The Day of Epiphany is often celebrated as a feast of pure radiance—the “Great Manifestation” of a star so bright it pulled men across deserts. We are taught that light makes life easy; it reveals the path, clarifies the destination, and fuels our imagination. But as I look at the stars in my own life, I’ve begun to realize that the light is only half the story. There is a profound, necessary imagination that can only be found in the darkness.

Thanks for reading Emmaus Walk with Bishop Jos!! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.

I find myself wondering about the Magi. We focus on the star, but they spent the vast majority of their journey in the dark. They traveled by night, after all. The light was their guide, but the darkness was their container. It was in the cold, silent expanses of the desert night that their hope had to mature.

A good life, I’ve discovered, is not the absence of shadows, but a mixture of light and dark moments. It is the awareness that both are required to truly experience “seeing.” Without the velvet backdrop of the night, the star is invisible. Without the struggle of the journey, the arrival has no weight. The Magi didn’t just find light at the end of a tunnel; they found a way to let the light and the dark work together to bring them to the Divine.

It is easy to cast Herod as the personification of pure darkness, the villain of the Epiphany story. He was a man consumed by the fear of losing power, planning the unthinkable to protect his throne. Yet, as I reflect personally, I have to admit that Herod lives in me, too. We all struggle with moments of jealousy, possessiveness, and the urge to “kill” the things that threaten our ego or our comfort.

Does this mean I am devoid of light? I don’t think so. Even Herod was aware of the prophecy; he was aware of the “King of the Jews.” He saw the light of the Magi’s arrival, but he tried to weaponize it. My own struggle with the darkness within is not a sign of failure, but a sign of my humanity. The theologian Paul Tillich once wrote, “The light of the eternal shines through the darkness of the temporal, but the darkness does not comprehend it.” I feel this tension constantly—the eternal light of God shining through my very temporal, very flawed shadows.

I used to think that the goal of the spiritual life was to eliminate the dark, to reach a state of perpetual noon. But I now see that such a life would be blinding and flat. To enjoy the light, I must respect the dark. The darkness is where the seeds germinate; the light is what calls them toward the surface.

My personal wonderment today is that God chose to manifest in a world that was—and is—deeply dark. The Epiphany isn’t about the light winning a war against the night; it’s about the light being born into the night. It is about the courage to keep walking when the star is obscured by clouds, trusting that the “God within” is holding both the shadow and the flame. I am learning to stop fearing my own dark moments and instead see them as the very places where the imagination of God is most active, preparing me for the next dawn.

Love

Bishop Jos

Thanks for reading Emmaus Walk with Bishop Jos!! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit bishopjos.substack.com