Lectionary Commentaries for January 25, 2026
Third Sunday after Epiphany
from WorkingPreacher.org
Gospel
Commentary on Matthew 4:12-23
Eugene Park
First Reading
Commentary on Isaiah 9:1-4
Collin Cornell
The Season of Epiphany characteristically focuses on light. One of its flagship texts comes from Isaiah 9, with its verse made famous by Handel’s Messiah: “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness—on them light has shined” (verse 2).
But what is this darkness? What, or who, is the light that has shined? And how might Christian preaching lay hold of this passage?
The tendency of Christian preachers is to take our cue from the use that Matthew’s Gospel makes of this Isaiah passage: to take the darkness as a reference to the ignorance of gentile nations, to take the light as a reference to Christ, and to preach this text as an announcement of the brilliance that Christ brings to peoples who were, in the words of Ephesians (2:12), formerly without hope and without God.
This approach to the Isaiah text issues a triumphant word. It celebrates what God in Christ has already achieved. Certainly that mood is true to Matthew’s Gospel, which begins with the Epiphany scene of gentile magi, led by the brightness of a star to worship the Christ child (Matthew 2). When Matthew cites Isaiah 9 in a later chapter, it fits the same triumphant coordinates. Matthew 4 recounts how Jesus relocated to the seaside city of Capernaum. Because this city falls within the traditional tribal territory of Zebulun and Naphtali, Matthew discerns in this detail the fulfillment of Isaiah’s prophecy:
Land of Zebulun, land of Naphtali,
on the road by the sea, across the Jordan, Galilee of the gentiles—
the people who sat in darkness
have seen a great light,
and for those who sat in the region and darkness of death
light has dawned. (Matthew 4:15–16)
To echo these themes—gentiles, light, fulfilment—sermonically is therefore commensurate with Matthew’s Gospel. But there are resources available in the source text, Isaiah 9, that press beyond this message; that enable us to preach it not as a past triumph but as an abiding promise, a word of encouragement as we wait for God to bring about its full completion.
Already one phrase in Matthew’s quotation hints at a larger significance of the light dawning. Matthew follows the ancient Greek translation of Isaiah in describing the predicament of “the people” in terms of sitting in the “darkness of death”—Greek: skia thanatou. This is somewhat distinct, a more ominous and cosmic condition, relative to the underlying Hebrew term (ṣalmāwet), which really only means extreme darkness, without reference to death. Yet Matthew, and the Greek translators of Isaiah before him, were picking up on an authentic resonance within the Isaiah passage. The darkness besetting the people is more than just (gentile) ignorance.
This larger and more sinister resonance can be seen from consulting the preceding Isaiah chapter. The famous line from Handel’s Messiah (“on them light has shined”) responds to the conclusion of Isaiah 8:19–22. That oracle presents a scenario of divination, specifically necromancy, or communication with the dead. It raises the possibility: “Now if people say to you, ‘Consult the ghosts and the familiar spirits that chirp and mutter; should not a people consult their gods, the dead on behalf of the living, for teaching and for instruction?’…” (verses 19–20a). The oracle then pronounces a judgment on such people: “Surely those who speak like this will have no dawn!” (verse 20b).
The line of thinking here seems to connect the dead with the earth where they are interred. Necromancers who “look to the earth” (verse 22a) for teaching and instruction will not only experience disappointment in that regard but will face an even greater shock: The sun, which appears to rise out of the earth, will refuse to emerge. No light, whether of spiritual illumination or solar brightness, will shine on them. Indeed, the final verse of chapter 8 piles up Hebrew vocabulary for darkness: “They will see only distress and darkness, the gloom [Hebrew: mə‘ûph] of anguish, and they will be thrust into thick darkness” (verse 22b).
