Guest Post by: David Tonaszuck
A reflection on the Epiphany of the Lord. The Gospel of Matthew 2:1-12
Dear friends in Christ,
They say the sea has a mind of its own, but on the night of February 18, 1952, it was a monster. The wind howled over Cape Cod, Massachusetts, turning the Atlantic into a black, heaving wilderness. Two tankers, the Pendleton and the Fort Mercer, broke in half, scattering sailors across the freezing waves. The radio called it a “dual disaster,” and for a while, it looked like nobody would come back alive.
Bernie Webber was a young Coast Guardsman, steady but quiet, not the sort who chased glory. He took the helm of the CG-36500, a wooden lifeboat barely 36 feet long—just big enough for a handful of men and a prayer. The Coast Guard didn’t expect much. The storm was too fierce, the water too cold, the Pendleton mostly gone. But Bernie and his crew set out anyway, following the flickering beam of the Chatham light into the wild unknown.
They found the Pendleton’s stern battered but afloat, thirty-two men huddled on deck, faces lit by the ship’s emergency lamps and the jagged blue of lightning. Every wave threatened to smash the little boat to pieces. But the men jumped, one by one, and Bernie caught them all. When he’d taken on the last man, the boat was so loaded it barely cleared the waves. The compass was gone, swallowed by the storm. The radio was dead. There was no way to steer home except by faith.
That’s when the miracle happened. As the rescue boat neared the shore, the men saw a strange glow on the horizon—dozens of car headlights, shining out from the parking lot at Chatham. Families, friends, strangers and townsfolk all lined the coastline, their cars pointed toward the sea, their lights blazing to guide the lost men home. It was hope writ large, a signal fire made of headlights, a promise that someone was waiting, that the darkness would not win. The CG-36500 followed those lights all the way to safety. Every man survived.
The story of that night is retold in books and movies—The Finest Hours—because it’s more than just a rescue. It’s about what happens when people risk everything to follow the faintest hint of light, refusing to let fear or darkness have the last word.
The Light That Leads: The Magi’s Journey and the Saving Power of God’s Invitation
This same story plays out in the Gospel, especially on this feast of the Epiphany. The magi, wise men from the East, saw a star—a light that shouldn’t be there. They left home and everything familiar, chasing that hope across deserts and borders. They found Jesus, not in a palace but in a humble home, and they knelt in awe. Their journey was rough, uncertain, but the light led them to a miracle.
And in both stories, it is light that saves. Headlights on a stormy coast; a star over Bethlehem. A rescue boat bringing men home; a Savior entering the darkness of the world to lead us into love.
The magi’s journey is a model for all of us. The star they followed was more than just a celestial event; it was a sign from God, a beacon that led them to Jesus, the true light of the world. These
men were outsiders, not Jews, yet they were drawn by God’s invitation. They teach us that God’s light and love reach out to everyone, no matter who we are or where we come from.
When the magi finally found Jesus, they didn’t just admire Him from afar. They bowed down, worshipped, and offered their gifts: gold for kingship, frankincense for divinity, myrrh for suffering. Their response was one of reverence, generosity, and love. And after encountering Jesus, they were changed. They didn’t go back the way they came; they took a new path, guided by God’s word in a dream. That’s what a real encounter with Christ does—it changes us, sets us on a new course, and fills us with hope.
Welcoming the Light: Opening Our Hearts to Christ’s Guidance and Love
So what does this mean for us? Welcoming the light means being open to God’s guidance, recognizing signs of hope, and letting that hope lead us to Christ—even when it means leaving our comfort zones or trusting in the dark. Welcoming the love of our Savior and King means responding with humility, reverence, and generosity. It means making space for Jesus in our lives, offering Him not just our material gifts, but our hearts, our worship, our obedience.
Doing Him homage isn’t just about kneeling in church; it’s about putting Christ at the center of our lives, letting His presence shape our actions and choices. It’s about letting the encounter with Jesus send us home “by another way”—changed, renewed, and guided by love rather than fear.
When the night is darkest, even the smallest light can lead us home—just as the magi followed the star to Jesus, and as the Coast Guard crew followed headlights to safety. The Gospel calls us to seek, recognize, and welcome Christ, letting His light—and the guidance of the Holy Spirit—lead us through every storm.
Today, let us open our hearts to the light and love of Jesus. Let us allow ourselves to be changed by His presence, guided by His Spirit, and filled with gratitude. Let us give thanks to our LORD God for sending us His only Son, Jesus Christ, our Savior and our King—the true light that leads us out of darkness and into life, hope, and love. Amen.
About Our Guest Blogger
Saint Carlo Acutis once said, “Not me, but God.” His words echo deeply in my own spiritual life. This blog is not about me, but about the work of the Holy Spirit. I choose to remain anonymous because the voice behind these reflections isn’t what matters — the One speaking through them is.
I am a lifelong Catholic with a deep love for Scripture, the sacraments, and the quiet ways God speaks through everyday life. Live the Eucharist was born from my desire to share how the Gospel and the Eucharist shape not just my Sundays, but every step of the journey.
My hope is that these reflections bless you, challenge you, and draw you closer to Jesus — truly present in the Eucharist and profoundly present in your daily life.
