Luke 13:31-34 (The Message)
Just then some Pharisees came up and said, “Run for your life! Herod’s on the hunt. He’s out to kill you!”
Jesus said, “Tell that fox that I’ve no time for him right now. Today and tomorrow I’m busy clearing out the demons and healing the sick; the third day I’m wrapping things up. Besides, it’s not proper for a prophet to come to a bad end outside Jerusalem.
Jerusalem, Jerusalem, killer of prophets,
abuser of the messengers of God!
How often I’ve longed to gather your children,
gather your children like a hen,
Her brood safe under her wings--
but you refused and turned away!
Years ago I saw a photograph of a bird. I wish I hadn’t seen the photo because it was so sad and it has stuck with me all these years. I think it was just a common chicken, a hen – hunched on the ground – and she was dead – but peeking out from beneath her body were her chicks – her babies – and they were alive. Apparently a flash fire had gone through their area and she had nowhere to hide and nothing with which to shelter her babies except her own body. On her own, she might have been able to escape the flames but she would not abandon her chicks, and so she died for them.
I’ve long thought this is the perfect Lenten illustration – the perfect example of God as mother; the perfect explanation of what the ministry of Jesus was all about and every time I read this bit of scripture I remember this photo what it shows me of the love of Jesus.
A couple of historical context notes before we get into the meat of this reading: The first is the fact that it is a couple of Pharisees who come to warn Jesus away. We are so trained by our Gospel reading to see Pharisees as the enemy. We respond with a knee-jerk “Boo” and “Hiss” like the audience at a Victorian melodrama when we run into any mention of Pharisees, and yet that clearly isn’t how it was all the time. Just as with any group of people, there were some Pharisees who were deeply antagonistic against Jesus, to the point of hatred - some who were simply curious about him - and some who listened to him and believed what he taught. This story has, as sort of a secondary point, a clear reminder that we are to judge people by their own actions, not by their titles and classifications.
The second tidbit is just a bit of historical positioning. The Herod referred to here is Herod Antipas, the son of Herod the Great of the Nativity story. This current Herod is the one who beheaded John the Baptist at the beginning of Jesus’ ministry. The Herodians claimed a familial link with the ancient royal line of Israel and Judah which had long since fallen away as Israel was invaded by first the Greeks and then the Romans. The first Herod worked his way through a rapidly changing Roman leadership crisis and eventually happened to be the last man standing in Judea at just the right moment and was appointed as its king. It was thought by the Romans that the people might accept him without resistance since he was himself a Jew and, as he claimed, descended from the royal line.
What he was, was a political opportunist, ready to use his Jewish heritage when it benefitted him, but having no loyalty to anyone but himself. He was a Roman lackey, as was his son after him. Both men would do whatever it took to maintain their privilege and power. It is easy to believe that Jesus might have threatened them both, even though we have no historical record of Jesus outside the scriptures.
One characteristic of Luke’s gospel is that he spends a good deal of time reminding the Jews that, yes, the messiah was promised to them, but they have not welcomed any of the prophets with open arms. He reminds them that if they think they can claim God’s care and protection for themselves on no other basis than that they are “sons of Abraham,” they are going to find themselves out of luck. Clear back in chapter three Luke quotes John the Baptist reminding them that “God is able from these very stones to raise up children to Abraham,” so simply relying on the old Law is no longer going to be enough. There are new rules now and they had better stop clinging to the past and get with the program.
All throughout his three years of public ministry, other people have been trying to tell Jesus what to do. “Sit down and be quiet; preach only what we like; don’t rock the boat; follow the accepted canon word for word; stop treating non-Jews like people” and most especially, “stop demanding that we change anything about us.” Even Peter, his Rock, tried at times to direct his movement and his teaching. But Jesus’ reply in this reading is typical: “I’ve got a plan, I’m on a schedule, I’m doing what I am here to do and I’ll do it when and where I’m supposed to do it.”
It’s the part that follows that is heart-breaking: “O Jerusalem, I love you so much and I want to you hear what I’m here to say and you’re not listening and you are breaking my heart. I offer and offer ... and you refuse..... and I’m running out of time in which to reach you.”
And so, we face the question here today, and everyday, just as they did back then: How many times has God called out to us, nudged us, urged us and we have closed our ears and turned our heads away?
And why? Oh, all kinds of reasons, I suspect. Maybe we are just having too good a time just as things are and aren’t interested in doing anything different. Maybe we are sure we already know it all and are already healed and good and don’t need any more saving. Maybe we are too angry to hear any word other than words of hurt and rage. Maybe it's a kind of phony humility: "O God, you know there are so many better people to do this." Maybe we are so caught up in our small private dramas that there’s no space in our little hamster brains to grow into anything more. Why was Jerusalem refusing to listen? Probably for the same reasons we use today.
