As we celebrate the Feast of the Epiphany, we encounter one of Scripture’s most beautiful moments: the Magi, guided by a star, finds the Christ child and worships him with gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. But it’s what happens next that captures my attention this year: “And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they departed for their country by another way” (Matthew 2:12).
By another way. Not the same route. Not the familiar path. Something had changed.
An epiphany is a revelation—a moment when God breaks through and shows us something we hadn’t seen before. The word itself comes from the Greek epiphaneia, meaning “manifestation” or “appearing.” For the Magi, encountering Christ was such a profound revelation that they could not return the same way they came. Their lives were forever altered by that sacred meeting.
This is the essence of conversion and discipleship: when we truly encounter Christ, we cannot go back unchanged. We must return by another way. The path forward looks different because we are different.
But here’s what I’ve learned in my years of ministry: while we often hope for dramatic, life-changing transformations, real conversion rarely happens that way. Major changes aren’t usually made in grand gestures. Instead, small changes lead to large transformations.
BJ Fogg, in his book Tiny Habits, teaches us that sustainable change comes not from adding enormous new commitments to our already-full lives, but from making small, almost invisible adjustments that gradually reshape who we are. A two-minute prayer before breakfast. A single breath of gratitude before responding in anger. One kind word to a stranger each day. These tiny habits, repeated faithfully, become the pathways of grace.
But I want to suggest something even more countercultural as we begin 2026: What if, instead of adding something to our lives, we subtracted something?
Our lives are already so full—full of commitments, full of noise, full of screens, full of anxiety, full of rushing. We don’t need one more thing to do in 2026. What we need is space—space for Christ to continue his revelation in our hearts.
The great mystics understood this deeply. St. John of the Cross wrote: “To reach satisfaction in all, desire its possession in nothing. To come to possess all, desire the possession of nothing.” And St. Teresa of Ávila reminded us: “The feeling remains that God is on the journey, too.” These spiritual giants weren’t about adding endless practices and obligations. They were about emptying themselves so they could be filled with God alone.
As I said in Christmas homily, how might you subtract in 2026 to make room for Christ?
Perhaps less time scrolling through news and social media—leaving space to notice the beauty around you. Perhaps saying “no” to one extra obligation—creating margin for your spouse, your children, your aging parents. Perhaps releasing a grudge you’ve been holding—making room for the peace that comes from forgiveness. Perhaps turning off the noise in your car—allowing silence to become prayer.
When we subtract the unnecessary, we make room for the essential. We create space for our neighbor in need, for the stranger seeking welcome, for those broken by homelessness or addiction or loneliness. We make room to see them, to be present to them, to encounter Christ in their faces.
Can we come back a different way? Can 2026 be the year we choose less so we can receive more—more of God’s presence, more peace in our homes, more love for those around us?
As we move toward 2027, imagine being able to say: “Yes, I made some small changes, and they made a big impact. I chose subtraction over addition. I made room. And Christ filled that space with grace I didn’t even know I needed.”
The Magi departed by another way because they had encountered Love itself. May we do the same.
God Bless,
Fr. Brendan
