Fairhaven UMC

So occasionally, and this seems to happen, especially during church council meetings or if I’m doing the announcements at one of the other churches, I will misspeak and mix up Lent with Advent. So please don’t listen carefully for it because I do it all the time, probably like 50% of the time. And when you live according to the church year, which by necessity I basically do, I’m always looking towards Advent or Lent, whatever’s coming next, these seasons start to feel familiar in some ways, and these two particularly feel similar. They’re both usually purple, right? The color both of penitence and royalty.

Both are about a month of preparation for the big day, right? both lean heavily on scripture that’s prophesying what God is about to do for people who don’t really get it. And in both Advent and Lent, there’s this sense of quiet, of anticipation, of spiritual preparation, and one that really resonates with me. I like that. And this Palm Sunday, I really find myself focusing on those parallels.

Maybe because it’s been cold and gray like a Pittsburgh December, it just feels like we’re in Advent again. But for the first time ever, Palm Sunday feels to me like another moment in the year where we blanket the sanctuary with greenery, which we’ll do later. Christmas Eve. It’s not just the greenery.

It’s not just the purple pyramids. What sticks out to me is the song, the proclamation that the crowd is bringing today. It sounds like Christmas. You remember the angels appearing to the shepherds in Bethlehem’s fields, right? Luke chapter 2, what we always hear on Christmas Eve.

Nearby, shepherds were living in the fields, guarding their sheep at night. The Lord’s angels stood before them. The Lord’s glory shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angels said, Don’t be afraid.

Look, I bring good news to you, wondrous, joyful news for all people. Your Savior is born today in David’s city. He is the Lord. This is a sign for you.

You will find a newborn baby wrapped snugly and lying in a manger. And suddenly a great assembly of the heavenly forces was with the angel praising God. They said, glory to God in heaven and on earth peace among those he favors. That song there, that last line, glory to God in heaven, peace among those whom he favors.

That’s where we get the words to angels we have heard on high. And in this song that the angels are singing, this heavenly host lights up the night sky, telling the shepherds of the coming of Jesus into the world and what that will mean for them, for us, for all creation. The disciples, the followers of Jesus, proclaim something very similar 30 years later as Jesus approaches the gates of Jerusalem on Palm Sunday. And this is how it goes in our reading today.

As Jesus approached the road leading down from the Mount of Olives, the whole throng of his disciples began rejoicing. They praised God with a loud voice because of all the mighty things they had seen. And they said..

. blessings on the king who comes in the name of the Lord, peace in heaven, and glory in the highest heavens. So two really interesting things are going on just in this brief passage. First, we know that line of the crowd song as well.

The first line, blessings on the king who comes in the name of the Lord. We say that during the communion liturgy, except we say it as it was actually written in Zechariah. Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord. There’s no king in the prophet’s words.

Because the people have slightly but very significantly changed what was originally prophesied. And that second line has undergone a similar sort of transformation. Notice the difference. So the heavenly host at Bethlehem sang, glory to heaven and on earth peace among those whom he favors.

In Jerusalem, what the people are singing is peace in heaven and glory in the highest heavens, which is similar to. But again, a distorted version of what was originally proclaimed. Because the people are experiencing and succumbing to this temptation that we ourselves face constantly. They’re subtly changing Jesus into something they want him to be, while also obscuring what he wants us to be.

They’re making him someone who will do something for them that doesn’t really affect what they have to do. And this can be dangerous. The hymn writer, pastor, and missionary Fred Kahn, he’s got a few hymns in our hymnal, he points this out particularly as it relates to that phrase, peace in heaven. That’s what the crowd in Jerusalem is proclaiming as Jesus comes, peace in heaven.

Fred Kahn grew up in the Netherlands under Nazi occupation. He knew quite well the risk that comes with reshaping Jesus into something that he’s not, no matter how subtly, into something we might prefer that he be. So as for peace, consider that it’s a whole lot easier, a whole lot more straightforward for us if Jesus Christ means peace in heaven. because that’s none of our business, really.

Peace in heaven, heaven’s far away. Heaven’s got nothing to do with us right now, but peace on earth is what the heavenly host proclaimed at Jesus’ birth. And peace on earth is our business. that requires something of us.