Thus the ending of one story—a judgment story. But then Isaiah 9 takes the conclusion of the previous chapter and transforms it into the beginning of a different story. What had been a finale becomes a “former time” in relation to another, “latter time.” Darkness is not, as it turns out, the last word, but rather the first, and the earth in general that had been the site of divination is localized, focused into specific lands of Zebulun and Naphtali. Verse 1 of chapter 9 hence reads like this:
But there will be no gloom [Hebrew: mû‘āph, sounding like mə‘ûph in verse 22b] for those who were in anguish. In the former time he brought into contempt the land of Zebulun and the land of Naphtali, but in the latter time he will make glorious the way of the sea, the land beyond the Jordan, Galilee of the nations.
The very next verse announces the shining of the light on those who had dwelt in deep darkness—or again, in Greek, the “darkness of death.” The mention of death in Isaiah 9:2 connects backward to the consultation of the dead in Isaiah 8. This link suggests that the darkness facing the people is more than just ignorance. It concerns the shroud that is cast over all the peoples (Isaiah 25:7)—the ongoing reality of death.
Even as we look back on the partial fulfilment of this prophecy—Jesus coming to Galilee, as Matthew narrates—the full dispersion of this darkness still lies ahead of us: “The last enemy to be destroyed is death” (1 Corinthians 15:26). The subsequent proclamations of Isaiah 9 similarly exceed our current experience: “To us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders” (verse 6a). Yet, as Hebrews puts it: “We do not yet see everything subject to him” (2:8). The light has shined, yes, but in the meanwhile, before it shines completely, the promises of Isaiah 9 hold us in hope.
Psalm
Commentary on Psalm 27:1, 4-9
James Howell
One of the brightest jewels in the Psalter is Psalm 27.1
It’s situated on the third Sunday of Epiphany but could be read and pondered with great profit and joy any Sunday, or at any moment.
How profound is the first verse? “The Lord is my light.” In ancient times there were two kinds of light: the sun and the lamp. First, the sun: brilliant, unable to be stared at, and, like God, the sun gives light, warmth, and life, and highlights beauty. No wonder pagans worshipped the sun. God’s first concoction, and God’s most primal gift to us, is light. On Day 1 of all history, “God said, ‘Let there be light’” (Genesis 1:3). John echoes, “God is light, and in him is no darkness at all” (1 John 1:5).
We’re not much afraid of the light, but we do fear the dark—and many other things. The antidote to fear—in our culture—is security, locks, guns. But in God’s kingdom, the fix for fear is this Lord who is our light.
When it got dark in biblical times, they lit lamps—not the brilliant LED lanterns you can purchase today, but simple pottery lamps, with a single wick and flame, casting just enough light to see a short way ahead. Psalm 119:105 says, “Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.” If we follow God’s will, we do not know what the road will look like in a few miles or years. God gives us just a pottery lamp’s worth of light, just enough to take a few more steps. We have to trust God with that kind of light.
“The Lord is my light … ; whom shall I fear?” We fear the future—but with God as our light, that small flicker banishes the darkness and we are not alone.
“One thing I asked of the Lord; that will I seek after: to live in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to behold the beauty of the Lord, and to inquire in his temple,” says verse 4. This is one of the Bible’s most eloquent, emotionally powerful, visionary verses, well worth memorizing, or installing as your life’s mission statement, etching it into the core of your soul.
We ask a great many things of God, of ourselves, of others, and of life. But really, there is just “one thing” that finally matters, and to garner everything else but miss out on the one good thing would be tragic. To the rich young man, who was not only successful but also diligently religious, Jesus said, “One thing you lack” (Luke 18:22). Martha busied herself preparing a multi-course feast for Jesus, but he said, “One thing is needful” (Luke 10:42)—and he didn’t mean just one dish. Jesus spoke of a merchant who sold everything just to purchase the one fantastic pearl (Matthew 13:45).
The world tells us to cram, to wrap our arms around as many neat things as possible. But like hauling a load of laundry, you drop some socks and a shirt or two. And then it’s just a bunch of laundry anyway. In trying to grab it all, we actually miss it all. What if you could focus and be satisfied with just one thing?
