This reading always takes me back to a prayer experience I had while I was in seminary. I shared it once with you about four years ago, and we’ll revisit it today because that experience continues to shape how I understand today’s Gospel.

At the time, I was struggling with prayer because the power of God seemed so distant from me. During one of the hours of prayer, my spiritual director gave me this Gospel passage to pray with. After reading it, I closed my eyes and allowed the Holy Spirit to guide my imagination.

I found myself in what felt like a stereotypical Middle Eastern scene. A clear night sky. Sand dunes silhouetted by the moonlight. An occasional palm tree, a camel passing quietly through the darkness. As I looked into the distance, I saw three figures riding camels, moving toward a bright star. I realized it was the Magi, so I followed behind them.

We arrived at a small, simple, stable-like house. The Magi dismounted, unloaded their belongings, and went inside. I decided to pause for a moment, catch my breath, wipe the sweat from my face, do a quick armpit sniff test, determine it wasn’t that bad, fix my hair to look as presentable as possible, and then head in. After all, if you know you are about to meet baby Jesus, you don’t want to scare the kid.

Inside, I simply copied what the Magi did. Sitting on the floor by the manger was Mary, holding the baby. The Magi approached and knelt before her, and I joined them, kneeling at the end of the line. One by one, they presented their gifts. The first opened a beautiful treasure box filled with gold coins and jewels. The second opened an ornate container of frankincense. Then the third, kneeling right next to me, opened a carved alabaster jar filled with myrrh.

And suddenly it hit me. Wait a minute. I’m next. I’m kneeling right here. It’s going to be my turn.

I panicked. I reached into my pockets, digging around, trying to find something, anything, but there was nothing. Mary finished receiving the third gift and then turned and sat in front of me. Embarrassed, I simply extended my empty hands and shrugged my shoulders, saying, “I’m sorry. I don’t have anything to offer you.”

Mary smiled. Without hesitation, she placed the baby into my arms and said, “Your empty hands, that is the perfect gift. That is exactly what he wants, so that you can hold him.”

I felt overwhelmed, uncomfortable, nervous. How is it that God, all-knowing, all-powerful, omnipotent, beyond the universe, is now this vulnerable baby? Doesn’t he know I have the power to drop him? Why would he entrust himself to me?

I did not want to look down. In fact, I was resisting the baby. He sensed it, became restless, and was about to cry. I stretched out my arms to give him back to Mary, but she said, “No. You hold him. Just hold him.”

So, I looked down, and there he was, looking back at me. There was no glow, no halo, no angels singing. Just the simplicity of a baby, the tenderness and amazement of new life.

That moment revealed something profound to me. We humans have power in our hands. We have the power to create, to heal, to build, to love, but we also have the power to destroy, to dominate, to exclude, and to harm. History shows us that human power, when clung to, often becomes the source of the worst things imaginable.

In that moment of prayer, I realized that God was asking me, and asking all of us, something very simple and very difficult at the same time. God asks us to loosen our grip on the kind of power we try to control, to protect, to preserve at all costs, so that instead we can receive from Him the power of his Incarnation, the power of love made vulnerable, the power of a God who places himself into empty hands.

That is the mystery we celebrate today in the Epiphany. It is the revelation of God’s power, a power that does not dominate, but invites, a power that does not coerce, but entrusts itself, a power that changes the world not by force, but by love.

Epiphany is the oldest celebration of the birth of Jesus, and from the very beginning it emphasized that the mission of the Church is the transformation of power.

In the Old Testament, God promised Abraham that all families of the earth would be blessed through the covenant he made with him and his descendants. The vision of that blessing we heard in the first reading, all peoples making a pilgrimage to the holy city of Jerusalem to honor the true God.

In Matthew’s Gospel, the Magi represent all the peoples of the earth, and in their pilgrimage, they discover that their destination is not a city, but a person, Jesus. As an adult, Jesus will equip and send his disciples on this mission.

Saint Paul, reflecting on his own journey of faith, says, “I became a minister of this mission by the gift of God’s grace that was granted to me, in accord with the exercise of his power.” Paul understood that the Gospel is about what power controls our lives, that the mission of the Church is about the transformation of power in the world.

How? The incarnation gives us the answer. In Jesus, divine power entered the world as a baby. A baby’s existence by its nature gives love and requires love to survive, to be held and the willingness to hold. Jesus came to both be held at the incarnation, and to hold us as he extended his arms out at the crucifixion. In doing so, the power of God entered human life and transformed it from within. Through diving love, evil is transformed into good.

That is not how most power in the world is exercised. Worldly power is often possessive and selfish. We are witnessing right now in Venezuela, two nations clashing with each other in a power struggle.

Herod is a symbol of that in the Gospel. When the Magi tell him that the Messiah has been born, the one who will fulfill the promise of a new Kingdom, Herod responds by killing the newborn children to preserve his power by any means necessary. The Magi announce good news, the Gospel, but Herod’s obsession with preserving his own power prevents him from listening.

The mission, the transformation of power, takes place primarily through listening. Listening is what builds relationships, and it is in relationships that love is fostered. Before Jesus sent his disciples on mission, he spent years with them, speaking to them, listening to them, and building a relationship with them.

The primary relationship at the heart of our mission is our relationship with God, and that relationship requires attention and listening. We place ourselves within the power of God by listening to the Word of God. At Christmas, we heard in John’s Gospel, “The Word was made flesh and dwelt among us.” The Incarnation shows us that we must be as dependent on the power of God as a baby is on its parents.

During his public ministry, Jesus lived in that dependence on the Father. He listened to the Scriptures. He prayed to the Father and was heard. That relationship gave Jesus clarity to do the will of the Father, and the Father entrusted that mission to him. At the Transfiguration, God said to the disciples, “This is my beloved Son. Listen to him.”

Listening to God first makes us capable of listening to one another. When I am rooted in God’s power, I can participate in the mission of transforming relationships in my life. Every relationship involves power. Parents have the power to listen to their children, to give them attention and dialogue, or not. Employers have the power to listen to and respect those they supervise, or not. Teachers have the power to listen to their students, or not.

There is great power in the humble act of listening. When people are not heard, when they do not feel valued, they seek power in other ways. Children and young people who lack attention may search for control elsewhere. Some young women harm themselves because it gives them a sense of control. Some young men join gangs, ironically submitting themselves to strict rules, because they are seeking belonging and power.

Transformation of power through love happens when people give personal attention to others, especially those who seem invisible, anonymous, or forgotten.

As we celebrate Epiphany, the appearance of Jesus in the world, we remember our mission to continue this transformation of power through relationships. Make this your primary New Year’s resolution, to grow in your relationship with God and to ask for the grace to listen more deeply to one another.

As you reflect on the past year, ask yourself, where did most of my attention go? Do not waste your attention. Direct it toward those who truly need you to listen, beginning with God, who still longs to be held by you.