When Does the Night Finally End?

The Feast of the Epiphany

Sermon for January 6, 2026

Fr. Joachim, the Senior Priest in Residence at the Cathedral of Saint Andrew in Grand Rapids, sent this sermon out on Sunday via his email newsletter. Epiphany parishioners appreciated it so much that Fr. John decided to share it as part of our Epiphany service this year.

A rabbi once asked his students a question that refuses to go away: “How do you know when the night has ended and the day has begun?”

One student answered confidently: “When you can see an animal in the distance and tell whether it is a sheep or a goat.” “No,” said the rabbi.

Another tried again: “When you can see a tree far off and know whether it is a fig or a sycamore.” “No,” said the rabbi once more.

Then he answered himself: “It is when you can look into the face of another human being and recognize your brother or your sister. If you cannot do this… then no matter what time it is… it is still night.”

That is Epiphany. Not fireworks. Not spectacle. But sight. Real sight. The kind that doesn’t come from sharper eyesight… but from a changed heart.

Because there is a progression here. It always begins with awareness —the uncomfortable realization that something essential is missing. Then comes hunger. A restlessness we try to ignore… or numb… or distract away. And finally, the hardest step of all: the decision to let God tell us what we are really hungry for.

The Magi understood this. Matthew never calls them kings. He never tells us how many there were. He only tells us that gifts were brought. Because numbers don’t matter. Status doesn’t matter. Hunger does. The Magi represent what lives in every human heart — the ache for something more. And perhaps the most honest word for that “more” is intimacy.

Scripture keeps whispering — and sometimes shouting — “Wake up.” Stop distracting yourself. Stop filling every quiet space with noise. Stop entertaining yourself to death. And ask the question we avoid: Are my deepest needs for intimacy — with God… with others… with myself — being met?

And if not… will I let myself be led? Not by my ego. Not by my resolutions. Not by my endless to-do lists. But by the Spirit — intimacy personified.

The word let makes all the difference. This is not another self-improvement project. This is not something we add to our “resolutions list”. This is surrender. Isaiah names what happens when we finally do: “Then you shall be radiant at what you see; your heart shall throb and overflow.”

A new year lies before us — 365 days… 8,760 hours… 525,600 minutes.But the funerals and obituaries remind us they are not guaranteed.

So the question is not, How busy will I be? The question is: Will my heart throb? Will it overflow with love? Or will I settle for substitutes?

Have I allowed constant stimulation to crowd out silence? Have I ignored the God-shaped hunger within me — the one only God can fill? Have I let lesser priorities steal the time I could have chosen to simply be still… and let God lead?

We all make New Year’s resolutions. But what if this year we resolved to put relationships first? Our relationship with God. With one another. And even with ourselves.

What if we allowed the Star — the Spirit — to lead us daily into silence…where we slowly learn to see as God sees? That is contemplation. Not escape from reality… but seeing reality fully.

And if we truly saw… what might we notice? The deeper roots of our own pain. The places where joy has quietly slipped away. The faces of those unable to work because sickness has taken their strength. The eyes of families torn apart — parents and children separated on their way to school or work.

And their “crime”? Often nothing more than lacking papers… while doing work most of us would never choose. Fear refuses to see this. Love cannot help but see it.

The Magi followed the light until it led them to love made vulnerable — a defenseless child. That same light still shines.

Epiphany asks only this: Will I let myself follow it? Surrender? Until I, too, am drawn into those unconditionally loving eyes… and through them learn the truth: That every face I encounter is my sister… my brother.

Only then does the night finally end.