If we do get ourselves together to ask God to speak to us, do we hand onto a sly little addendum that whispers “as long as you don’t say anything scary or disturbing”?
Is it possible that we just bring ourselves to listen to Mother God calling us to the warmth and safety of her wings? Can we do that?
I love the prayer that ended yesterday’s daily meditation reading:
I’ve long thought this is the perfect Lenten illustration – the perfect example of God as mother; the perfect explanation of what the ministry of Jesus was all about and every time I read this bit of scripture I remember this photo what it shows me of the love of Jesus.
A couple of historical context notes before we get into the meat of this reading: The first is the fact that it is a couple of Pharisees who come to warn Jesus away. We are so trained by our Gospel reading to see Pharisees as the enemy. We respond with a knee-jerk “Boo” and “Hiss” like the audience at a Victorian melodrama when we run into any mention of Pharisees, and yet that clearly isn’t how it was all the time. Just as with any group of people, there were some Pharisees who were deeply antagonistic against Jesus, to the point of hatred - some who were simply curious about him - and some who listened to him and believed what he taught. This story has, as sort of a secondary point, a clear reminder that we are to judge people by their own actions, not by their titles and classifications.
The second tidbit is just a bit of historical positioning. The Herod referred to here is Herod Antipas, the son of Herod the Great of the Nativity story. This current Herod is the one who beheaded John the Baptist at the beginning of Jesus’ ministry. The Herodians claimed a familial link with the ancient royal line of Israel and Judah which had long since fallen away as Israel was invaded by first the Greeks and then the Romans. The first Herod worked his way through a rapidly changing Roman leadership crisis and eventually happened to be the last man standing in Judea at just the right moment and was appointed as its king. It was thought by the Romans that the people might accept him without resistance since he was himself a Jew and, as he claimed, descended from the royal line.
What he was, was a political opportunist, ready to use his Jewish heritage when it benefitted him, but having no loyalty to anyone but himself. He was a Roman lackey, as was his son after him. Both men would do whatever it took to maintain their privilege and power. It is easy to believe that Jesus might have threatened them both, even though we have no historical record of Jesus outside the scriptures.
One characteristic of Luke’s gospel is that he spends a good deal of time reminding the Jews that, yes, the messiah was promised to them, but they have not welcomed any of the prophets with open arms. He reminds them that if they think they can claim God’s care and protection for themselves on no other basis than that they are “sons of Abraham,” they are going to find themselves out of luck. Clear back in chapter three Luke quotes John the Baptist reminding them that “God is able from these very stones to raise up children to Abraham,” so simply relying on the old Law is no longer going to be enough. There are new rules now and they had better stop clinging to the past and get with the program.
All throughout his three years of public ministry, other people have been trying to tell Jesus what to do. “Sit down and be quiet; preach only what we like; don’t rock the boat; follow the accepted canon word for word; stop treating non-Jews like people” and most especially, “stop demanding that we change anything about us.” Even Peter, his Rock, tried at times to direct his movement and his teaching. But Jesus’ reply in this reading is typical: “I’ve got a plan, I’m on a schedule, I’m doing what I am here to do and I’ll do it when and where I’m supposed to do it.”
It’s the part that follows that is heart-breaking: “O Jerusalem, I love you so much and I want to you hear what I’m here to say and you’re not listening and you are breaking my heart. I offer and offer ... and you refuse..... and I’m running out of time in which to reach you.”
And so, we face the question here today, and everyday, just as they did back then: How many times has God called out to us, nudged us, urged us and we have closed our ears and turned our heads away?
And why? Oh, all kinds of reasons, I suspect. Maybe we are just having too good a time just as things are and aren’t interested in doing anything different. Maybe we are sure we already know it all and are already healed and good and don’t need any more saving. Maybe we are too angry to hear any word other than words of hurt and rage. Maybe it's a kind of phony humility: "O God, you know there are so many better people to do this." Maybe we are so caught up in our small private dramas that there’s no space in our little hamster brains to grow into anything more. Why was Jerusalem refusing to listen? Probably for the same reasons we use today.
If we do get ourselves together to ask God to speak to us, do we hand onto a sly little addendum that whispers “as long as you don’t say anything scary or disturbing”?
Is it possible that we just bring ourselves to listen to Mother God calling us to the warmth and safety of her wings? Can we do that?
I love the prayer that ended yesterday’s daily meditation reading:
"Mothering God, grant us grace to break our stride, to draw deeper breath, to set aside the whirlwinds of passion -- even for a moment. In that still moment we shall praise you for your sheltering wing, stretching out to us today." **
May it ever be so.
** John A. Nelson, in Heart, Soul, Mind, Strength, 2016 Lenten Devotional, by The Still-Speaking Writers Group.
** John A. Nelson, in Heart, Soul, Mind, Strength, 2016 Lenten Devotional, by The Still-Speaking Writers Group.
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