Genesis 15:1-12,17-18; Psalm 27; Philippians 3:17-4:1; Luke 13:31-35
The Rev. Drew Brislin
Our Gospel reading this morning may be relatively short, but it gives us a lot to wrestle with. It also provides us with beautiful imagery around the nature of Jesus. I’ve spoken about my mother in previous sermons, particularly about her diagnosis with pancreatic cancer. In the years since her death, I’ve found myself grappling with different emotions, whether it’s her birthday, the anniversary of her death, or this time of year when she first started to experience symptoms. There are so many moments when I wish she were here to experience the life in my family and that of my brothers, which continues on in her absence.
I vividly remember finding her sitting on the sofa, watching TV, and the look on her face as she disclosed her condition to me. After the shock wore off, she became determined to fight, even in the face of difficult odds. Over the ensuing months, though, it became clear that this horrible disease wasn’t something she was going to be able to beat. As that reality began to set in, she set about the task of getting her affairs in order. She began by making sure things like her will, medical power of attorney, and other important decisions were handled. She wanted to leave mementos and heirloom items with me and my brothers—likely as a way of giving us something to remember her by. Mothers are caring and gentle, but they can be fierce as well. This morning, Jesus leaves us with a similar motherly image of himself as he talks about the work he is doing and offers us a little foreshadowing of what will happen to him.
Like so many of us living our daily lives and going about our work, Jesus seems to be doing the work he was called to do when he is approached by some Pharisees who tell him he should leave because Herod wants to kill him. There seems to be a lot of speculation about whether Herod actually wanted to kill Jesus. After all, he thought Jesus was John the Baptist incarnate and only killed John as a result of being tricked. There is also speculation that the Pharisees were threatened by Jesus and, therefore, made up this threat to get him to leave. Nonetheless, all we have to go on is what the text actually says. In response to this warning, Jesus admonishes the Pharisees, calling Herod a fox and saying that he has more work to do—more demons to cast out and more people to cure—before his work is finished on the third day, as if to foreshadow his own death, which he knows is imminent.
Jesus also, and I think more importantly, gives us insight into the relationship he seeks for us. He paints Jerusalem in a less-than-appealing light, describing it as a place that kills prophets. Yet, he still desires to gather its children, “as a hen gathers her brood.” Rather than using an eagle or lion to project an image of masculine strength, Jesus chooses an image that of the hen in which he provides us insight into his motherly nature. Many theologians have reflected on this motherly imagery of God and Jesus over the years. The English mystic and theologian Julian of Norwich spent many years reflecting on this image as a result of her revelations. In fact, one of the canticles in our Enriching Our Worship liturgy is titled “A Song of True Motherhood” and was authored by Julian. It reads:
“God chose to be our mother in all things,
and so made the foundation of his work, most humbly and most pure, in the Virgin’s womb.
God, the perfect wisdom of all,
arrayed himself in this humble place.
Christ came in our poor flesh
to share a mother’s care.
Our mothers bear us for pain and for death;
our true mother, Jesus, bears us for joy and endless life.
Christ carried us within him in love and travail,
until the full time of his passion.
And when all was completed and he had carried us so for joy,
still all this could not satisfy the power of his wonderful love.
All that we owe is redeemed in truly loving God,
for the love of Christ works in us; Christ is the one whom we love.”
As the reality of my mother’s condition began to set in, she began doing the work she felt called to do: the work of caring for her sons and loved ones. She fought until the end, but her fight shifted from one of self-preservation to one of care for her family. Jesus knows that he must go to Jerusalem, that he must endure the Passion, and that on the third day, he will finish his work. The result of this work will be the gathering of his brood, and even those who resist his love cannot escape his grace.
As we continue in this season of Lent—a season in which we are called to reflect on our sinful nature, as one definition I read puts it—how are we opening ourselves to a deeper relationship with Jesus? I think, so often, we feel as though we have to do all the work, all the heavy lifting. This, in turn, makes us wonder if we are enough or worthy. We then allow ourselves to fall into a type of despair about our spirituality. Doubt about faith is a healthy thing, but what happens next is important—it requires trust. Trusting in God’s grace and love requires us to trust in ourselves, knowing that we are enough and that there is nothing we can do to earn God’s love. It is given freely and without condition. Jesus models this for us and gives us imagery this morning to help us comprehend that love.
So, as we continue in Lent, remember in regard to your Lenten disciplines that it is always okay to “begin again,” as St. Benedict always reminds us—or not. Either way, Jesus loves you this I know for the Bible tells me so.
Amen