There is only one thing that is enough. The psalmist speaks of it as “dwelling in the house of the Lord all my days”—that is, to be near God, even to be someone who worships God, not just in worship but constantly, all day, every day. I’m not in the Lord’s house just now, but can the mood linger? Can the recollection, the experience, resonate in what seems like an unholy place? Can any old house actually become for me the house of the Lord?
The psalmist adds another intriguing nuance: the one thing? “To behold the beauty of the Lord.” Not merely to see the Lord, which would be incredible and stupendously wonderful. But it is “the beauty of the Lord.” When we see beauty, it’s hard to look away. We must have it. We do not notice competitors for our attention.
And the beauty changes us. Jewel sang, “Maybe if we are surrounded in beauty, someday we will become what we see.”2 You are beautiful—or you can be, but the way to beauty isn’t cosmetics or plastic surgery or the right clothes or jewelry. It is only as we are surrounded by the beauty of God, the wonders of creation, the Scriptures, the holy saints, church buildings, goodness, and prayerfulness: This is the way to beauty, which is the way to God.
So many pregnant phrases in Psalm 27 beg for reflection.
- “Now my head is lifted up” (verse 6)—that we do not hang our heads any longer, but look forward, with dignity, because of God’s salvation.
- “Your face, Lord, do I seek” (verse 8)—for we do not seek some vague, ephemeral deity, but a God with a human face, the compassionate, strong face of Jesus, God become like us.
- “I believe I shall see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living” (verse 13)—that faith is not merely about the pledge of eternal life in another world, but it is in this world, not merely some spiritual realm, but the real, physical world, in my body, in my neighborhood, in politics, in economics, everywhere that is anywhere now.
Maybe for the working preacher, a wise course might be to surrender on the work and yield yourself to the psalm, or maybe even in worship just to let the psalm stand on its own and let the people listen and marvel while you let it do its own lovely work.
Notes
- Commentary previously published on this website for January 26, 2014.
- Jewel, “I’m Sensitive,” Pieces of You, Atlantic Recordings, 1995.
Second Reading
Commentary on 1 Corinthians 1:10-18
Bryan J. Whitfield
Church leadership is hard. Pastors balance several competing demands. They direct people with purpose and vision without creating a cult of personality. They honor past leadership while guiding a congregation into the future. They bring groups with different loyalties and values together, promoting unity without forcing uniformity.
The trouble in Corinth
Such challenges are not new: Paul faces them in his work at Corinth. Differences in class, religious background, and styles of leadership divide the Corinthian Christians. Paul establishes the congregation, but after his departure, Apollos leads them (1 Corinthians 3:6). After Apollos departs, the congregation’s bickering worsens, prompting one group, “Chloe’s people” (1:11), to report their divisiveness to Paul. Others—Stephanus, Fortunatus, and Achaicus—bring him a letter from the Corinthians detailing their concerns (16:17).
In the face of these challenges, Paul writes back, hoping to bring the Corinthians together, reminding them of their primary loyalty to Christ. After his greeting and thanksgiving (1 Corinthians 1:1-9), he first encourages them to find common ground with one another. This theme, the need for the Corinthians to come together, provides the central emphasis of the letter’s first section. Using language drawn from familiar proverbs about friendship and from discussions about civic harmony, Paul urges them to seek agreement in what they affirm and think and resolve (1:10).
Such counsel is needed because he has heard about their quarrels (1 Corinthians 1:11) and their division into rival groups: the partisans of Paul, of Apollos, of Cephas, and of Christ (1:12). Some claim to belong to Paul, the founder of the congregation. Others are partisans of Apollos, their second pastor, known for his eloquence, his fervor, his knowledge of the Jewish Scriptures, and his skill in argumentation (Acts 18:24–28). A third group favors one of the original disciples of Jesus, Cephas, the Aramaic equivalent of the Greek name Peter that Paul uses for Simon Peter (John 1:42; 1 Corinthians 1:12; 3:22; 9:5; 15:5; Galatians 1:18; 2:9, 11, 14).
