January 25, 2026, Year A, The Third Sunday of Epiphany

Matthew 4:12-21, Psalm 139:1-18, 1 Corinthians 1:10-17

Grace, mercy, and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ be with you on this Third Sunday of Epiphany.

This is the time in the church year when we deliberately turn our hearts and minds toward the “manifestation” of our Lord Jesus Christ—the great shining forth of God's light into a world. Epiphany reminds us that God's revelation is not confined to one moment or one people; it is progressive, expansive, and deeply personal. It begins with the star that drew the Magi across the desert to worship the newborn King, it deepens at the Jordan River where the heavens opened and the voice declared, "This is my beloved Son," and it continues to unfold in the public ministry of Jesus, where the light breaks into everyday lives with power, purpose, and invitation.

Today, the lectionary centers our attention on Matthew 4:12-22, found on page _______ of your pew Bibles. This is a passage that stands as one of the clearest Epiphany moments in the Gospels. Here we witness the beginning of Jesus' Galilean ministry: the strategic withdrawal after John's arrest, the fulfillment of Isaiah's prophecy about light dawning in darkness, the proclamation of the kingdom, and the immediate, costly call of the first disciples. To allow this Gospel text to speak more fully, we will also draw from two companion passages: Psalm 139, which celebrates god's intimate, searching, all-knowing presence, and 1 Corinthians 1:10-17, where Paul pleads for unity in a divided church, pointing believers back to the one Lord whose cross is the true revelation of God's power.

These three readings together form a profound Epiphany triad:  

• God knows us—completely, from the hidden depths of our formation to the unspoken thoughts of our hearts (Psalm 139).  
• God calls us—personally and purposefully, summoning us out of ordinary life and ordinary darkness into the extraordinary mission of his kingdom (Matthew 4:12-22).  
• God unites us—as one body, drawing us beyond human divisions and loyalties into shared allegiance to Christ alone (1 Corinthians 1:10-17).  

This is the threefold revelation we celebrate in Epiphany: knowledge that searches, a call that transforms, and unity that heals. Let us walk through these texts slowly, verse by verse, allowing the light to do its work in us.

Let’s start in verse 12 of Matthew, ”Now when he heard that John had been arrested, he withdrew into Galilee. And leaving Nazareth he went and lived in Capernaum by the sea, in the territory of Zebulun and Naphtali, so that what was spoken by the prophet Isaiah might be fulfilled: 'The land of Zebulun and the land of Naphtali, the way of the sea, beyond the Jordan, Galilee of the Gentiles—the people dwelling in darkness have seen a great light, and for those dwelling in the region and shadow of death, on them a light has dawned'" (Matthew 4:12-16, ESV).

The passage opens with a moment of crisis. John the Baptist—the one who had prepared the way, who had baptized Jesus, who had proclaimed him the Lamb of God—has been arrested by Herod Antipas. His voice, once thundering in the wilderness, is now confined to a prison cell. In human terms, this could appear as a setback, a dimming of the movement that had begun to stir. But god's purposes are never ultimately frustrated by human opposition.

Jesus' response is to “withdraw” into Galilee. The Greek verb anachoreō carries the sense of deliberate, strategic relocation rather than fearful flight. Matthew uses this same word elsewhere for purposeful movements in the face of danger (the magi withdrawing after their visit, Joseph taking the family to Egypt). Jesus does not stay in the south near the centers of religious power, nor does he linger in Nazareth, his hometown. Instead, he settles in Capernaum, a bustling fishing village on the northern shore of the Sea of Galilee.

Matthew is careful to show that this move is not arbitrary; it is prophetic fulfillment. He quotes Isaiah 9:1-2, drawing from the promise given to the northern tribes of Zebulun and Naphtali after their conquest by Assyria in 732 BC. Those regions had long symbolized judgment, exile, and loss. By Jesus' day, they were known as "Galilee of the Gentiles"—a multicultural frontier zone where Jewish life coexisted with Hellenistic culture, Roman military presence, and international trade routes. It was a land of shadows: economic struggle for the average person, cultural tension, spiritual longing mixed with pagan influences. The phrase "region and shadow of death" captures the atmosphere perfectly—hopelessness, marginalization, spiritual dimness.