It’s a lot harder because it’s in our control a little bit more day to day. So seeking peace, real peace, not just the absence of conflict, but peace, that’s hard work. And yet the people sing peace in heaven as Jesus descends from the Mount of Olives into the holy city. because they don’t really want peace on earth, after all.

That’s not what these people are looking for. That’s not what we’re looking for most of the time. At the moment, they’re longing for Jesus as he comes into Jerusalem to take his rightful place as a king over his people. They want him to throw out the Romans, their Herodian collaborators.

They want him to be this warrior king like his ancestor David. And so they say, blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord. They’re not looking for peace, at least not in the short term. They’re looking for reversal.

They’re looking for revenge. And that’s understandable. They’ve been oppressed. They’ve been occupied.

They have been exploited for generations now. And they think that this is a moment of revolution, that Jesus’ entry into the city on the back of a colt marks the first spark that will lead to this final revolution, this final confrontation, victory for Israel. Our reading this morning stopped before it. But Jesus knows all of this, and it really grieves him.

The next two verses really reveal his pain over their misunderstanding of what he’s there for. As Jesus came to the city, he observed it, and he wept over it. He said, if only you knew on this day of all days the things that lead to peace, but now they’re hidden from your eyes. Jesus knows very well that peace is not on the immediate horizon.

We know that as Holy Week is before us, that those longing to see him on David’s throne are in for a big disappointment in the next coming days. But perhaps Jesus’ triumphal entry, as we often call Palm Sunday, happened 33 years before in the stable at Bethlehem as he entered into creation, God in human flesh. That’s when he became king. His first triumph over the world, over death and sin, over Satan, was in his taking on of weakness and the frailty of a baby boy.

And there, in that moment, the angels announced his triumph, rightly, the way the people do imperfectly at Jerusalem’s gates. And I don’t mean this to be harsh on Jesus’ crowd of followers. We make Palm Sunday a celebratory day for a good reason. They’re absolutely right to celebrate, to call out in joy.

They lay down their cloaks, their palms on the road before him. And we shouldn’t fault them at all for that because they know, they’re completely correct that Jesus is their king. their mistake is just in understanding what kind of king he is and what that means for them, what that means for us. Christ as our king does not mean peace in heaven.

It’s not abstract. It’s not something far away that’s distant from our daily living. If Christ is our king, it means peace on earth. It means that we, in our lives, are responsible for living with Jesus as our king.

In a reign of peace, of justice, of mercy, his law governs us right now. Not peace in heaven. Peace on earth. And that’s a great victory.

That’s what we celebrate on Palm Sunday. The triumph of God over darkness and evil. We’re his subjects now. His kingdom is over all creation right now.

And that’s why Jesus says, if the disciples weren’t cheering for him, even the stones would cry out. All the world has received their king. But the coming of Jesus comes with obligations. First, that those who rule without seeking peace and righteousness are not kings at all, not at all legitimate, the same way Jesus is talking about Caesar, about Herod.

And all of those of us who would be followers of Jesus must be committed not only to calling him king, but to serving him as the kind of king that he is, offering our lives in justice and mercy and righteousness while seeking peace. And so the psalmist this morning sings out in Psalm 118, open the gates of righteousness for me so that I can come in and give thanks to the Lord. The people that are lined up from the road on the Mount of Olives were ready to march into the capital city behind this new king, but not necessarily into the gates of righteousness. They’re ready to go into the gates of Jerusalem, but not necessarily the gates of righteousness behind their Savior.

The gates of righteousness are those we enter whenever we follow behind him as our Lord, walking in his footsteps, living in his way. These gates are wide open. We’re welcomed into these gates today. And this really is a day of great celebration.

But the gates of righteousness don’t necessarily open to a road that leads straight to the palace and the royal throne, but to cleansing the temple, facing down the authorities, this mockery of a trial, and then finally the cross. But still the road that the gates of righteousness opens to will lead us to this true king and as well as to a transformed life worth living. One that will never end. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit.

Amen.

