When God Finds Us Hiding: A Journey from Darkness to Light

We live in a season of revelation. In the church calendar, Epiphany marks that time when we celebrate how God makes himself known—through the star that guided wise men, through the light that pierces darkness, through moments when divine truth breaks into our everyday lives. It's a season of seeking, of discovering new insights, of learning to recognize God's presence in the world around us.

But what about those times when we're the ones hiding?

Long before wise men followed a star to Bethlehem, there was another encounter with the divine—one that ended not in worship, but in fear. In the Garden of Eden, God had given Adam and Eve a paradise with one simple boundary: don't eat from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. Everything else was theirs to enjoy.

Then came the serpent with his subtle question: "Did God really say that?"

Notice the strategy. The enemy didn't outright contradict God. He simply planted a seed of doubt, taking aim at God's character. He twisted a generous offer into what felt like a restrictive command, causing Eve to focus on what she couldn't have rather than the abundance surrounding her.

How often do we do the same? We question: Did God really say I should give generously even when money is tight? Did God really mean I should love that person? Did God really say fill in your blank? We allow other voices to interrupt what God has already spoken.

Eve was convinced. She saw the fruit, wanted its promised wisdom, and ate. Adam joined her. And immediately, their eyes were opened—not to glory, but to shame. Their first instinct wasn't celebration but concealment. They grabbed fig leaves and hid among the trees.

Then comes one of the most profound moments in all of Scripture. God walks into the garden and calls out: "Where are you?"

God wasn't asking for their location. He knew exactly where they were. This was a relational question—a "ready or not, here I come" moment. God was seeking the ones who were hiding.

Adam's response reveals the heart of our human condition: "I heard you walking in the garden, so I hid. I was afraid."

Sin doesn't just break rules. It convinces us we're no longer safe in God's presence. It tells us we can't be seen by Him. So we hide—one fig leaf at a time. We cover ourselves with busyness, success, excuses, religious practices, lies—whatever it takes to keep people (and God) from seeing what we've uncovered.

Fear keeps us picking up those fig leaves. Fear of being known. Fear of exposure. Fear that God will reject us when He sees what we're really capable of.

And yet, God still comes looking.

Since the beginning, humanity has been inclined to hide, and God's response has always been to seek.

The Gospel of John opens with a stunning declaration: "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God."

For Jewish readers, this echoed Genesis and evoked memories of God's spoken word throughout their history—calling Abraham, empowering Moses, speaking to Elijah, making promises through the prophets. The Word of God had always been powerful, creative, life-giving.

But John was also writing to Gentiles raised in Greek culture, where "logos" (word) meant the reason or mind of God—the one constant in a chaotic, ever-changing world.

From the very first line, John welcomed everyone in. This wasn't just for insiders. This revelation was for all who would listen.

And then John made the connection explicit: "The Word gave life to everything that was created, and his life brought light to everyone. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness can never extinguish it."

The Word of God is not an abstract concept. The Word has been born into the world as Jesus. God's Word brought to life. The light of salvation entering a dark world.

This is literal evidence that the word of God will never fail. The Word existed before creation, spoke creation into existence, saved God's people, promised goodness, brought meaning to chaos, and now shines into our darkness as our Savior.

The story that starts in Genesis doesn't end with hiding. Because God doesn't wait for us to come out on our own. He enters the darkness himself.

The birth of Jesus is God stepping into the garden again—not asking from a distance, but showing up in flesh and light.

Here's the really good news: God already knows where you are. He already knows what you're trying to hide. And He still comes looking for you.

The question is no longer "Where are you?" but "Will you step into the light?"

Epiphany doesn't just show us who God is. It reveals who we are when God shows up. It shows us how we respond to His presence.

Light reveals—not to destroy, but to heal. Being seen by God isn't dangerous. Being seen by God is what saves us from everything else.

When God found Adam and Eve hiding behind their homemade fig leaves, He told them they would have to leave the garden. Their disobedience had consequences.

But before they left, God stopped them. He wouldn't let them go out unprotected in their inadequate coverings. Scripture tells us that God fashioned clothes from animal skins for them—the first sacrifice, made to cover their shame.

This is our first glimpse of God's incredible grace. There may be consequences, but He will clothe you.

This is what we see in the death of Jesus—another sacrifice made on our behalf because what we were trying to do on our own wasn't working. Even though we don't earn it, even though we don't deserve it, God sent His Son to be a sacrifice that covers us completely.

We don't have to hide anymore. We don't have to run from His presence. We can come out from behind the trees, drop our fig leaves, and allow Him to clothe us in what we really need.

God seeks not to win at hide-and-seek, but so that we can be found. And what He does when He finds us makes all the difference.

The light is shining. Ready or not, here He comes.