Yet Isaiah had promised that “light would dawn precisely in that place of shadow”. After judgment would come restoration. A child would be born, a son given, whose government and peace would have no end. Matthew identifies Jesus as that fulfillment. The Epiphany light does not first appear in the temple courts or among the religious elite of Jerusalem. It dawns in the periphery, among the overlooked, in the place where hope had seemed most distant.

This pattern is foundational to the entire Epiphany message. God's revelation consistently comes where human expectations are lowest. The magi—foreigners, outsiders—find the King in a humble house. The light shines first on "Galilee of the Gentiles," signaling that the salvation is for all nations. In our own lives, this should bring both comfort and challenge. When we find ourselves in seasons of shadow—whether through personal grief, doubt, failure, illness, or the sense that God is distant—those are precisely the places where the light of Christ most often breaks through. No darkness is too deep, no margin too far, for God's Epiphany.

Let’s move on to verse 17 of Matthew, "From that time Jesus began to preach, saying, 'Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand'" (Matthew 4:17, ESV).

Matthew uses the phrase "from that time" as a marker to signal major turning points in the story of Jesus. Here it marks the formal inauguration of his public ministry. The message Jesus proclaims—"Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand"—is the same as John's earlier proclamation, but now it is spoken by the one to whom John pointed. The "kingdom of heaven" (Matthew's reverent Jewish way of speaking of the kingdom of God) is not a distant future reality. It is “at hand”—present, breaking into history, embodied in Jesus himself.

Repentance (metanoia) is the required human response. This is not merely feeling sorry for sin; it is a radical change of mind, a complete reorientation of one's entire life direction. Where we once lived oriented toward self, toward security, toward the values of the world, we now turn toward the reign of God as revealed in Jesus. The light of Epiphany does not leave us unchanged; it demands that we turn, that we walk in the direction the light is shining.

This proclamation is itself an Epiphany act. The light reveals the nearness of God's kingdom and simultaneously reveals our need to change course. It exposes darkness but always with the invitation to step into life. In Capernaum—a town of fishermen, traders, Roman officials, Jews and Gentiles—the message rings out to all. No one is excluded from the kingdom that has drawn near.

Let’s move on to verses 18-22, ”While walking by the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon who is called Peter and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the sea, for they were fishermen. And he said to them, 'Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.' Immediately they left their nets and followed him. And going on from there he saw two other brothers, James the son of Zebedee and John his brother, in the boat with Zebedee their father, mending their nets, and he called them. Immediately they left the boat and their father and followed him" (Matthew 4:18-22, ESV).

The scene is one of utter ordinariness. Jesus walks along the lakeshore. He sees men engaged in the daily work that has defined their lives: casting nets, mending gear, preparing for the next night's catch. These are not religious professionals or scholars. They are working men—likely tired, calloused, bound to the rhythms of wind, tide, and market.

Jesus "saw" them. The verb here is more than visual observation; it implies recognition, insight, seeing into the depth of who they are. He speaks a simple, authoritative word: "Follow me”. With the command comes a promise of transformation: "I will make you fishers of men." Their daily trade will be given new meaning. From gathering fish for survival, they will gather human lives into the kingdom of God.

The response is breathtaking: "immediately" they leave everything. Nets are abandoned mid-task. Boat and father are left behind. In a first-century world where family and livelihood were the anchors of identity and security, this obedience is revolutionary.

But how could they respond so quickly? The answer lies in the broader Gospel witness. In John, our gospel reading from last week, shortly after Jesus' baptism, two disciples of John the Baptist (Andrew and one unnamed, but likely John) follow Jesus after hearing him called the Lamb of God. They spend the day with him, believe he is the Messiah, and Andrew brings Simon to Jesus, who renames him Cephas (Peter). This is the “first encounter”—an Epiphany of recognition, a moment of awakening.

Time passes. The men return to fishing. Then, after John's arrest, Jesus issues the “second call” by the sea. This is no longer "come and see"; it is "follow me" in total, vocational discipleship. The first meeting plants the seed of faith; the second demands that the seed bear costly fruit. This progression is classic Epiphany: revelation unfolds in layers, from initial glimpse to full surrender.

