Preached on Tuesday, January 6, 2026, the Epiphany of our Lord, at Trinity Episcopal Cathedral, Little Rock.

When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy. (Matthew 2:10)

It was quite the journey, this much we know. A great star compelled Wise Men from the East to put down their contemplations and set aside their studies so that they might seek the One Who had been born “King of the Jews”—and it was a long journey. We are told very little about what that journey entailed, but we can imagine that it was difficult. To fill in some of the gaps, we might turn to the poets. Here’s a passage from T. S. Eliot’s “Journey of the Magi”:

A cold coming we had of it, just the worst time of the year for a journey, and such a long journey: the ways deep and the weather sharp, the very dead of winter…The cities [were] hostile and the towns unfriendly and the villages dirty and charging high prices: a hard time we had of it. [1]

Eliot gives us travelers who are exhausted. He gives us travelers who wonder aloud whether the whole thing was even worth it. We can only imagine how difficult the journey must have been.

But what is most astonishing to me about the Epiphany story is not simply that the journey was long and difficult. What is most astonishing to me is that the eventual destination is entirely unexpected.

The expected destination was Jerusalem––and of course it was! Jerusalem was the Holy City, the center of religious life, the home of the Temple. If a king had been born, surely he would be found there. But the actual destination was Bethlehem, a small town, barely a dot on the map. Bethlehem was not where you went to find the future of the world. It was where you went only if you had to.

The expected destination was a palace. Kings are born in palaces. Power and legitimacy gather there behind guarded gates and marble walls. But the actual destination was a stable, a place fit only for livestock. It was a place of straw and smell. It was not a place anyone would choose, let alone expect, to encounter the glory of God.

The expected destination was royalty, a child to be born into a family of status, a family that mattered. But the actual destination was a Child born into poverty: a Child with no visible power, no army to command, no wealth to hoard; a Child Who would grow up knowing hunger, danger, and displacement long before He would know recognition.

Here’s my point: we should expect to find God in the unexpected places. No matter how long we have been waiting, no matter how clear the destination has seemed, we must be ready for God to surprise us. Even when we have carried a particular picture in our minds for miles and miles, even when we have had the destination punched into our GPS since the very beginning, God may yet upend our expectations. God is found, again and again, in the least likely of places.

One of the most dangerous habits a Christian can acquire is the habit of putting God in a box, of assuming we know in advance where God will be, whom God will bless, and how God will act. It’s not simply a bad habit; it’s downright dangerous.

But Epiphany reminds us that God is always bigger than our expectations. And to make sure we remember it, God continues to surprise us: just as God surprised the Wise Men from a distant land, so does God still surprise you and me, here and now.

As good as it is to gather here in this Cathedral to celebrate the Epiphany, our being here tonight is a little like those Eastern Sages arriving in Jerusalem. This Cathedral is the good, godly, altogether expected place. This Cathedral is the predictable place. But the Epiphany does not allow us to remain here. The Epiphany sends us somewhere else. The Epiphany points us outward, toward the unexpected places of the world.

Epiphany points us to the homeless shelters. Epiphany points us to the nursing homes. Epiphany points us to the VA. Epiphany points us to the recovery centers. Epiphany points us to the prisons, to the food pantries, to the family courtrooms, to the unemployment offices. Epiphany points us to that unassuming ICE detention facility on Roosevelt Road. 

Epiphany points us to that friendship waiting for us to discover. Epiphany points us to that relationship waiting to be restored. Epiphany points us to that person with whom we disagree with. Epiphany points us to that thing we said we’d never do. 

Epiphany points us to the unexpected, unassuming places of the world, because that’s where God chooses to dwell.

Our task tonight is not only to pray that God would reveal Himself to us, but to pray that, in this Holy Eucharist, God would send us out to find Him where He chooses to be found. Tonight, we pray that God would send us, as the Magi were sent, away from the center and toward the margins, away from what is obvious and toward what is hidden. And tonight, we pray that, when we do find Him––as I know we will!—we will be filled, like the Magi, with overwhelming joy, not because the journey was easy, and not because the destination was what we imagined, but because there––right there!––in that unexpected place, we will find our Redeemer, Jesus Christ, Who was born for us.

[1] T. S. Eliot, “Journey of the Magi,” in Collected Poems 1909–1962 (London: Faber & Faber, 1974).