Who’s a Fox?

Sermon by: Rev. Mary Alice Mulligan, Ph.D.

Scripture: Psalm 84, Luke 13:31-35

On this second Sunday of Lent, we continue our series of Questions for Jesus. Even those who have followed Jesus for more than half a century still have questions. And those relatively new in their commitment to Jesus Christ are eager to figure out what questions to ask. All of us want to know more about the faith. We wonder what God wants of us. Lent provides us a time to slow down fand attend to matters of faith. Many of us are trying to carve out time for a particular spiritual discipline of Bible reading or more intentional prayer time or reaching out to those in need more. So, today we take time to visit one of the firmest, yet most poignant moments in Jesus’ earthly ministry. The scene is packed, so we may have lots of questions. Who is a fox? What does that make Jesus? And what are we then? Turn now to Luke 13: 31-35.

Most commentators don’t seem to make a connection between Herod’s being a fox and Jesus saying he is like a mother hen. But I kept thinking all week: Jesus has set his face toward Jerusalem. He has committed to go where prophets are assassinated, and there is a fox in the henhouse. Why doesn’t Jesus seem concerned?

We think Herod is a fox. He seems a sneaky, calculating varmint, with the political position to threaten the welfare of an itinerate preacher. Think of Herod’s social standing. He is the son of Herod the Great, whom our Bible translation calls King Herod. We remember King Herod vividly because Matthew reports he killed off the babies in Bethlehem after the magi, the foreign travelers, asked about the new-born King of the Jews. Jesus and his family escaped to Egypt, but other families did not, and their boy toddlers were slaughtered. So, we know this Herod, Herod Antipas, comes from a violent and powerful family, willing to do whatever it takes to ward off any threats to their status. An additional piece, making Herod Antipas even more brutal is that Rome refused to let him have his father’s entire Realm; the Emperor even refused to allow him to be called a king. Instead, he was called a Tetrarch – the ruler of a quarter part of a realm. So, slinky Herod Antipas, the tetrarch could easily have had a good-sized chip on his shoulder. Wouldn’t people be constantly comparing him to his father: King Herod the Great? And little quarter-king Herod Antipas would always come up short. 

So, when some Galilean rabbi (the modern-day equivalent of a hillbilly preacher) starts gathering disciples and stories of his healing powers circulate like wildfires, the little quarter-king’s ego could get pretty ruffled. Who does this Jesus think he is? But then, Herod receives reports of Jesus’ teaching crowds of thousands (practically every person must have come out to hear him), little Quarter-king Herod probably decided that is enough. Someone with a huge following like charismatic Jesus could depose Herod. It makes sense to take a page from his father’s book and kill the one who threatens his position. So, apparently, Herod Antipas lets it leak to some local power people that he has put a price on Jesus’ head. Sounds similar to twenty-first century power politics; try to silence opponents in any way possible. When Jesus calls Herod Antipas a fox, we agree. We are quite sure; Herod is a conniving fox.

But Jesus is the one really in charge. Jesus has the power, no one else. No one will arrest him, or kill him by their own power. Only when Jesus, whose will is one with God, decides, only then events for the passion and death are set in motion. Enemies have no power over Jesus until his time comes. So he continues his ministry of teaching and healing, hoping his disciples will begin to understand the importance of his ministry to the least. He continues his calling, indifferent to any warnings, because he knows adversaries cannot stop God’s message. The stage is set for Jerusalem; nowhere else. 

Curiously enough, at the very moment we see how controlled and powerful Jesus is, we are also shown his infinite compassion. Jesus’ lament over Jerusalem overflows with divine love. He broods, Luke tells us, not like some teenager may fret over some situation – that’s another use of the term “brood.” Rather, Jesus broods like a clucky hen, whose body stirs her young to life. We remember similar words in Genesis 1, when the Holy Spirit brooded over the face of the primal waters, and soon, with the power of the Creator’s Word, life came forth. So Jesus broods over humanity. Luke reports his intimate feelings of sorrow, aching to connect with every single person in Jerusalem. The description is not limited to gathering all the good people. He implores all of Jerusalem to come, even those whose hands are bloody from murdering the prophets. What a glorious scene of divine compassion. Just as Jesus prepares to set his upcoming events in motion, we see his desire to call the entire city into his care. Like a Divine Mother Hen, he spreads his arms in protection. In the midst of the coming chaos, no threat makes a difference. Jesus remains in charge. 

Which means, everyone is a chick. Get it? Divine wings cover everyone, even Herod. Jesus doesn’t set any restrictions on those he yearns to gather under his wings. Jerusalem – the whole city, every person, Jew, gentile, Greek or Roman, followers of Diana or Athena, murderers of the prophets – all are counted as those God longs to shelter. 

So, if Jerusalem, then Sarasota. Even those of us who have a little foxiness about us (and I don’t mean the good kind). Even the foxes are swooshed together to find safety under our Mother-Hen’s divine wings. When we agonize over what seems like the world’s going to hell, we need to be reminded that God’s love is extended to every one. Divine wings extend equally to shelter Rev. Leslie Etheredge, the Dalai Lama, and Vladimir Putin, as well as the person sleeping in the church bushes each night, those sitting on Death Row, and those trying on clothes in St. Armands Circle dress shops. Not a single person in the world is excluded. Which also means that no matter what anyone of us has done, God still calls us to come under her wings. Each of us should stop and consider such love a moment. Think of Jesus through the centuries calling to everyone. “How often I desired to gather you, my children, together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings.” There he is, arms spread out like immeasurable wings, eager to welcome us in. We don’t have to do anything, just relax into our Heavenly Mother’s care. Which also means Vladimir Putin doesn’t have to do anything, or Ron DeSantis, or Joe Biden. Everyone gathered in. 

Agreeing with God’s unconditional gathering may not come easily for most of us. So, fortunately, we have the rest of Lent before us. A full month left to consider how God’s love broods over the entire world – the people who are breaking our hearts because they are fleeing for their lives, and the people who are breaking our hearts because they are waging war. Everyone is invited in, even sinful us, stinkers that we are. Jesus is calling all of us to flee to him, find protection in the safety of his presence. Every one of us is welcome; we are all his little chicks.

Some of us have a very hard time believing Jesus is honestly inviting us in. We’ve done shameful things. We wander away from God more often than we wander back. How can God call us into her embrace? 

Others of us have a very difficult time believing Jesus could honestly be inviting Vladimir Putin in, or some other leader we find ourselves wanting to hate. But the truth is, every person we can think of is loved infinitely by God. So during these weeks of Lent, we might spend some time working on our compassion. The Motherly wings of God are right now brooding over the world, gathering each of us into her divine love together.