The reason for their immediate response is the authority of the caller and the fact that he calls those he already knows deeply. This brings us to the beautiful testimony of Psalm 139.

In verses 1-4 we read, "O Lord, you have searched me and known me! You know when I sit down and when I rise up; you discern my thoughts from afar. You search out my path and my lying down and are acquainted with all my ways. Even before a word is on my tongue, behold, O Lord, you know it altogether" (Psalm 139:1-4, ESV).

This psalm begins with wonder at god’s omniscience. The verb "searched" (ḥāqar) suggests thorough exploration, probing with care and intent. god has done this to the psalmist—and to each of us. He knows our daily movements (sitting and rising), our inner thoughts (even those distant or unspoken), our paths through life, our resting places. Nothing is hidden.

The psalmist marvels at the inescapability of this knowledge in 7-8: "Where shall I go from your Spirit? Or where shall I flee from your presence? If I ascend to heaven, you are there! If I make my bed in Sheol, you are there!" (vv. 7-8). No place is beyond God's reach.

Even darkness cannot conceal in verses 11-12: "If I say, 'Surely the darkness shall cover me, and the light about me be night,' even the darkness is not dark to you; the night is bright as the day, for darkness is as light with you" (vv. 11-12).

Then comes the most intimate section in verses 13-16: "For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother's womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well. My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth. Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them" (vv. 13-16).

This is the foundation of the call in Matthew 4. The God who “knitted” Peter, Andrew, James, and John together in the womb—who saw their unformed substance, who wrote the days of their lives before any day came to be—is the same God who now stands on the shore and says, "Follow me." Jesus does not call strangers. He calls those he has known eternally, those formed for a purpose beyond fishing nets. The Epiphany light is intensely personal: the light that dawns on the world dawns on you, knowing you better than you know yourself, calling you into a life of meaning and mission.

Let’s move over to our 1 Corinthians reading, in verse 10: "I appeal to you, brothers, by the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, that all of you agree, and that there be no divisions among you, but that you be united in the same mind and the same judgment" (1 Corinthians 1:10, ESV).

Paul writes to a gifted but fractured church in Corinth. Factions had formed around different leaders: "each one of you says, 'I follow Paul,' or 'I follow Apollos,' or 'I follow Cephas,' or 'I follow Christ'" (v. 12). Paul responds with sharp questions: "Is Christ divided? Was Paul crucified for you? Or were you baptized in the name of Paul?" (v. 13). The answer is obvious: no. The cross is not divided. Baptism is into Christ alone.

Paul reminds them that his ministry was never about building personal followings: "For Christ did not send me to baptize but to preach the gospel, and not with words of eloquent wisdom, lest the cross of Christ be emptied of its power" (v. 17). The true Epiphany—the true revelation of God's wisdom and power—is the cross of Christ, not human eloquence or leadership styles.

In Epiphany light, the call to discipleship is always a call to “unity”. The disciples in Matthew leave individual securities to follow one Lord, forming a new community. Paul calls the Corinthians to the same focus: unity centered on the manifested Christ, whose light overcomes every human division.

These three passages now shine together. Psalm 139 declares the intimate knowledge that undergirds every call. Matthew 4 shows that call breaking into history, summoning ordinary people to kingdom purpose. 1 Corinthians 1 shows the communal outcome: those called are gathered into one body, united in Christ.

In our everyday lives, we too live in various shadows—personal struggles with doubt, anxiety, grief; the distraction of endless responsibilities; the pain of broken relationships or church divisions. The Epiphany promise is that the light has already dawned. Jesus has come. The kingdom is at hand. God knows you completely. He calls you—perhaps for the second time, the tenth time, the hundredth time—to leave your "nets" and follow. And he unites you with others in the one body of Christ.

The call is not a one-time event. Epiphany is a way of life. Every day the light dawns anew. Every day we are invited to repent again, to turn again, to follow more closely, to seek greater unity. The disciples' "immediately" becomes our daily "yes." The light that knew us in the womb continues to know us, continues to call us, continues to gather us.

Let’s pray…