Lent 2, Year C, Genesis
15:1-12
February 28, 2010 Philippians 3:17-4:1
Luke 13: 31-35
On the western slope of the Mount of Olives, just across the
Kidron Valley from Jerusalem, sits a small chapel. According
to tradition, it was built here because it is here that Jesus
wept over the city that refused his ministry.
As he wails his grief he compares his love to that of a mother
hen. It is curious that Jesus chooses a hen. What about the proud
lion of Judah, or the mighty eagle of Exodus protecting their
young? Compared to any of those, a mother hen does not inspire
much confidence.
But a hen is what Jesus chooses, which - if you think about it
-is just like him. He is always choosing children and peasants
to go first, while kings and scholars land on the bottom.
Jesus won't be king of the
jungle in this or any other story. What he is is a mother hen,
who stands between the chicks and those who mean to do them harm.
She has no fangs, no claws. All she has is her willingness to
shield her babies with her own body. If the fox wants them, he
will have to kill her first.
My dad grew up on a ranch in California. It was a vineyard that
produced the grapes that became Sun Maid raisins. They also
had a few horses and mules and there was a hen house. I remember
on summer vacations being allowed to gather the warm, fresh eggs.
I recall in recent years asking my dad if he had ever seen a
hen gather her brood under her wings. Of course, he had seen
it many times and for a variety of reasons. If it started to
rain, if a rooster got loose in the hen house, if it were dusk
and time to roost, if there were any danger, such as a hawk circling
nearby. He volunteered that a hen's wings are quite large, and
can shelter a surprising number of chicks. I asked if the hen
goes to the chicks or if they come to her. He said, " the
hen doesn't move; she clucks and the chicks know to go to her."
I asked if he had ever seen a chick ignore the mother hen. He
said, "absolutely not."
Dad told a story about the
day that his Uncle Leon's hen house burned down. He and his
father ran down the road to the neighboring farm just in time
to put out the last flames. As Uncle Leon sorted through the
wreckage, he came upon one hen lying dead near what had been
the door of the hen house. Her top feathers were singed brown
by the fire's heat, her neck limp. He bent down to pick her up.
But when he did so, he felt movement. The hen had four chicks
tucked under her wings and they scurried out from beneath her
burnt body. Luckily, those chicks did not stray far from the
hen's protective wings.
Such behavior would have been counter to their nature.
But people? It's not so simple
with people. The children of God frequently display the unnatural
behavior of turning away from the love and protection of the
One who gives them life. Listen to the voice of Jesus' lament
as he looks over the city that symbolizes the people of God:
"Jerusalem, Jerusalem, killing the prophets and stoning
those who are sent to you! How often I would have gathered your
children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings,
but you would not!"
In these words we hear the
sound of God crying out with the fierce and tender love of a
mother for her children. We hear the desperation of a distraught
person whose loved one will not come home. When we hear Jesus'
lament, do we consider that he is lamenting for us? We know
that the children of Israel had been rebellious, choosing to
go their own way. But what about us? Has God ever lamented
over our turning away? Have you or have I ever strayed from
the sheltering love of God, wandering away from home?
Of course we have. We just
tend to overlook it. Every time we allow the guilt of our past
to determine our self worth, we stray from the love of God.
Every time one of us does not trust our worries, our pain, our
sin to be covered by the wings of God, we are the children Jesus
weeps over.
Every time we choose not to
pour our hearts out to God, and instead numb our minds with TV,
or video games or our bodies with food or alcohol, we are wandering
away from home. Sometimes we block out God's voice from our
awareness. Even now God calls us to rest near the beating heart
of the Holy One who loves us more than we can imagine.
Animals and people care for
our young for a relatively short time; God pledges love and security
for eternity. God doesn't promise that bad things won't happen
to us. But God does promise that the very spirit of Christ will
be with us no matter what does happen. Whatever pain or problems
may plague us, whatever fears we face, whatever temptation assails
us, we will never be found defenseless or alone. We have an
invitation to stand under the shadow of the sheltering wings
of God, covered by God's forgiveness and strengthened by the
body and blood of our Lord. Trust the arms outstretched for us
on the cross. Trust that within the arms of Christ we are safe.
Dear people of God, may this Lenten season be a time when we
draw near to the One who loves us eternally.
