2 Lent.C.25
Luke 13:31-35
The Rev. Melanie McCarley

Who do you believe has your best interests at heart? A fox, or a hen? Given a choice such as this, I suspect most of us, are wishing we had other animals from which to choose: A wolf, bear or eagle, maybe? But poultry?

Foxes are perceived as crafty and dishonest. In a word, sly. It’s not a compliment. In fact, the idiom “like a fox guarding a henhouse” describes the placement of an unsuitable or untrustworthy person or authority where they could potentially cause harm or exploit those under their care. So, when Jesus says: “Go tell that fox”—meaning Herod, it is not being said with affection. And hens—well, chickens aren’t going to make it to the top of anyone’s list as being powerful or savvy.

Today, Jesus is asking us to make a choice—between the fox and the hen. I did a bit of research about mother hens and was delighted to discover the following: Mother hens lead their chicks to food sources, teach them what to eat and what to avoid, and help them learn essential survival skills. A mother hen will carefully turn her eggs about 30 – 50 times a day, using her body, feet and beak to maintain the proper temperature, moisture, ventilation, humidity and position of the egg during its incubation period. Mother hens communicate with their chicks while they are still in the egg—and the chicks can chirp back while in the shell. Mother hens are known for their strong maternal instincts. What’s more, they are fiercely protective of their chicks, often chasing away potential threats like foxes, raccoons, or even larger birds. They will die to protect their offspring.

What, then, is the situation in the Gospel for this morning prompting us to make a choice between the fox and the hen?

Our lesson today begins with a warning. Some Pharisees come and say to Jesus; “Get away from here, for Herod wants to kill you.” And Jesus responds: “Go and tell that fox for me, ‘Listen, I am casting out demons and performing cures today and tomorrow, and on the third day I finish my work.”

This reading makes it clear that Jesus has his priorities in order. What’s more, he’s powerful. He says: “Listen, I am casting out demons and performing cures. Today and tomorrow, and on the third day I finish my work.” (a reference that Jesus is doing God’s work and cannot be stopped.)

Now, about Herod. Herod Antipater was the tetrarch, the governor of Galilee. He was an ambitious builder, and of late, a few biographies have tried to rehabilitate his reputation, but we remember him best as the person who executed John the Baptist on a dinner party dare. In this era, Rome thrived, not simply because of its strong military and their conquests, but particularly by the fear of death that it could exploit among its vassal states. Religion, as well, was employed as a tool by the Romans. Caesar was a God—people worshipped Caesar. The Jews had an exception. In exchange for higher taxes they could exempt themselves from worshiping Ceasar as a God—but they were the exception to the rule.

So, how could Jesus, this itinerant preacher from Nazareth, be a threat to someone such as Herod? Put simply, Jesus threatened the political powers, not because he sought to control what they controlled, says author and journalist Garry Wills, but because “he undercut its pretensions and claims to supremacy.” In Jesus’ mind, only God is supreme. Jesus has no fear of Herod because he is aligned with God.

The political theorist Michael Walzer of Princeton makes a simple observation in his book In God’s Shadow: Politics in the Hebrew Bible (2012). He argues that while the Hebrew Bible contains a lot about politics, it isn’t fundamentally interested in politics. Rather, it presents us with a radical anti-politics. Since God is sovereign, Caesar is secondary.

Empire has long attempted to co-opt religion for its own purposes. We see this today in countries such as Pakistan and Somalia, but it exists here as well. We see it most clearly in the rise of Christian Nationalism in the United States. What is Christian Nationalism? Put simply, it is Christianity with a political punch—aiming to have its views achieve dominance in political and social life—to the exclusion of those who follow other religions, or no religion. It is a threat to religious liberty and the separation of church and state. It is Christianity co-opted for political purposes. The truth is no political party has a claim on Jesus. If you want to know if you are following God—well, that has nothing to do with a political party; it has everything to do with whether you live into the commands of God. Ultimately, following God comes down to ethics, not politics. The prophet Micah puts it best: do justice, love kindness, walk humbly with your God. Speak out for those who have no voice. Protect the weak, feed the poor, free the oppressed and welcome the alien. Are you doing these things? Your politics should align with whoever is best fulfilling these commands. At its finest, religion acts as a corrective to politics—it critiques politics. It calls into question our priorities and our societal ethics. From this perspective, faith is not beholden to any political party—only to God. In the Gospel for today, Jesus aligns himself with God, as opposed to Herod, Rome, and others who would use politics for religious ends, and it is precisely why he was crucified—for the political crime of treason, for claiming God to be more powerful than Caesar. Like a mother hen, dying to protect the chicks.

When I served as vicar of a church in Virginia, over 25 years ago, I had two prominent parishioners in a tiny village church—one was a Republican congressman and the other the head of the Democratic Party of Orange County, Virginia. It would be hard to find two more faithful people. Each Sunday they would cross the aisle and share the peace, each Good Friday they walked the Stations of the Cross. They are an enduring lesson to me that following Jesus is not the province of one or another political party, but only God.

In the gospel lesson for today Jesus presents us with a choice. Do we align ourselves with politics and power—keeping ourselves safe for the time-being; or do we stand with those mentioned in the fifth Chapter of Matthew: The poor in spirit, those who mourn, the meek, the merciful, those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, the pure in heart, the persecuted and the peacemakers? Do we place our truest hope and allegiance with God, or with the power of the state? Do we seek shelter with the fox or the mother hen?

The truth is, there is risk in either choice we make. Politics is rarely kind to dissenters; and those whose politics focus only on selfish gains at the expense of others, are liable to their own judgement by God. Put simply, odds are good none of us will exit this life unscathed. Yet, I believe there is hope and good news for us in these words from our Savior. There is always room under those wings for another follower of Jesus. The words of Frederick William Faber’s hymn that we sung earlier this morning puts it best:

There’s a wideness in God’s mercy like the wideness of the sea;
there’s a kindness in his justice, which is more than liberty.
There is welcome for the sinner, and more graces for the good;
there is mercy with the Savior; there is healing in his blood.

Those wings of the mother hen—they are more than protection—they shelter us with a promise—a promise of love, forgiveness and reconciliation; a promise that in the end, God’s love is more powerful than any forces of this world. Indeed, those wings offer us the best hope for a life well lived, not only for ourselves, but for everyone. In Jesus’ name. Amen.