A final group claims membership in the party of Christ. Paul will later insist that all the Corinthians belong to Christ (1 Corinthians 3:23), but here he objects to the divisiveness of those who claim to be “the real followers of Christ” as opposed to others. Of these divisions, the most significant appears to be the one between the partisans of Paul and those of Apollos (3:3–9, 21–23; 4:6).
Paul’s response
In response to this partisan spirit, Paul poses three rhetorical questions in 1 Corinthians 1:13. The answers repeatedly guide the Corinthians to affirm their unity in Christ. He first asks, “Has Christ been divided?,” envisioning Christ broken into parts and parcels, a commodity split between the rival groups. Surely Christ is not up for grabs.
The next two questions strike the same note: “Was Paul crucified for you? Or were you baptized in the name of Paul?” In Greek, both these questions expect the unequivocal answer, “No!” Christ has died for them, and they have been baptized into his name. That baptism incorporates them into the body of Christ (12:12–13). Their unity finds its ground in Christ, not in allegiance to a specific leader, and least of all to Paul.
It is natural to be loyal to the leader who baptizes us or introduces us to faith. Paul understands that form of spiritual lineage (1 Corinthians 4:17; Philemon 10, 19; 1 Timothy 1:2). But baptism does not focus on a connection to the person who baptizes us. Baptism centers on Christ, the one to whom we are united. In baptism, we experience union with Christ so that we share both his death and his resurrection life (Romans 6:4–6).
Reinforcing that point, Paul gives thanks that he did not baptize many in Corinth. He provides a brief list—Crispus and Gaius and the household of Stephanus. The individuals Paul names are all founding members of the congregation. Crispus was the leader of the synagogue who became a believer in Jesus (Acts 18:8). Gaius was Paul’s and the congregation’s host in Corinth (Romans 16:23), and the members of the household of Stephanas were the first converts—the first fruits—of his work there (1 Corinthians 16:15). But beyond this brief list, Paul asserts, he does not recall the names of those he baptized (1:16).
Paul minimizes his role in baptizing converts because his primary mission is to proclaim the gospel. Even as he accomplishes that goal, he downplays the role of individual personality and rhetorical skill to focus on the message of the cross, which “is the power of God” (1:18). That message becomes the heart of the letter’s next section.
Paul’s concerns about division speak directly to the situation of many of our congregations today. We see the contentious spirit of division in the church universal—across and within denominations—as well as within our congregations. The cult of personality, the attachment of parishioners to particular ministers, continues to hold sway, now driven as well by media personalities. Political alignments become the test of Christian fellowship.
In the face of these challenges, we and our congregations need to hear the counsel of Paul afresh. Our divisions weaken our witness, pulling us inward to jockey for position and prestige, turning our sisters and brothers in Christ into opponents and enemies. Unity strengthens our witness, sending us outward as ministers of reconciliation who bear the good news of the cross to a world in need of healing and hope.
Effective pastoral preaching will identify the pressing sources of division in a congregation, craft a skillful response to those challenges, and offer an encouraging and unifying word. The sermon will then accomplish its work so that those who listen may, like Paul’s congregation in Corinth, “be knit together in the same mind and the same purpose” (1:10).
After the birth narrative, Matthew’s story of Jesus skips to the adult Jesus coming to the Judean desert to be baptized by John the Baptizer. When John the Baptizer is handed over and eventually executed, Jesus returns to Galilee. Then he moves from his hometown, Nazareth, to Capernaum, a fishing village on the north side of the Sea of Galilee.
Matthew finds a significant theological meaning in this otherwise simple geographical relocation. Invoking his favorite fulfillment formula, Matthew cites a passage from Isaiah about the lands of Zebulun and Naphtali, the ancient location of Capernaum, which the prophet characterizes as “Galilee of the gentiles.” The oracle promises the residents in this region that a great light will shine upon them. This is a poetic oracle and therefore cannot be taken as a basis of any theological tenet. However, in Matthew’s narrative world, this citation points forward to Matthew’s evolving motif of the expansion of the gospel beyond the boundaries of the house of Israel, ultimately to all the gentiles.
