Luke 13:31-35
Chickens are not really built for flying – at least not much, not anymore. I’ve seen them on occasion make a sort of extended jump into the air, but it’s not as if they can go anywhere. Back when they weren’t as heavy as they are now, they were somewhat better at flying. But they were never very good at it – which makes you wonder why they even have wings.
Well, I will tell you this: a chicken’s wings are useful in several ways, but most importantly, a mother hen’s wings can offer protection for her chicks from predators. And most hens will be glad to do it. They will protect their chick, even some other hen’s chicks, and put their own lives on the line when the fox comes prowling around.
Chickens are brave and courageous; don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.
I love that, in this gospel passage, Jesus identifies as a chicken. A mother hen. Who could easily and happily gather the chicks together around herself, under her wing. I don’t know if he arrived at this metaphor because he started by calling Herod a fox, or if he called Herod a fox because it fit his own self-image as a protector of the brood. In any case, it is a great image, isn’t it?
As lovely an image as it might be, though, the fact remains that the chicks are refusing to be gathered. At least, they refuse to be gathered by Jesus. As though they don’t recognize their mother. And, in fact, they didn’t – for all the same reasons we sometimes don’t.
Jesus didn’t fit the description of the Messiah they were looking for. Jesus didn’t promise the things they wanted right then, right there. And, what’s more, there was another “mother” offering them shelter; that was Herod. The empire. At least the leadership of Israel – the Pharisees, Sadducees, and priests – had decided to go that way. They felt there was some safety in staying close to the empire, with all its power, the power to give and the power to take away. This they could see with their own eyes. This was a mother hen who could offer some real protection.
But Jesus said to them, that’s no hen. That’s a fox. And we know about foxes, don’t we?
The fox would like to devour the chicks and the mother too. The fox will break in and leave behind a trail of blood and bones and feathers. The fox will evoke fear, but never love. And as much as they wanted the protection, the shelter, they thought the fox could offer, the leaders of Israel could not see just how hollow that protection was.
They were operating out of fear, drawing close under the shadow of power. And from that position, they grew fearful of their true mother hen – Jesus.
They said to Jesus, “A word to the wise, my friend. You should leave before Herod has a chance to kill you.” As though they were doing him a favor. Which they were not.
Jesus replied, You go tell that fox – because that is what he is – that I will do what I will do. I don’t have the time to run away nor the desire to huddle in his shadow. I know what is of true value, I know what is truly needed. I will do that. And I wish so deeply that you would let me show you. O, dear ones, how I wish you would leave the fox and come with me.
O how I wish you did not succumb to your fears.
But that is the fox’s specialty. Evoking our fear. That is how the fox controls us.
Those leaders of Israel thought that if they could just walk that narrow line, keeping Herod appeased, they would be safe. If they could just avoid doing anything that would enflame his anger, things could be fine.
There are foxes in this world who are very good at using the weapons of fear and intimidation. And then, when we are afraid, we think, we hope, that we can control what happens by appeasing the fox.
And so we will say to the fox, “I want to be good. I want to get things right, so things will start going right for me.” We think to ourselves, “If I am good enough, my life will go well.”
And this will work…for a while. But there are times in life when something so terribly awful happens that there is no amount of being good that can fix it.
A man named Belden Lane wrote about such an experience in his life. His son died of cancer. And in his grief, he went into the wilderness. the canyons of northern New Mexico.
The wilderness is the place for seekers. Looking for truth, for healing, for God. The Israelites went there, Elijah went there, Jesus went there. Seekers still go to the wilderness where there is no place to hide from truth.
Belden spent four days and nights alone in the high desert, fasting and praying and wondering just what it was that plagued him. And on the third night it came to him: it was the god of absolute control.
He was raised to believe in a harsh god who meted out punishments for every perceived sin and rewards when and if they were warranted. This was truly a god to be feared. This god was a fox.
This god of Belden’s childhood is a god we all have some amount of familiarity with. It was and is the expression of absolute power that our culture adores.
It is a god of cause and effect. In this kind of theology, there is a sin that is behind every hardship, and a virtue that is the cause of every blessing. It is not a mystery why we would be drawn to this power, as the leaders of Israel hoped to harness some of the empire’s power for themselves. The god of control is our idol. We want that control too.
Out in the wilderness, Belden knew, finally, he needed to let go of this god once and for all. But he wondered what there would be left for him. What would take the place of this idol, the god of absolute control. And what came to him was the image of Jesus.
Jesus, who walked away from absolute power, again and again. Jesus who stood with the wounded and broken ones, the outcasts, the condemned, the powerless. Jesus, who offered his body on the cross, like a mother hen who puts her life on the line to protect her chicks.
Jesus, who chose vulnerability over power. This is love.
The scriptures say perfect love casts out fear. I believe that. I also believe that my love is nowhere near perfect – at least not yet. Because I, too, harbor fears of not being enough, or good enough.
I, too, want to have some control over things. At least to be able to protect my loved ones from harm, to ensure that they will be happy and successful. To fix all the things that need fixing – this I desperately want to do.
But things are out of control, and that gives me fear.
We worship the idol of control. But Jesus embodies the opposite, for the sake of love. It was necessary, we know, for him to surrender for the sake of love.
Wait for the Lord, the psalmist says. Be strong and let your heart take courage; Wait for the Lord!
Our fear makes us desperate to fix things, to take control. But wait for the Lord. Let the Lord gather you under his wings and there you will know life.
There you will know the deep, mysterious power of God’s love.
_____________________________________________
Photo by Wilhelm Gunkel on Unsplash. You will never catch me on this ride. Ever.
