Luke 13:31-35
At that very hour some Pharisees came and said to him, “Get away from here, for Herod wants to kill you.” He said to them, “Go and tell that fox for me, ‘Listen, I am casting out demons and performing cures today and tomorrow, and on the third day I finish my work. Yet today, tomorrow, and the next day I must be on my way, because it is impossible for a prophet to be killed outside of Jerusalem.’ Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, yet you were not willing. See, your house is left to you. And I tell you, you will not see me until the time comes when you say, ‘Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord.’ ”
This notion of God – in Jesus – as a mother hen who gathers her brood under her wings doesn’t get as much play as the other images we have of Jesus from Scripture. The Good Shepherd, The Bread of Life, The Light of the World, The Lamb of God…all of these are more common, more popular, it seems to me – more appealing, perhaps – than the idea that Jesus is like a chicken. Not a dove – white, clean, and pure like the Holy Spirit. Not a pretty red cardinal or the first robin of spring, either. But a chicken. Poultry. But a chicken, at least, who cares for her brood like a loving, protective, faithful mother does.
For some reason, this is not a text I’ve preached on very often – or at least not in the last nine years, from what I could tell – so I’ve never taken advantage of the opportunity to show off my pictures of the hens and chicks I’ve taken in Haiti, which make me think about this text every time I see them. Because I’ve seen them do their mother-hen-protecting-her-brood-under-her-wings-thing on more than one occasion when I’m there. So I was glad to go on a wild goose chase through my pictures to find what I could. Unfortunately, this is all I could come up with:
You can’t tell much, thanks to my bad timing, thanks to the quick-footed baby chicks, and thanks to that mother hen who does just what Jesus describes – which is kind of the point of my pictures. You can’t tell much because the mother hen is doing her job. So, you’ll just have to believe me - there is a flock of baby chickens under there. Something like this:
Gathered together. Well-protected. Safe and sound from the American human with his camera, safe from the dogs that are never too far away on the hillsides of Haiti, and safe from whatever or whoever else might be waiting to do them harm or turn them into breakfast, lunch, or dinner.
And it’s no mistake that Jesus compares himself to a mother hen so soon after he calls King Herod a fox. Jesus has been making his way around Galilee doing his thing – casting out demons and curing the sick as he says. So when the Pharisees tell him he needs to am-scray, because Herod is out to kill him, Jesus isn’t surprised; he isn’t scared; and he’s not deterred, either.
“Tell that fox that I have things to do,” he says. “I have demons to drive out. I have sicknesses to cure. I have people to love.” And not only that, Jesus lets whoever is listening know that he knows what’s to come for him. He’s been making his way to Jerusalem for some time now, it seems, and he’s not running from Herod – that fox who’s out to get him. Jesus is running toward his demise in the city … toward his crucifixion … which he knows can and will only take place in Jerusalem, if what the scriptures say is true.
“I must be on my way,” he says, “because it’s impossible for a prophet to be killed outside of Jerusalem.” In other words, “I’ll get there …” “I’m on my way …” “I am, in fact, the prophet to be killed.” “Don’t you worry about it, and don’t tell me what to do or when…” “I have work to do first, but I’m headed to Jerusalem so that, when the time comes – on the third day, as a matter of fact – my work will be accomplished.”
In other words, Jesus is the mother hen headed into the fox hole, toward the fox’s den, ready to take one for the team. And all of it points to the lengths God, in Jesus Christ, goes to for the sake of God’s chickens … I mean for the sake of God’s children.
Speaking of heading to the city, staying in the city, and taking one for the team, Ukraine’s President Zelensky isn’t Jesus, but he has headed toward and stayed in the city of Kyev and dared “that fox,” Vladimir Putin, to come for him while he tends to and protects his people. When given the chance to escape, Zelensky stayed because he had work to do, too.
And the Russian people, the ones protesting the war in Russia, aren’t Jesus, either, but they are risking their freedom and maybe their lives, allowing “that fox,” Vladimir Putin, to arrest and imprison and punish them in who-knows-how-many-ways, for who-knows-how-long, as they stand up for their neighbors, their family, and their friends in Ukraine.
And those moms in Poland aren’t Jesus, but the ones who left their strollers, lined up at the train station for Ukrainian refugees to find when they arrive after whatever hell they’ve endured to escape their homeland, are like so many mother hens themselves: opening their arms, spreading their wings, welcoming into their fold, the most needy and desperate and vulnerable in their time of great need.
So, I wonder if God isn’t calling us to be more like hens and chickens this morning and in these sad, scary days when the proverbial “fox” of war and death and empire and sin threaten so many of God’s chickens … I mean so many of God’s children, in this world.
In a world, still convinced that “power” looks like might in the form of tanks and rockets and weapons of mass destruction – Jesus reminds us that God’s kind of power comes in the form of a mother hen’s feathered wings that don’t stand a chance, really, against the teeth and claws of the fox.
In a world where “strength” looks like aggression and force and violence and bloodshed – Jesus reminds us that sacrificial love is stronger than all of that and that our God is one who sheds blood, too.
In a world – and in this war – where winning might be determined by who can count the most dead bodies, in the end – Jesus reminds us that one dead body matters most, because it will be raised again on the third day – as hope for all the others – when God’s work of resurrection is finished.
Like so many mother hens – as the body of Christ in the world – we are called to the same kind of power in weakness, the same kind of sacrificial love, and the same kind of humble service. And we’re called to the same kind of new life we will find – on this side of heaven – when we lay down our lives however we’re able, for the sake of the world where we live.
Jesus, like a mother hen, is vulnerable, so that we can be too. Jesus, like a mother hen, gives up his life, so that we might sacrifice something of ourselves, just the same. Jesus gives love and forgiveness and grace and new life, so that we will offer the promise of those blessings to others, too. He calls us “beloved” and gathers us together so that we’ll go out – as people of the Church – sharing grace and gathering others to know the new life that belongs to us because we belong him, to this one who comes – for the sake of the whole world – in the name of the Lord.
Amen