So at this point in my life, at least now, you know, I don’t have any prodigal siblings. I never really have. We all have our issues. Everyone does.

Every family does. But I think my parents would agree that, generally speaking, they got pretty lucky. My youngest brother is a college student who coaches girls’ high school basketball. My next brother works for an electrical contractor.

He’s about to have a baby in a couple months. He’s got a ranch house and two golden retrievers. Exceedingly normal life. My sister lives with her boyfriend in New York City.

She works for a nonprofit that fights housing discrimination. She’s doing the kind of stuff she always wanted to do. And I, unfortunately, am perhaps in the most respectable line of work in America. And I’ve gone through a very orderly, very successful academic and early work career before that.

I did not sneak out of the house as a teenager. I did not smoke in the bathroom. I worked to get good grades. I did my extracurriculars.

I got good scholarships. And now I’ve landed in something resembling a stable career, allegedly. Okay. And as it happens, at one point last year, Stormy can confirm this, someone looked at me revolted and groaned that I am, quote, disgustingly normal, which kind of hurt, honestly.

So I think I’m pretty far from a prodigal son, as classically understood. That’s a word, prodigal, that we really only use at this point in English when referring to this biblical story. You never use that anywhere else anymore. But it simply means, outside of this context, a person who is wasteful and extravagant and decadent, irresponsible, kind of that sort of person.

And that’s how Jesus here in Luke’s gospel sums up this character. The so-called prodigal son wastes his wealth through extravagant living. He blows the inheritance that he asks to cash out long before his father is actually dead, which is pretty offensive to begin with. Hey, dad, give me what you’re going to give me when you die.

And accordingly, the reality is this as I read the story. If I’m looking for myself in the parable, I’m very distinctly the older brother. I never really caused any problems. I’m always, you know, dutifully doing what I’m supposed to do.

And this is, of course, the classic older brother or older sister role, even today. And it seems like it was 2,000 years ago in Galilee. You got that responsible oldest brother. Right? Now, I won’t spend too much time today talking about what this parable says for those among us who recognize themselves as prodigals, those who have spent their lives at odds or running from God and their loved ones.

I think the parable is pretty clear for those people, right? God’s arms are always wide open no matter what. Those who have wandered are welcome to come back to their loving father. And I hear this all the time. You’d be surprised how often I hear this, the number of people who tell me the church will fall down if they ever come in.

And it’s very sad because Jesus is teaching us here that the exact opposite is true, that the Father rolls out the red carpet for the one who feels like he has no worthiness to come back. But people say that to me all the time. Amen. but there is no one that God doesn’t want in this place.

And there’s no one that God wants more, either at the baptismal font, the communion table, or in those seats, than someone who’s never been there before or has been away for a long and difficult time. The walls of the church won’t fall down. And in fact, the Father prepares a heavenly party for the situation. That is what this parable tells us.

God has a special place for the prodigal sons and daughters, and I hope that’s obvious to all of us from the way that Jesus speaks in Scripture, including in this parable. But what I think is perhaps more important to many of us here is to speak to the perspective of the older brother. because the majority of us probably see ourselves more in him. The Pharisees are supposed to as well, by the way, and they’re the church folks of their days.

This parable is told for the benefit of the Pharisees, of those who are the older, responsible brother, rather than those who is the miscreant younger brother. He’s not the one listening to the story. Most of you, to the best of my knowledge, are responsible, productive members of society. You’re not people who spent last night getting drunk, gambling, partying away your inheritance or your social security check.

Most of you, I think it’s fair to say, are people who are decent and respectable. And so I would put myself in that category, I like to think. And so this is uncomfortable to acknowledge, but I would suggest that being in that place of decency, of respectability of that older brother is a really dangerous place to be spiritually. It can be kind of corrosive to your heart.

The propensity of the prodigal younger brother to visible egregious sin is obvious. He’s squandering his father’s estate on prostitutes and gambling and all this stuff. He’s very visibly bad, so to speak, right? Those of us who live in that older brother zone are prone to much sneakier forms of sin. Right? The older brother who’s clean cut and dutiful and responsible is well behaved.

