on February 1, 2023. Having graduated in 1981 (Honours B.Mus.) in organ performance from Wilfrid Laurier University, he went on to distinguish himself as a church musician, recitalist and accompanist touring in both Canada and the UK. For over 40 years Angus has served parishes and congregations throughout Southwestern Ontario as director of music. He experiences his present appointment to St. John’s as a welcome homecoming, both spiritually and musically.
As our parish musician, he provides both support and leadership so that a variety of parish programs can find musical expression and attract participation. When our handbell choir is in season, he is one of our ringers. At parish dinners, he provides popular piano music for the guests to dine by. For both worship services and concerts, he will rehearse and accompany vocal and instrumental soloists from our congregation on piano, organ, or even accordion.
Angus Sinclair was appointed Director of Music of St. John the Evangelist on February 1, 2023. Having graduated in 1981 (Honours B.Mus.) in organ performance from Wilfrid Laurier University, he went on to distinguish himself as a church musician, recitalist and accompanist touring in both Canada and the UK. For over 40 years Angus has served parishes and congregations throughout Southwestern Ontario as director of music. He experiences his present appointment to St. John’s as a welcome homecoming, both spiritually and musically.