Thoughts, Prayers & Art

Four years ago today, our nation witnessed something we could have scarcely imagined: an assault on democracy itself. The memory of that day—the violence, the desecration, the loss of life—still lingers like a wound that struggles to heal. Today, as I write this, the weight of those events feels even heavier with the realization that our nation may once again place power in the hands of someone whose actions and rhetoric have so often torn at the fabric of our common life. It feels, at times, like truth and goodness are losing ground, like the forces of chaos and cruelty are gaining strength.

Yet, today is also the Feast of the Epiphany, a day that calls us to look beyond the darkness of this world to the light that cannot be extinguished. This day reminds us of the Magi’s journey—of their perseverance to follow the star that led them to the Christ child. They traveled through uncertainty, risked everything, and refused to return to Herod, choosing instead the path of righteousness.

As I look out the window at the falling snow blanketing Stone Harbor, I’m struck by the juxtaposition of the beauty outside and the heaviness in my heart. Nature has a way of grounding us, reminding us that even in seasons of despair, creation is quietly renewing itself. Perhaps that is the lesson of this moment: the world can feel broken, but renewal is always possible.

The Feast of the Epiphany tells us that the light of Christ enters into the darkest corners of the world, and that light does not shy away from injustice or evil. It confronts it—not with violence or hatred, but with truth, love, and persistence. It calls us, as children of light, to rise—not in a show of force, but in steadfast commitment to the values that bring life and hope: mercy, justice, compassion, and peace.

It is easy, on days like this, to despair. But despair is a lie that tells us nothing can change. History reminds us that light has overcome darkness before. There was a time when slavery seemed immovable, when segregation seemed unshakable, when women were denied the right to vote, and LGBTQ+ people were invisible in the eyes of the law. Each of these realities has been challenged and changed—not completely, not perfectly, but profoundly. And each of these changes was born from ordinary people refusing to accept despair, choosing instead to believe in a better future and working to make it real.

We are in one of those moments now. The work ahead will not be easy. We will need courage and resilience, for the forces of division will seek to exhaust us, to make us turn inward and retreat. But we must keep walking toward the light, as the Magi did. We must refuse to be silent in the face of injustice. We must stand for the truth, even when lies seem louder.

And we must pray—pray for strength, for clarity, and for those who are lost in hatred and fear. Epiphany reminds us that Christ came not just for the righteous, but for all people. That includes those who seem to be our enemies. This is perhaps the hardest truth of all, but it is the one that leads to true transformation.

To anyone reading this who feels the weight of the world today: You are not alone. There are countless others who, like you, are yearning for a better way. Take heart in knowing that the light you carry matters. It may feel small, but even the tiniest star can guide a weary traveler. Together, our lights can illuminate a path forward.

As we move into this uncertain chapter of our nation’s story, let us hold fast to hope—not a naive hope, but one that is rooted in the knowledge that God’s justice and love will ultimately prevail. The star still shines. The light is still leading us. And we are called to follow, trusting that the way of peace and righteousness is never in vain.

So let us rise, children of light. The world needs us now more than ever.

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.” (John 1:5)