This is not the same thing as being good. I want to say that again. Being well behaved or hardworking or respectable or however you might best relate here is not the same as being good. goodness or holiness, we might say, is an orientation not only of your behavior, but of your heart and of your spirit, what’s going on inside, not just what you’re doing outside.

You can go about your life squeaky clean in your behavior and still have a heart of ice cold stone. And that really, I think, comes to the surface in this parable. When the prodigal son comes home and his father welcomes him with joy and generosity, you can sense what’s boiling in the heart of that well-behaved older brother. Pride, resentment, insecurity, envy.

he’s enraged. First, he refuses to go to the welcome feast, and then he lectures his father about it. He reminds him how naive he’s being, how despicably his younger brother has behaved, as if his father doesn’t know, right? And now this is just a guess on my part, but I’m pretty confident in this. I promise you, That all of the bitterness and the jealousy and the pridefulness is not just emerging now that the brother is home again.

This isn’t new. This sludge has been bubbling in the older son’s heart since he was a kid. He watched his brother shatter a window with a baseball and get away with it. He watched him bring home C’s and D’s every semester, sneak home late after getting drunk with his friends, steal his father’s money out of his dresser to buy drugs.

He watched his mother cry as this got worse and worse and worse. And meanwhile, he did his best in school. He helped with the housework. He got a job of his own as soon as he was able.

And to this day, very rarely misses a Sunday of church. Very different. Very different. So make no mistake here in this parable, he has been genuinely harmed by his brother.

His whole family has been harmed. If you’ve ever had a relative like this in your family, you know what it’s like. His soul has been harmed. He’s been made more callous.

He’s been made intolerant in a way he’d never want. He never wanted to feel this way about his brother. And his feelings here upon his brother coming back and getting this celebration make complete sense. Because in some ways, and he’d never say this out loud, but he’d be happier if his brother had simply stayed dead.

It would keep the equilibrium that developed since he left. His parents wouldn’t be threatened by painful entanglement in this mess all over again. And it certainly would keep things more fair. He could keep up the good work and lead a decently secure, quiet life.

They all could. But now that’s coming crashing down as his black sheep of a brother returns. And so the young man’s father desperately tries to get his older son to understand the situation from his perspective. This brother of yours was dead and is alive.

He was lost and is found. This forgiveness, the celebration is offered freely without regard for what’s come before. That was then. This is now.

All this stuff has happened. Yes, but he’s back. Yes. We thought you were dead and now here you are alive and well.

And the father runs out of the house to meet his son. His arms are flung open. He’s got tears in his eyes. He doesn’t wait for an apology or a justification.

He doesn’t look for an excuse before deciding how to react. That comes second. The parable shows that the father, that God has no interest in tough love towards the one who comes back. Just regular, old, soft love.

And that is just intolerably frustrating for the older brothers among us. We older brothers want the prodigal son and people like him in our lives and in the world who have harmed other people to face some kind of justice, by which we mean punishment, before they can be brought back into the fold. And it helps maintain this alluring myth to which we cling desperately of having earned our place in the world. And in God’s grace of getting what we have come to deserve.

But that’s just not the case. Because that wouldn’t be grace. This feeling, this conviction that we have that everybody’s got to get what they deserve is the result of pride scarring our hearts. Because here’s the thing.

Listen to this parable, how it went here. The older brother didn’t do anything to earn his position either, if he’s honest with himself. What right does he have to be angry at the mercy that was shown to his younger brother? His father tells him this. He says it softly and kindly.

Son, you always were with me, and everything I have is yours. He’s been taken care of his whole life. He, just like his younger brother, has received nothing but unconditional love from his father. And even so, he’s stewed bitterly about his poorly behaved brother for years, for a lifetime now, as if the love that his father has for his brother somehow devalues the love that he’s unceasingly received himself.

The reality is that love has never been a limited resource in that household. But the brother treats it with contempt because he’s not receiving it on his own terms. He’s not receiving the love that he thinks he deserves because if that other guy’s getting it, what’s that mean about me? And so he lashes out at his father for loving not only the so-called deserving son, but also the undeserving son, and says, I’ve served you all these years. I never disobeyed your instruction, yet you’ve never given me, never given me so much as a young goat so I could celebrate with my friends.

