SECOND SUNDAY IN LENT, YEAR C

March 16, 2025

Saints Matthew and Mark, Barrington, R. I.

 

Genesis 15:1-12, 17-18

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, life from death.

 

The story of Abram in the Old Testament reading from Genesis illustrates this theme perfectly. In response to God’s assurance, “Do not be afraid, Abram, I am your shield; your reward shall be very great,” Abram 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 fascinating supernatural phenomena, God promises Abram’s progeny the gift of land, from the River Nile to the River Euphrates.

 

The key point in understanding this story, I think, is that in a society that conceived of the afterlife chiefly as living on in and through one’s descendants, God’s words to Abram amounted to a promise of immortality. God transformed 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 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 confesses the Christian hope in new life after death: “Our citizenship is in heaven, and it is from there that we are expecting a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ. He will transform the body of our humiliation that it may be conformed to the body of his glory, by the power that also enables him to make all things subject to himself.”

 

The Gospel reading requires a bit more unpacking. Jesus and his disciples have begun their final journey to Jerusalem. Some Pharisees warn him to “get way 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. He tells them 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 is impossible for a prophet to be killed outside of Jerusalem.”

 

Calling Herod a fox is quite an insult. As depicted in 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 deeper. Like jackals, foxes scavenge at the kills of larger predators, like lions and bears. So, in calling Herod a fox, our Lord is possibly likening him to a scavenger feeding on Rome’s imperial leftovers. As a client king, Herod depends on Rome’s power to sustain his position in the region. So casting Herod as a fox is really subversive speech.

 

But then, our Lord uses an even more unexpected animal image to describe himself. “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!”

 

For our Lord’s listeners, this image of a hen gathering her brood under her wings is both 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 …”

 

The image is also startling. The Old Testament picture of finding 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 the 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 chicks may have a chance to scatter and escape. If they live, however, it will be because the hen has given her life in exchange for theirs.

 

In one of the classics of early modern political thought, Machiavelli remarks that the successful prince combines the strength of the lion with the cleverness of the fox. But 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 ways of the lion and the fox and adopt instead the way of the mother hen—the way of vulnerability and self-sacrifice.

 

These juxtaposed images of the fox and the hen convey a prophecy of our Lord’s coming suffering and death at the hands of this world’s powers, which the Bible repeatedly likens to predatory animals. The paradox, however, is that in the end the fox doesn’t have the last word. Our Lord’s prior message to Herod concluded, “Listen, I am casting out demons and performing cures today and tomorrow, and on the third day I finish my work.”  The first readers of Luke’s Gospel would clearly have understood the third day as alluding to the Lord’s resurrection.

 

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