SECOND SUNDAY IN LENT, YEAR C

March 13, 2022

St. Uriel’s, Sea Girt, N. J.

Genesis 15:1-12

Psalm 27

Philippians 3:17-4:1

Luke 13:13-35

A theme running through our readings for today is that our God is a God who brings joy from sadness, hope from despair, light from darkness, and indeed life from death.

The wonderful story of Abram in the Old Testament reading from Genesis illustrates this theme perfectly. In response to God’s assurance, “Fear not, for I am your shield; your reward shall be very great,” Abram somewhat impertinently complains that God has given him no offspring to carry forth his name and his inheritance. God then takes him outside and shows him the myriads of stars in the clear night sky and declares, “So shall your descendants be.” Not only that, but after an offering of sacrifice accompanied by some interesting supernatural phenomena, God promises Abram’s progeny the gift of land, from the River Nile to the River Euphrates. 

The story’s key point, I think, is that in a society that conceives of the afterlife as living in and through one’s descendants, God’s words to Abram amount to a promise of resurrection and immortality. God transforms a man without heirs into the father of many nations, a landless nomad into the future possessor of vast fertile territories.

Psalm 27 takes up a similar theme. Despite his many discouraging struggles with enemies threatening his life, the psalmist sings joyfully: “The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom then shall I fear?” And near the end he reaffirms his belief that he shall see “the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living!”

In the reading from Philippians, Saint Paul boldly articulates the Christian hope in life after death: “Our commonwealth is in heaven, and from it we await a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ, who will change our lowly body to be like his glorious body, by the power which enables him to subject all things to himself.”

The Gospel reading takes up this same theme of life from death, but requires a bit more unpacking. Jesus and his disciples have begun their final journey to Jerusalem. Some Pharisees warn him to “get away from here, for Herod wants to kill you.” The warning is credible, for Herod has just recently killed John the Baptist. The irony is that they’re already on their way out of Herod’s territory, heading into Judea. Jesus tells the Pharisees to “go and tell that fox” that he’s not leaving from fear of anything that Herod can do to him. When he dies it won’t be at Herod’s hands, “for it cannot be that a prophet should perish away from Jerusalem.”

Calling Herod a fox is quite an insult. As depicted in numerous ancient fables and stories, as well as in rabbinical sayings, foxes have the reputation of being sly and crafty. They’re also omnivorous. They’ll eat anything. They’re both predators and scavengers – killing and eating all sorts of smaller animals like rodents and birds as the opportunity presents itself.

But the political insult cuts even deeper. Like jackals, foxes scavenge at the kills of larger predators, like lions. So, it’s just possible that in calling Herod a fox, our Lord is likening him to a scavenger feeding on the leftovers of Roman imperial conquests. As a client king, Herod depends on Rome’s power to sustain his own position in the region. So casting Herod as a fox in relation to Caesar’s lion is daringly subversive speech.

But then, our Lord uses an even more unexpected animal image to describe himself. “O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, killing the prophets and stoning those who are sent to you! How often would I have gathered your children together, as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you would not!”

For our Lord’s listeners, this image of a hen gathering her brood under her wings is at once familiar and unfamiliar. The Psalms are full of verses in which the speaker seeks or finds refuge under the Lord’s wings. For example, Psalm 17, verse 8: “Keep me as the apple of your eye; hide me under the shadow of your wings.” And again, Psalm 91, verse 4: “He shall cover you with his pinions, and you shall find refuge under his wings …”

Yet the image is also startling. The Old Testament language of refuge under the Lord’s wings tends to evoke eagles, falcons, hawks, or other fierce birds or prey who are generally more than a match for predators seeking to take their young. But a hen is no match for Herod’s fox, much less Rome’s lion. By covering her chicks with her wings, she lets the predator know that there’s no way to get to the chicks without killing her first. If the predator attacks the hen, the chicks just may have a chance to scatter and escape. If they live, it will be because the hen has given her life in exchange for theirs.

In one of the great classics of early modern political thought, Machiavelli remarks that the successful prince combines the strength of the lion with the cleverness of the fox. Here Jesus shows that his power is not that of any such prince, but of one who stands defenseless and ready to die for those entrusted to his care. He says, in effect, that if we would be his followers, we must likewise forsake the way of the lion and the fox and adopt instead the way of the mother hen – the way of vulnerability and self-sacrifice.

Embedded in the juxtaposition of these images of the fox and the hen is thus a prophecy of our Lord’s coming suffering and death at the hands of this world’s powers, which the Bible repeatedly likens to dangerous wild animals. The paradox, however, is that in the end the fox does not have the last word. Our Lord’s message to Herod is, “Behold I cast out demons and perform cures today and tomorrow, and the third day I finish my course.” 

The original readers of Luke’s Gospel would clearly have understood the third day as an allusion to our Lord’s resurrection after three days in the tomb. Again, our Lord’s words at the end of today’s Gospel combine a prediction of desolation with a promise of hope: “Behold, your house is forsaken; and I tell you, you will not see me until you say, ‘Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.’”—words spoken not only during our Lord’s triumphant entry into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday but also at every Sunday Mass when we welcome the risen Christ into our midst in his sacramental presence.

In other words, even after this world’s lions and foxes have done their worst, and all lies in ruin and desolation, the true victory goes not to the wild animals who rely on speed and strength to catch and kill their prey, but rather to the lowly mother hen, who offers herself up for her chicks. Just so, God brings joy from sadness, hope from despair, light from darkness, and life from death.