The Magi Refused to Kneel and so Should We

I’m late in writing this Epiphany reflection, but current events demand it. Epiphany is not a sentimental add-on to the Christmas story. It is a confrontation—one that forces a choice about power, allegiance, and worship.

January 6 marks the Christian feast of Epiphany, the celebration of the visit of the Magi to the Christ Child. The story appears only in the Gospel of Matthew and has accumulated layers of tradition over time: three visitors, royal titles, even names. Matthew gives us none of that. These details, while familiar and comforting, distract from the far more unsettling point the author is making.

It is difficult—perhaps impossible—for American Christians to encounter this date without recalling another January 6, when Christian language, symbols, and prayers were used to sanctify an attempt to cling to political power. That collision of Epiphany and insurrection is not accidental or unfortunate. It is revelatory. It exposes how easily the language of worship can be severed from the way of Jesus and pressed into the service of fear, dominance, and control.

The Magi were not kings. They were astrologers from Persia—outsiders, religious professionals from beyond Israel’s borders—who came seeking the one born “King of the Jews.” From the beginning, Matthew frames Jesus not merely as a spiritual figure, but as a rival ruler.

That title alone is enough to trigger fear. Herod was the legal “King of the Jews,” installed by Rome to rule over Judea, a client kingdom that would not be fully absorbed into the Roman Empire until 6 CE. Any claim to a new king was not theological speculation; it was a direct political threat.

When the Magi arrive in Jerusalem seeking directions, Herod hears of it and summons them. Cloaked in false piety, he instructs them to find the child and report back, claiming he too wishes to worship. But the Magi do not comply. Warned in a dream, they return home by another road. That act of refusal is the moment that matters.

The word translated as worship—proskynesis—is not a neutral or private religious term. As biblical scholar Warren Carter explains, it is a political act, designating the bodily submission required when greeting a ruler, especially in the eastern Mediterranean world. The Magi extend this allegiance to Jesus, not to Herod.

The Magi do not offer submission to the ruler backed by empire. They offer it to a child whose kingship threatens the existing order.

Epiphany, then, is not about exotic visitors or symbolic gifts. It is about allegiance. It is about recognizing that honoring Jesus as king inevitably puts one at odds with systems of power that demand loyalty, fear, and compliance.

This is where Epiphany becomes uncomfortable for modern Christians—especially in the United States. We are often eager to spiritualize Jesus, to confine him to personal belief or private morality. But Matthew will not allow that. From his earliest days, Jesus is portrayed as a political problem, one whose very existence destabilizes unjust authority.

The Magi understood this. They chose defiance over safety, faithfulness over favor, obedience to God over cooperation with power. Epiphany confronts us with the same question: when following Jesus puts us at odds with the powers that be, which road will we take home?