Spread Wings [Lent 2C - Luke 13:31-35]
The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson
Luke 13:31-35
Prayer before the Sermon:
Canticle Q: A Song of Christ’s Goodness
St. Anselm of Canterbury
Jesus, as a mother you gather your people to you; * you are
gentle with us as a mother with her children. Often you weep over our sins and
our pride, * tenderly you draw us from hatred and judgment. You comfort us in
sorrow and bind up our wounds, * in sickness you nurse us and with pure milk
you feed us. Jesus, by your dying, we are born to new life; * by your anguish
and labor we come forth in joy. Despair turns to hope through your sweet
goodness; * through your gentleness, we find comfort in fear. Your warmth gives
life to the dead, * your touch makes sinners righteous. Lord Jesus, in your
mercy, heal us; * in your love and tenderness, remake us. In your compassion,
bring grace and forgiveness, * for the beauty of heaven, may your love prepare
us. Amen.[1]
Spread Wings
This was the city that
was supposed to embrace him. On his
first visit to Jerusalem, though merely eight days old, the elders of the city already
recognized him as the Messiah. Simeon called him “salvation”; and Anna “the
Redeemer of Jerusalem.” When he was
still a boy, just twelve years later, he sat among the teachers in the Temple,
and amazed them; they saw in him something undeniably special. But now, after loving his people so well –
teaching them, and feeding them, and healing them, but I guess also challenging
them – he was no longer so heralded.
Of course, there were some
people in the city whom he excited. Branches of palm would yet blanket the roads
beneath him when he entered Jerusalem on what we call Palm Sunday. But also there were many people, influential
people, who saw him, not as a Messiah, but as a threat. And those powerful people of Jerusalem, the
ones who often felt the sharp sting of his prophetic words and bristled at his
indiscriminate love, made the city feel less than hospitable. This was the city that was supposed to
embrace him. But rather than be embraced
he would be hunted in Jerusalem. Rather
than ascend to a throne in the City of David, Jesus, the Son of David, would
look out over the city one final time from the height of a cross.
For Jesus this story was
destined to be a story of unrequited love.
It is a story of unfulfilled longing.
It is the story of his passion, of a suffering caused by a deep desire
that would never be entirely quenched.
“How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen
gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!”
Jesus looked down on a
city bustling with people: scared people, sad people, tired people, angry
people, people living with broken hearts and broken dreams, people carrying
burdens far too heavy and shame far too devastating. And he loved them, all of them. And from his rocky perch above the Holy city,
Jesus spread his wings and opened his heart.
And in that tender
moment of longing, Jesus was a mother hen.
A hen is interesting choice. A
hen lacks the lion’s ferocious power. A
hen lacks the cheetah’s blistering speed.
A hen lacks the elephant’s size and the rhinoceros’ strong hide. But what the hen does possess is fierce
love. “The [Italian] Renaissance
[naturalist] Ulisse Aldrovandi described how, at the first sign of a predator,
mother hens will immediately gather their chicks “under the shadow of their
wings, and with this covering they put up such a very fierce defense – striking
fear into their opponent in the midst of a frightful clamor, using both wings
and beak – they would rather die for their chicks than seek safety in flight….”
he [added], mother hens present, in every way, “a noble example of love for
their offspring.”[2]
The wings of Jesus,
casting a shadow over the city, were spread to keep safe those in danger. And to hold close those who were lonely. And to protect those who were vulnerable. And to embrace even those who would not
embrace him.
For Jesus this story
was destined to be a story of unrequited love.
And yet, Jesus can only tell this story as a love story – even though
his spread wings invited the nails of the cross, even though his open heart was
pierced by a spear, even though the people he loves continue to do terrible
things in this world.
Jesus looks down, even
now, on this world teeming with people: scared people, sad people, tired
people, angry people, people living with broken hearts and broken dreams,
people carrying burdens far too heavy and shame far too devastating.
People baptized in his
name who shoot to kill and bomb without mercy and the innocent children, also
baptized in his name, who pay the terrible price of war;
People who deal and
people overcome by the addictions that haunt their lives and the survivors left
without answers;
People hated because of
the color of their skin and people who burn crosses;
People who wear
rainbows and people who want to send them to Hell;
People who waved palm
branches and people who flogged him with branches much sturdier.
People who do terrible
things to other people and people who suffer at the hands of evildoers.
Jesus sees them all, sees
us all, and with tears in his eyes, he spreads his wings like a desperate
mother hen, longing to comfort and to save.
Jesus sees them all, sees us all, and by some miracle I cannot fully
understand, a miracle both beautiful and baffling, at times infuriating and
always unfair, he loves them, each and every one of them, from the best to the
worst.
Once upon a time, Jesus
looked down on the ancient city of Jerusalem.
And within its sturdy walls Jesus saw even those who were plotting his
murder, and still, like a mother hen, he spread his wings, opened his heart, and
set for us, his children, a noble example of love.
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