The Pilgrim’s Path: Going Home by Another Way
There is a profound difference between a tourist and a pilgrim. A tourist travels to see things; they collect photographs, buy souvenirs, and observe the local customs from a safe distance, primarily seeking relaxation or entertainment. They usually have a return ticket booked for the exact same route they came in on, and they return home largely unchanged, perhaps just a bit more tanned or tired.
A pilgrim, however, travels not to see, but to seek. The pilgrim is on a quest, often driven by a burning internal question or a deep, unquenchable thirst for something holy. A pilgrim is vulnerable. They rely on signs, on the hospitality of strangers, and on the guidance of stars. And most importantly, a pilgrim never returns home the same way they left. The journey changes them.
Today, on this Feast of the Epiphany, we are invited to look up into the vast, dark sky of our own lives and decide which we are. Are we tourists in our faith, observing the manger from a polite distance? Or are we pilgrims, willing to leave the comfort of the known to follow a light that leads to a humble, life-altering encounter with God?
Our Scripture readings today provide the map for this pilgrimage. The prophet Isaiah, in our first reading, shouts a wake-up call to a city that has grown used to the dark. "Rise up in splendor, Jerusalem! Your light has come." It is a command to stop looking at the "thick clouds" that cover the people and to start looking at the glory of the Lord that shines upon them. Isaiah foresees a time when the boundaries of Israel will burst open, and the wealth of nations—camels, gold, frankincense—will pour in. It is a vision of a God who is too big to be kept inside one border, one nation, or one building.
This vision explodes into reality in the Gospel of Matthew. We meet the Magi. These men were not Jews; they were stargazers, scientists, perhaps priests of a different religion from the East. In the ancient world, they were the "outsiders." Yet, they possessed the heart of the pilgrim. They saw a star—a phenomenon in the natural world—and they allowed it to speak to their supernatural hunger.
Notice the contrast in the Gospel between the Magi and King Herod. Herod is the ultimate "insider." He is the King of the Jews, living in Jerusalem, surrounded by the chief priests and scribes who know the Scriptures inside and out. When the Magi ask where the Messiah is to be born, the scribes can quote the prophet Micah immediately: "In Bethlehem of Judea." They have the intellectual knowledge. They know the geography of God. But they do not move.
This is the tragedy of Herod and his court. They possess the truth, but they do not pursue it. Herod is paralyzed by fear—fear of losing control, fear of a rival, fear of change. He stays in his palace, plotting to destroy the Light rather than follow it.
The Magi, on the other hand, have only a star and a longing. They do not have the Scriptures, but they have the humility to move. They travel hundreds of miles, risking safety and reputation. And when they arrive, what do they find? Not a golden throne, not a warrior king, but a child in a house with his mother.
The Mystery of the Open Door
It would have been easy for them to be disappointed. They brought gold, fit for a king; frankincense, used in worship of the divine; and myrrh, a burial ointment. These are heavy, serious gifts. To offer them to a toddler in a backwater town seems absurd. But the Gospel tells us "they prostrated themselves and did him homage." They possessed the eyes of faith. They saw through the poverty of the human situation to the glory of the Divine presence. They recognized that this child was the Epiphany—the manifestation—of God to the world.
Saint Paul confirms this mystery in the second reading from Ephesians. He speaks of the "mystery was made known to me by revelation." And what is that mystery? That the Gentiles are "coheirs, members of the same body." The wall is down. The star was not just for the Magi; it is for everyone. The Light of Christ is not a spotlight reserved for the holy few; it is a dawn breaking for the whole world.
But there is one final, crucial detail in Matthew’s account. After they encounter the Christ Child, "having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they departed for their country by another way."
They went home by another way.
This is not just a detour to avoid traffic or a tyrant. It is a theological statement. You cannot encounter Jesus Christ and go back the way you came. The old roads—the roads of indifference, of selfishness, of "business as usual"—are no longer available to you. When you have seen the Light, the old darkness is no longer navigable. You are changed. You are different. You must walk a new path.
So, what does this mean for us, sitting here in the year 2026? How do we live this out?
1. Identify Your Star First, we must identify our star. God is still in the business of guiding pilgrims. He rarely uses a literal celestial body anymore, but He uses the "stars" of our daily lives. Perhaps it is a persistent restlessness in your heart that says, "There must be more than this." Perhaps it is the example of a friend who lives with a joy that you envy. Perhaps it is a sudden crisis that shatters your illusions of control, or a moment of beauty that brings you to tears. These are stars. Do not ignore them. Do not just take a picture of them like a tourist. Follow them. Let them lead you to prayer, to Scripture, to the Sacraments—to the place where the Child is found.
2. Bring Your True Gifts Second, we must bring our gifts. The Magi brought the best of what they had. We often hesitate to approach God because we feel we don't have enough "gold" or "frankincense." We think we need to be perfect, wealthy in virtue, or smelling of sanctity before we can kneel. But look at what the Magi really brought: they brought their presence. They brought their journey.
God does not need your gold; He owns the universe. He wants you. He wants the gold of your love, yes. But He also wants the incense of your prayers—even the distracted ones. He wants the myrrh of your sufferings—your griefs, your disappointments, the parts of your life that feel like they are dying. Bring it all to the manger. Do not hide your poverty from Him; it is the very place He wants to be born.
3. Walk the New Road Finally, and most urgently, we must go home by another way. We are about to approach this altar. We are about to receive something far greater than what the Magi saw. They saw the child; we receive the Body and Blood of the Risen Lord.
If we walk out of those church doors and immediately snap back into our old habits of anger, gossip, greed, or despair, we have acted like tourists. We saw the sights, but we missed the meaning.
To go home by another way means to let this Epiphany change the way you drive home. It means changing the way you speak to your spouse or your children this afternoon. It means looking at the "Gentiles" of your life—the people you think are outsiders, the people you disagree with politically, the people who annoy you—and seeing them as "coheirs," members of the same body, destined for the same Light.
The world outside is much like Jerusalem in the time of Herod: "darkness covers the earth, and thick clouds cover the peoples." There is fear, division, and confusion. The world does not need more Herod-like cynicism. It needs pilgrims who have been to the manger. It needs people whose faces are radiant because they have looked upon the Lord.
This week, be the star for someone else. Be the light that helps a stumbling neighbor find their way. When you leave this church, do not go back to the old road of darkness. You have seen the Lord. Walk the new way, the way of light, the way of love.
Rise up in splendor! The Light has come. Now, go and live like you believe it.
