Luke 13:31-35
March 16, 2025
I am not a fan of storms. I am quite
afraid of them actually. Seeing the level of destruction that so many
communities from Missouri to Mississippi experienced over the last 48 hours,
I’m probably not unwise to be nervous around severe storms. And seeing as how
storms are getting more severe, my fear of them probably won’t be disappearing
anytime soon.
When I was in third or fourth grade,
my class was enjoying its regular visit to the school library. There was a
terrible thunderstorm happening outside, and I was afraid. While other kids sat
at tables reading their library books, I found a quiet table off to the side,
crawled under it, and read my book until it was time to go back to class. My
teacher and the librarian apparently thought this behavior was “unusual’ and
told my parents about it. My parents asked me about it, and I told them. We
were having a bad thunderstorm. I’m afraid of storms, so I crawled under a table
and read my book. It made me feel safer, and I was able to keep my fear under
control. I have no idea what my parents told my teacher in response, but mom
and dad seemed to accept my behavior without worry. What I learned from that
incident was that I was going to have to hide my fear in other ways than
crawling under tables because that drew unwanted attention.
I was afraid, terribly afraid of
that storm, but I didn’t want to let others know just how afraid I was. It was
better to be thought of as different or weird than it was to be seen as afraid.
I didn’t want to be called a “chicken.” That was way worse than being called
weird.
I’m not exactly sure when the word chicken
began to be used as a slang synonym for cowardly or afraid. According to the
Oxford English Dictionary, the first known reference to someone being a
“chicken” is found in a William Shakespeare work circa 1616. There may have
been references even before that. Whenever this began, clearly using the word
chicken to describe a cowardly person has been in use for a long time now,
which is why it seems strange to our ears that Jesus would describe himself as
a “chicken.” Debie Thomas wrote that if we were asked to draw a symbol or
metaphor for Jesus, she doubted that any of us would choose to draw a chicken.
Even if chicken was not equated with cowardly in Jesus’ context, it still seems
an odd metaphor to use.
Our story begins when some
helpful Pharisees approached Jesus and warned him away from entering Jerusalem.
“Get away from here, for Herod wants to kill you.”
But Jesus refused to be scared off
by their warning.
“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.’”
“Go and tell that fox for me.” Jesus
swatted away their warning as you would an annoying fly. I’m sure his response
would have surprised, if not shocked, the Pharisees and probably anyone else
privy to that conversation. Herod was a dangerous man and a dangerous ruler.
This was the same Herod who, to save face in front of his guests and to placate
the desires of his wife and stepdaughter, had John the Baptist – whom he liked
– beheaded. He was not a tyrant whose bark was worse than his bite. His bite
was bad.
Some scholars question the motives
of the Pharisees who warned him. Perhaps they understood that Jesus going into
Jerusalem would cause more trouble for them than they could handle. So if they
could keep Jesus out of Jerusalem by warning him about Herod, then it would
make life easier for them as well. Or maybe this was the Pharisees’ way of
pushing Jesus in a direction that would eventually bring him more trouble than
less. But Jesus could not have cared less about their warning or Herod for that
matter. He was not going to be bullied into staying away from Jerusalem. Jesus
had kingdom work to do. He had a ministry and a mission and a purpose to
fulfill. He would not be kept out of Jerusalem because Herod was breathing
threats against him.
His words, “because it is impossible
for a prophet to be killed outside of Jerusalem,” makes it clear that he knew
the dangers the city held for him. He knew where his path would lead. He had
been trying to make that clear to the disciples for some time. In Jerusalem lay
the cross. In Jerusalem lay death. Herod’s threats meant nothing to Jesus. He
had work to do, and he was going to do it.
Yet as he pondered Jerusalem, Jesus’
irritation gave way to lament.
“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, and you were not willing!”
There’s that chicken metaphor again.
But reading these words of Jesus have made me question our association of
chicken with cowardly. Have you seen a mother hen protecting her chicks? She
literally covers them with her body, and she’ll face off against any predator
with killer ferocity. And that’s what Jesus wanted to do. His words, and the
overall tone of this passage is one of lament.
When
Jesus speaks these words about Jerusalem, he is lamenting. And his poignant
lament tears at my heart every time I read these verses. The imagery Jesus used
to describe himself paints a vivid picture of the people in that great city. If
a mother hen moves with purpose to protect her chicks from danger, gathering
them under her, spreading out her body like a shield over them, chicks seem to
do the opposite. They move frantically but without purpose. They may see where
they are, but they are lost. They need the mother hen to pull them into the
safety and shelter of her wings. They need her to orient them and guide them.
But until they are gathered, they are vulnerable and alone.
So too were the people of Jerusalem.
The further we move through this season, the more abundantly clear this will
become. The people were lost. They killed their prophets, the people who came
to bring them God’s word. They stoned those who came to lead them back to the
right path. And they would kill the One who wanted only to gather them together
like a hen gathers her chicks.
It would be understandable, then, if
Jesus had walked away from all of it, if Jesus had turned and traveled in the
opposite direction of Jerusalem. After all, the Pharisees were warning him
about Herod. Jerusalem had a reputation for killing prophets. His cousin John
had already been unjustly executed. His disciples still did not fully
understand why he did what he did. I don’t think anyone would have blamed him
if he had thrown his hands up in despair and frustration and walked away. But
that was not Jesus. His irritation, his lament and grief could not keep him
from going where he knew he was called to go.
“I must be on my way.”
We talked last week about the very
real temptation Jesus faced in the wilderness, and I suspect that the
temptation to choose another direction, geographically and spiritually, was
strong. Jesus was not a coward, but that doesn’t mean that he didn’t feel fear.
That didn’t mean that he didn’t feel trepidation and anxiety at what lay ahead
in Jerusalem, the city that killed its prophets and stoned those who longed to
help.
But if Jesus felt those very real
feelings, he didn’t let them stop him. He knew he must be on his way, and so he
was. Jesus may have been afraid – I know I would have been – but he trusted God
more than any fear he might have felt. Jesus’ trust in God was stronger than
his fears. His trust in God’s call was greater than his anxieties. He
understood that Jerusalem would most likely turn on him the same way it had
turned on prophets before him, but he never let that deter him from his call,
his purpose, his identity as God’s son.
“I must be on my way.”
The world feels like an incredibly
scary place these days, and there are Herods aplenty. It would be easy to be
overwhelmed with anxiety, and sometimes I feel like I am. There are many times
when I long for nothing more than a good book and a table to crawl under; a
place where I can cherish at least the illusion of safety and security. But we
are called to go with Jesus to Jerusalem. We are called to face the Herods of
the world. We are called to be on our way.
My sister, who has traveled all over
and made her home in another country for most of her adult life, told me once
that she was always afraid to do things, to try things, but in spite of her
fear she did the new things, the scary things anyway.
As the church, we are also called to
do things that may feel frightening, that go against the grain of the world.
After all we are called to be a light on a hill when the world prefers
darkness, and the salt of the earth, when most would prefer a different
seasoning. We are called to do what is hard, what is scary, what is right, no
matter how much the darkness and fear of the world threatens to overwhelm us.
We are called to carry our own crosses. We are called to go with Jesus to
Jerusalem. We are called to be on our way.
In this season of Lent and always, we
must be on our way.
Let all of God’s children say,
“Amen.”
Amen.
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