2 Lent C March 17, 2019
Luther Memorial Church Seattle, WA
The Rev. Julie Hutson
Genesis 15: 1-12, 17-18; Philippians 3:17-4:1 + Luke 13: 31-35
Grace and peace are yours through Jesus Christ, who calls and claims us. Amen.
Were you raised in a barn?? These are words that more than a few parents have asked when dealing with the wrecked rooms of kids who don’t like to clean them. They almost don’t seem like fair words to the barn animals. My first call was in rural Ohio and I did more than my fair share of walking through barns. Every year I’d get to meet new calves or check out the sheep. I even had one family who had a peacock that lived in the loft in the barn. Peacocks are beautiful, but not super friendly. Who knew?
Whatever farm I found myself visiting I almost always encountered chickens. They’d cluck and carry on, scurrying about the barnyard. These days, here in Seattle and other cities, it’s not uncommon to see chickens kept in the city. There’s nothing quite as delicious as a fresh egg.
But why all of this barnyard talk this morning, you might be wondering? Well, I’m just taking my cues from Jesus, who in our Gospel reading from Luke uses the personalities of animals to describe both people, specifically Herod, and himself.
The Pharisees bring Jesus a word of warning in this reading: “You need to get out of town and fast. Herod is trying to kill you.” I love Jesus’ response. “Go tell that fox that today and tomorrow I’ll be casting out devils and healing people and on the third day I’ll reach my goal” and even then I won’t be quite done.
Go tell that Fox.
I can think of only a very few stories in which a fox is anything other than wiley and sneaky and not to be trusted. Jesus has chosen an apt metaphor for Herod. Go tell that Fox. I mean, we’ve all heard the phrase “sly as a fox”. I did a little research, which in this case mostly meant looking on line, and discovered that the fox image in a story almost always carries with it a warning. The fox is a trixter at best, in mythology and story. In the contemporary movie “You’ve Got Mail” the big bad superstore is named Fox Books. F-O-X Fox. And in Siberian folk culture, the Fox is a crafty messenger from hell. I mean, maybe the folks at Fox News should have done a little simple research when they chose their name.
And this story from Luke’s Gospel is where we get the phrase “a fox in the hen house.” The fox is there, not to protect the hens, but to kill them and destroy their eggs. And to be sneaky about it in the process.
Some days it feels like the entire world is filled with foxes. With untrustworthy people or people intent on destruction or with people who simply have their own interests at heart. Like Herod. Or, like the young white men who continue to commit mass murder in the name of white supremecy. This week, against Muslims who had gathered for prayer. But also in synagogues and in churches in the middle of Bible Study. The fox is certainly the one whose words rally others to be afraid of Muslims or anyone else who might be different. Building walls, harassing women, caging children. At the very least, that’s pretty fox like behavior. The fox is also the parent who smoothes the path for their own children first, not taking into account how others might be affected or what their children might learn from their actions. The fox is determined to kill the teacher who stands for love, or die trying. Go tell that fox, says Jesus, that we aren’t done working in the name of love for all people.
The other animal metaphor Jesus uses in the Gospel reading is that of a mother bird or a mother hen, gathering her babies under her wing. What a beautiful image and what a perfect description of Jesus. I don’t think Jesus is just any old hen, either. I’m certain that Jesus is a Silkie. Do you know what a Silkie is? Silkies are hens, who, because of the way their soft silky feathers wrap their whole bodies, don’t have the capacity to fly. It’s also said that they make exceptional mothers. But don’t take my word for it. Hear this story, from an owner of a hen house and a pretty special Silky, after bringing her brood of Silkies home…she writes:
I saved {the Silky} for the orphaned chick. First I lay on the grass while she and the baby watched each other through the mesh of the cage. Then I placed her inside. Both she and the baby froze. The baby cheeped. The hen did not move a feather. The baby cheeped again. The hen stayed right where she was. The baby took a few steps toward her. I held my breath. The {Silky} lifted her wings. The baby scooted right into that open door. When I checked on them an hour later, all I could see was a little guinea chick head poking out from under that gray hen’s wing.
After she raised that baby, I let her join her own family again. They beat up on her for a while, until she agreed to be last at the food bowl. Then they let her in.
. When my Mille Fleur chickens lay eggs they will not sit on, I put them under a Silkie that sets until they hatch. When I hatch Old English Bantams in the incubator, I wait until the sun goes down. Then I take the babies down to the Silkie pen and slide them under a sleepy hen. The next morning they are all trailing around behind her while she shows them the ropes of staying alive.
“Look, food!” she squawks when I throw corn, and they all come running.
“Run for cover!” she yells, when the shadow of a hawk passes overhead, and they all go diving under her wings.
This is counterintuitive, I might add. If this hen is into the preservation of her species, then she ought to be looking out for her own babies and letting the others go hang, but she does not. She accepts all comers, no questions asked. She has never seen a chick she didn’t like.
I ought to trust her by now, yet every time I introduce her to a new baby with nowhere else to go, I can feel the back of my throat get tight. Please, please, please, don’t peck this baby, I plead. It’s so little. It has never laid eyes on any momma but you. Then I set the chick in the cage with her, sitting down where I can watch what happens.
The baby cheeps. The hen does not move a feather. The baby cheeps again. The hen stays right where she is. The baby takes a few steps toward her. The hen lifts her wings. Come to momma, honey. [1]
Jesus knew of the tenderness of a momma hen, opening her wings for the babies who had been abandoned or cast off or neglected or oppressed. In Jesus’ case, it was Jerusalem he wanted to gather together. And the lesson we learn on this day from Jesus is that living a life like his means finding our inner Silkie momma hen, who gathers her chicks and cares for them, regardless of whether they are “hers” or not. Living a life like Jesus means caring for our Muslim siblings, gathering them up, so to speak, and saying “We are with you”. That’s what the North Seattle pastors and rabbis and others did on Friday at Idriss Mosque at Northgate. They stood outside, surrounding the mosque so those gathering for prayer could feel safe.
And living a life like Jesus means we are not tempted by fox-like schemes to put our own children’s needs ahead of others, no matter the cost, for there is always a cost.
You see, no matter the extreme….this much is true about fox like behavior. It doesn’t hold the interests of others as important. It is always and only and very sneakily thinking that what it wants, for itself and for those it cares about, is the most important thing.
Beloved in Christ, living a life like Jesus means that, at sometimes great sacrifice, we do the very un-fox-like thing…because it is the Jesus thing. May we learn from the Silkie who loves even those who are not her own. And on the days when we are tired or weary or just unsure how to go about living an un-fox-like life, may we rest under the wings of Jesus, our example…our savior…our mother hen.
Thanks be to God. Amen.
[1] Taylor, Barbara Brown. The Christian Century. “Barnyard Behavior: As A Hen Gathers Her Brood.” (with edits for length)