Matthew 2:1-12; Solemnity of the Epiphany

Over the years, many of us have learned that New Year’s resolutions rarely last. Instead of making bigger promises, people of our age are turning to something simpler—a nudge word. Psychology helps explain why this works: a word can gently gather our attention, shape our choices, and orient how we live.

A nudge word is a single word that seems to surface again and again. In prayer. In experience. In a certain restlessness that refuses to go away. It is a word that names what life seems to be gently asking us now.

This practice resonates because it is honest. Life is rarely changed by grandiose, sweeping plans. More often, it is shaped by simple attentiveness to what is already stirring within us.

Looking back, we often realize that such a word did not appear out of nowhere. It emerged because many things slowly aligned—prayer and experience, desire and resistance, grace and limitation. When these movements begin pointing in the same direction, clarity emerges.

This is what we might call convergence: a breakthrough from gradual alignment—when life, faith, and readiness begin to converge, and a word rises to the surface to name it.

When we name this convergence, we are simply giving language to something many fields already recognize.

In business, convergence names the moment when strategy, timing, technology, and readiness align, and direction begins to unfold. In the academe, convergence is interdisciplinary—when theology listens to anthropology and sociology, when management is humanized by ethics, when theory needs lived reality, and insight deepens because no single lens is enough. In psychology, convergence is integration—when thought, feeling, and action come into harmony, and a person moves from fragmentation toward wholeness.

All of these point to the same experience: clarity emerging as different movements begin to align. That, dear friends, is Epiphany— the convergence of God’s initiative and human searching. It is where light and longing meet. And, where promise and pursuit align.

The Magi in our Gospel can be our companions. They are readers of signs, interpreters of patterns, people accustomed to insight. When they notice something that does not fit the usual charts, they attend to it. They listen. They observe. They trust the light given for the next step.

They are not given a full map; instead, they allow direction to unfold as they go.

Though not just a word in the usual sense, the star becomes the Magi’s nudge word in the Gospel. The star does not map the entire journey. It does not resolve every uncertainty. It simply draws their attention and invites movement or response. For the Magi, the star gathers their longing, their questions, and their courage into one direction. And they take it seriously. They respond.

And once they respond to the star, three very human instincts surface—instincts that appear whenever someone takes a nudge seriously.

First Movement: Receiving Light. Isaiah speaks to a people coming out of darkness and long waiting. Into that weariness, God offers light as the first act of renewal: “Arise! Shine! Your light has come.”  Light comes even before the Israelites are strong enough and confident enough to sustain their return from exile.

This touches a familiar instinct in us. We have the habit of waiting until everything feels earned, secured, or fully prepared. That is why we stress so much on excellence, achievement, and performance. For us, clarity only comes after hard work.

Today’s Solemnity realigns that instinct. God gives light first so that we may rise because our work has been guided and sustained.

In moments of convergence, grace often comes to us as a nudge—something given ahead of readiness, yet sufficient to begin. It is this nudge that enables rising and movement. The Magi trust the star given to them, and they move. And we are invited to do the same.

Second Movement: Breaking down self-made barriers. St Paul names the mystery now revealed: Gentiles and Jews are coheirs, members of the same body. He writes to a community learning how to live with difference—histories, privileges, and identities now gathered into one life in Christ. The Magi embody this widening. They are outsiders who find themselves welcomed into God’s story. Their journey draws them into a belonging larger than they imagined.

Here another instinct surfaces: the instinct to hold back in order to protect what we have received or demarcate what we earned as ours alone, often out of fear of loss of exclusivity or even irrelevance.

Epiphany reshapes this instinct as well.  What has been entrusted is not diminished when shared; it finds its fuller purpose. One’s belonging is not compromised when membership is widened. For us entrusted with influence, education, and resources, this instinct is gently reshaped: blessing reaches fulfillment when it is shared, when it becomes a participation in something greater than ourselves.

In moments of convergence, grace often comes as a nudge that breaks down self-made barriers and widens the circle—drawing us into communion and collaboration, where what we once felt we had to protect as ours is not diminished, but deepened and brought to fuller life.

Third Movement: Allowing Direction to Be Reoriented The Magi follow the star with practiced wisdom. The star offers direction one step at a time, and clarity only unfolds as they go. So, they ask questions. They seek guidance. They remain attentive to patterns and signs. In Ignatian terms, they discern. And after encountering Christ, Matthew tells us simply: “They returned home by another way.” Encounter brings reorientation.

This, too, touches a familiar human instinct: our desire for control, certainty, and predictability. We want to chart the entire route at the get-go and so we plan even the minutest of detail. We desire to secure the outcome before we even begin and so we try to subvert Murphy’s Law by leaving no stone unturned.

Epiphany gently loosens our grip. The Magi discover that true direction emerges through encounter. In Christ alone does certainty take flesh, and encounter brings reorientation. As insight learns to stand before the mystery with humility, it ripens into wisdom. And as wisdom deepens, it draws us into reverence. From that reverence, our movement is redirected into mission—our response or movement now shaped by purpose and responsibility.

In moments of convergence, grace often comes as a nudge that reorients our direction—drawing us into encounter, where, what we know learns how to bow, and where we go learns why it matters.

Dear friends, the readings of today’s Solemnity, when seen together, converge into a single, three-step movement of grace: Light is given. Self-made barriers are broken down. Direction is reoriented.

What emerges is convergence, integration—life gradually coming into coherence with God’s desire. Things begin to fit. Movements find their place. Then our way forward in this new year becomes habitable. This is why the practice of a nudge word resonates so deeply. As convergence takes shape, clarity often arrives in a simple and enduring form—a word that gathers what we are living into focus, small enough to remember and steady enough to guide.

The Magi were given a star. What could be God’s nudge word for you this 2026? Is it a word that helps you receive light already given? A word that widens how you belong and who you include? Or a word that reorients your way forward?

As 2026 unfolds—with its forecasts and decisions, its hopes and risks—Epiphany invites us to walk lightly, attentive to the graces constantly given. The Magi were given enough light to begin the journey. They discover a belonging wider than they imagined. Then, their direction is reoriented

And this reorientation deepens their wisdom. Their deepened wisdom leads them to adore. And when wisdom learns how to adore, life finds its truest direction. Amen.