Dear Ones,
I had a front-row seat on Sunday at the 10am service for our “Epiphany pageant.” The children dressed as the magi and helpers, and carried gifts and the star.. they reverently knelt down, and opened their treasure chests, just as the gospel describes, offering their gifts with such care and intention.
That image has stayed with me, perhaps because I’ve been thinking a lot about trips and epic journeys lately. This Christmas our family took a trip with the car so packed that Isabel had to wear her scooter helmet on her head because there was nowhere else to put it. I’m guessing we weren’t the only ones who traveled over the holidays. And it made me wonder again about that ancient journey taken by the Magi.
They would have crossed deserts—hot by day, bitterly cold by night—traveling from what we now call Persia, likely modern-day Iran, toward Jerusalem and then Bethlehem. Today it’s a long day’s drive. On foot or by camel, it would have taken months, perhaps nearly a year. We often picture three regal figures serenely crossing the sand, but I imagine a much larger, noisy and smelly caravan: helpers carrying food, water, and supplies, tending animals, and keeping watch over precious cargo in a dangerous landscape.
I wonder what they packed. I wonder if they packed too much.
I am a perpetual overpacker—it may be my family’s besetting sin. Between 2002 and 2005, while I was in seminary, Vince and I drove back and forth across the country repeatedly between California and Connecticut—six cross-country trips in all. This was before GPS lived in our pockets. We relied on atlases and MapQuest printouts, took turns driving in long shifts, and sometimes got lost in the middle of absolutely nowhere in the middle of the night. Twice we drove separate vehicles, trying to stay connected with walkie-talkies—an idea that felt brilliant until one of us slipped out of range on Highway 50, the “Loneliest Road in America.” Even when you’re not technically alone, journeys can feel isolating.
That’s another thing I wonder about the Magi: did they ever feel lost? The Gospel says they saw the star at its rising—and then again when they left Jerusalem for Bethlehem. It doesn’t say the star guided them every step of the way. Perhaps there were long stretches when they had only memory, hope, and one another to rely on. Perhaps they wondered if the journey was worth the risk.
Speaking of packing, those impractical baby gifts—gold, frankincense, and myrrh—may have been exactly what was needed. When Herod’s violence forced the Holy Family to flee to Egypt, those treasures may well have funded their survival for years. What looked excessive turned out to be sustaining.
As we begin a new year, I wonder if we might think of 2026 not as a performance to perfect, but as an epic journey on which we have been called. We know some things about what’s ahead, but much remains unknown. So the question becomes: what do we pack?
We pack what sustains us—our vital practices, our food and water for the soul. We pack Scripture and memory, reminders of why we are traveling at all. We pack discernment, trusting God as our compass, our map, and our star—even when the way feels unclear. And above all, we pack one another. As Helen Christenson so wisely reminds us: “We cannot do this life without God, and we cannot do it without each other.”
I also wonder whether, somewhere along the way, the Magi got grumpy with one another. Whether they blamed each other and said, “Why did we take this big trip? This was your idea! We’re going to die out here in the desert.” Even in a large caravan, it’s possible to feel isolated, separated, and worn thin.
That’s why I think one of the most important things we pack for this epic journey is community. We have to pack forgiveness, reconciliation, grace, and the willingness to keep choosing one another. Those things grease the wheels. Without them, we can end up feeling alone, even in the middle of a noisy caravan (or an overstuffed Subaru!)
It’s so easy to feel alone out there. In fact, I believe one of the biggest lies we are tempted to believe is that we are alone—that we are the only ones who have ever felt this way or walked this road. Our culture often colludes in that lie, subtly isolating us from one another. The church exists, in part, to tell the truth again and again: you are not alone. Whether you are here in person or joining online, whether you are deeply receiving these words or struggling to hear them at all, you belong.
As we begin this new year, maybe we can release the pressure to perform our lives perfectly and instead receive 2026 as an epic journey. A journey where we may have slightly different visions of the destination, but we are all called toward a world with more love, more light, and more hope—a world where, as we sang this Sunday in the anthem Star Child, “Christmas comes for everyone, everyone alive.”
So if you’re up for it, spend some time in these early days of 2026 wondering: what are you packing? What sustains you—what is your spiritual food, water, medications, comfortable walking shoes… what are your vital practices? What is your vision, your call, your sense of discernment? And who are your companions on the way?
This is a journey that matters—not only for the meaning of our own lives, but for a world that desperately needs more stars, more signs of God’s love along the road. Epiphany assures us that God meets us not only at the destination, but along the way—especially when the star fades and the journey feels long. We are in it together.
In Christ’s deep peace, Rev. Amy
PS Don’t forget to pick up your star word this month! “Star words” are unique words on the back of a star stuck around the church– you choose one at random, with the guidance of Spirit or intuition, and hopefully it becomes a guiding light for you in 2026.
PPS Looking back can be important as we look forward. Enjoy this high definition version of At the Crossroads: 150 Years of Grace!
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