The ministry of Jesus is summarized by Matthew as preaching the Kingdom of Heavens (4:17), which is the same message as John the Baptizer preached (3:2). Here, the “Kingdom of Heavens,” which is Matthew’s preferred expression, is synonymous with the “Kingdom of God,” as “Heavens [Shamayim]” was sometimes used as a metonym for God in Jewish parlance. The “Kingdom of God” derives from the Hebrew phrase makkhut Yahweh (“rule of Yahweh”), which refers to the Davidic dynasty as a theocratic political system.1 As such, it projects the vision of the political order of the imagined direct rule of God; the rulers of Israel should rule, as if God directly ruled, with justice and impartiality (Leviticus 19:15).
When this vision of the “Rule/Kingdom of God” was not realized and when the earthly rulers, be they Israelite kings or rulers of foreign empires colonizing Israel, abused their power and committed various forms of injustice against the people of God, prophets arose and proclaimed the forgotten vision of “What would it be like if God directly ruled?” In this context, the Kingdom of God has an inherently anti-imperial and anti-establishment ethos. It reflects an intense yearning for a sociopolitical order based on the will of God for justice and fairness.
Later in the history of Israel, when the colonizing superpowers such as Babylon, Persia, the Seleucids, and Rome looked too strong and invincible for them to reckon with, many Jews turned toward apocalypticism, wishing for God’s direct intervention at the cosmic level to crush the current evil empires and establish the everlasting divine rule. In that sense, the Jewish apocalypticism in the late Second Temple period was highly political, and yet its ultimate orientation was otherworldly. John the Baptizer and Jesus in Matthew stand in this prophetic tradition in Israel.2
This theme of the Kingdom/Rule of God, with which Jesus begins his ministry, will continue to be the main subject for the entire proclamation, teaching, and ministry of Jesus in the rest of Matthew’s Gospel. This is illustrated by the recurring presence of the language of the Kingdom of Heavens in all five major discourses in Matthew:
The Matthean Jesus is single-mindedly and consistently committed to proclaiming, teaching, and enacting the Kingdom of Heavens from the beginning to the end.
In Matthew, both John the Baptizer and Jesus seem to share optimism about the impending arrival of the Kingdom of Heavens as they both use the same verb, engiken, the perfect tense of engizo (“come near,” “approach”), in their respective proclamations (3:2 and 4:17). It reflects an apocalyptic eschatology with the expectation of the imminent end of history. Whether this type of apocalyptic eschatology goes back to the heroic Jesus is a matter of scholarly debate, but it seems to be Matthew’s understanding of Jesus.
This Kingdom-centered life and ministry of Jesus is to be continued and further carried out by his disciples beyond the public phase of Jesus’ life, and this point is exemplified by the call story in 4:18–22. On the shore of the Sea of Galilee, Jesus passes by Simon and Andrew. He calls them, and immediately they leave their nets and follow (akolouthein) him (verse 20). In the same manner Jesus calls James and John, and immediately they leave their boat and their father and follow (akolouthein) him (verse 22).
This motif of discipleship of the Kingdom-centered life in the language of “following Jesus” is to be embraced and practiced by the intended audience of the Gospel of Matthew—in other words, the members of the Matthean community—and, by inference, by all subsequent readers of the same gospel.
The concluding verse in this passage functions as a summary of Jesus’ ministry, not just at the beginning but during the entire Galilean period of his life. That is, the focal point of the teaching, proclaiming, and healing ministry is the “gospel (euangelion) of the Kingdom” (verse 23). This is a theocentric gospel, and Jesus in Matthew’s gospel is primarily, if not exclusively, the proclaimer of this gospel of the Kingdom rather than its core content.3
Notes