“Fierce Fowl”
Second Sunday in Lent
March 13, 2022
Psalm 27
Luke 13:31-35
While I thought about this passage this week, I started looking up videos of hens protecting their chicks. I was astonished. I saw a hen take on four cobras. I saw a hen take on an eagle. I saw a hen take on destructive winds and storms. And every time, she had her chicks gathered under her wings or placed behind her, shielding them from what would destroy them. Once, when I was little, I helped my cousin gather some eggs from a hen house at her grandma’s, and I was afraid of the hens then. But I had no idea how truly fierce they can be! They don’t go picking a fight, but by golly, they’ll fight back until the bitter end, if it comes to that.
It is with this vision in mind that I think of what Jesus says in today’s gospel passage. I’ve always struggled with this passage. It seems so random and quirky. “You go and tell that fox for me…” Only recently is it coming into sharper focus—especially as we watch news reports of Russia and Ukraine day after day. Jesus calls Herod a fox. It’s not a compliment. Foxes are seen as sly, evil creatures. He may be dangerous, but he’s also laughable—in the way that any leader who finds themselves in the role of puppet to a larger empire is laughable.
Herod wants to throw his weight around. He doesn’t really care about religion or faith. He doesn’t really care about his people. What he’s concerned about is maintaining what little power he has under Roman rule, and he’ll use whatever tools he has available to do that. If Jesus continues preaching and healing, Herod will look like a bigger fool than he already is. And the Pharisees are caught in the middle.
They are sent to tell Jesus to run and hide. Scholars can’t decide whether they are in earnest or trying to manipulate Jesus to their own desires. It doesn’t really matter. What we do know is that the Pharisees—as religious leaders under empire control—are stuck. They are supposed to ensure the faithfulness of their people. They are also expected to ensure that this faithfulness does not disturb Rome’s occupation in their land. If any were to move into the realm of actual justice instead of spiritual justice, and actual peace instead of spiritual peace, they could cause an uprising.
So, in walks Jesus with his talk of peace and justice. In he walks disturbing this precarious dance by healing on the Sabbath—breaking faith laws—and speaking of God’s liberation—disturbing the political balance. And when the two collide, we all watch to see how he will respond. Will he take up the sword? Will he call down God’s mighty wrath? Will he attack and put all the guessing and bet-hedging to bed with one fell swoop?
Nope. Because that’s what a fox would do. A fox pre-emptively goes for the throat. In a world run by foxes, everyone is poised for the next shoe to drop—for the next explosion, the next gunfire, the next war—everyone sits with fingers twitching, hovering on the trigger, waiting.
In a fox-type mentality, everyone is assumed to be a predator—or prey; death is the only final resolution; and the world is left in chaos, destruction, and despair when it’s all over. Foxes use everything at their disposal in order to accomplish their goals—especially religion. If Herod can frame Jesus’ work in terms of religious blasphemy, he can gain the religious leaders as supporters. If Putin can frame his war in terms of fighting against Western decadence and preserving Christian civilization, he gains the support of the Orthodox Church.
All it takes is a little misinformation—a little meddling of the story—to turn minds toward the goal. Putin could care less about Christianity, but he can spin a story about how the west will destroy the faithful lifestyle of Russian Orthodox Christians. Herod could care less about his Jewish faith—he blatantly neglected a variety of religious standards—but he could manipulate the system to accomplish his goals. In a fox-run world, the end justifies the means—as long as the end can be shaped to appeal to enough people.
Instead, Jesus tells the Pharisees that he’s too busy for their tales. He’s busy doing the work of God. He’s healing the sick and casting out demons. And he will leave the place—not because of Herod but because he’s already headed to Jerusalem—where prophets go to die. He’s taking his place between the foxes of the world and the chicks. “How he longs,” he says, “to gather the children of Jerusalem like a hen gathers her brood.” How he longs to protect and shelter those who even still turn away.
The leadership of Jerusalem has been coopted into the Roman Empire and into the world in which foxes rule and wars are waged and people are oppressed in order to keep the peace. “See,” he says, “your house is left to you.” The ‘house’ that is left is the systemic structure linked to Herod and the nationalism that destroys the integrity of faith and faith in the God of their ancestors. The house has become an empty shell, left desolate because God will not be made complicit in the corruption of political power.
And yet, the hen remains steadfast. She spreads her wings like a mother bereft of her children. She longs to protect those who have chosen to remain with the fox. She holds her ground, fiercely engaging all who would dare to attack her beloved babes.
Barbara Brown Taylor says it this way:
“If you have ever loved someone you could not protect, then you understand the depth of Jesus' lament. All you can do is open your arms. You cannot make anyone walk into them. Meanwhile, this is the most vulnerable posture in the world --wings spread, breast exposed --but if you mean what you say, then this is how you stand. ...
… Jesus won't be king of the jungle in this or any other story. What he will be is a mother hen, who stands between the chicks and those who mean to do them harm. She has no fangs, no claws, no rippling muscles. 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; which he does, as it turns out. He slides up on her one night in the yard while all the babies are asleep. When her cry wakens them, they scatter.
She dies the next day where both foxes and chickens can see her -- wings spread, breast exposed -- without a single chick beneath her feathers. It breaks her heart . . . but if you mean what you say, then this is how you stand.”[1]
This is the kind of God we have, my friends. One who does not attack but fiercely protects us from all that would kill us and our spirits—including ourselves. God faithfully stands firm against the foxes of this world, defying all the ways we try to define and direct one another into boxes that suffocate and destroy life. The hen-shaped life does not lead to destruction and does not fear truth. We will know this life by the hope and creativity that blossoms in its wake.
Pastor Tobi White
Our Saviour’s Lutheran Church
Lincoln, NE
[1] As quoted from Christian Century, 1986, at http://www.edgeofenclosure.org/lent2c.html.