But when this son of yours returned, after gobbling up your estate on prostitutes, you slaughtered the fattened calf for him. Again, this is just kind of crazy. He’s lived in his father’s household his whole life. He’s been cared for, he’s been loved.

We see no evidence that’s not true. But he can’t see that. He can’t see past the grace that was shown to his undeserving brother. And here’s what strikes me most about the situation.

This part, I really just noticed this for the first time. You know, he says, You’ve never even given me a young goat to celebrate with my friends. Did he ever ask? Did he ever ask for this goat to have a feast to celebrate with his friends? Did he ask like, hey, dad, I’d love to do this. Is there any reason whatsoever to believe the father would say no if he was asked? Or has this brother just lived in this grudge for untold years, relishing the bitterness? You know what that’s like.

You like being mad. Convincing himself. His father loves him less, just stewing over it, despite that just not being true. He lives in this prison that he’s made for himself.

Okay. Our Lenten playlist song this morning was Casey Musgrave’s Rainbow. And the refrain of that song sounds to me like it could have been written by this father who’s speaking softly to his resentful older son as this wayward younger son returns. This was how the chorus went.

The sky has finally opened, the rain and wind stop blowing, but you’re stuck out in the same old storm again. You hold tight to your umbrella, but I’m just trying to tell you there’s always been a rainbow hanging over your head. this son, this eldest son has always had everything that he’s needed. He’s always been swimming in the father’s love.

He just needs to unclench his fists, lower his shoulders, and look around and see. He needs to put down the umbrella that he’s been gripping tight to and look up at the sky. And so I wonder, are you hearing this parable for you? The infinite, the steadfast love that the Father has for you is not limited by the love God has for anyone else. No matter how much you might hate or resent or be disappointed in them, even if you’re completely justified in that resentment, even if, maybe especially if, It doesn’t matter how much they deserve it.

It doesn’t matter how much you deserve it because there’s no such thing. That’s not how grace works. That’s not how the love of God is poured out. The mercy that is shown to others in no way diminishes the mercy that’s been rained down on you.

And, you know, rest assured that you have needed and received mercy. Mercy. That does not dim this rainbow of salvation that hangs over your head. So be deeply vigilant if you find yourself begrudging mercy or compassion shown by God or others towards the prodigal, the wayward, the criminal.

Be careful. Think twice. If you even silently, quietly start to believe that you have earned your place in the world or the kingdom of God by anything you have done, because remember, being well-behaved is not the same as being good. Pride, which is the real fault of the older brother here, pride, is a lie that erases grace.

It’s a sin. And the older brother in this parable, who again is just dripping in this corrosive sin himself, tries to distance himself from this more visibly sinful prodigal brother, and he hisses at his father in disgust. I don’t know if you noticed this, but he hisses. He’s so mad about this son of yours, he says, has returned.

This son of yours. But hear the words that his father uses in response to him. We had to celebrate, we had to be glad because this brother of yours was dead and is alive. He was lost and is found.

There is grace enough for all. There is room for all people in the Father’s household. And there is more love than we could ever know what to do with. And that prodigal, that wayward, criminal, addict, outcast, excluded son or daughter, well, that’s not just that son of yours, God.

That’s your brother, your sister. And that rainbow overhead is for both of you. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Amen.

At that time, Luke tells us, some Pharisees approached Jesus and said, Go, get away from here because Herod wants to kill you. It’d be helpful, I think, whenever we’re starting right here, to rewind a couple minutes and look at what time we’re talking about. You know, Luke says, at this time. Well, at what time? Okay, Luke says, at this time.

What’s going on in this moment that causes the Pharisees to warn Jesus of King Herod’s plotting against him? Well, Jesus has been preaching, and he’s been traveling across the entire countryside of Judea, of Galilee. He’s been gathering crowds everywhere as he stops and teaches about the kingdom of God. He’s preaching and teaching in a new way that is impressing people, that’s making an impression. Okay.

But now he’s arrived at the place that for the Jewish people is the center of the universe, Jerusalem. Jerusalem is the city that holds the beating heart of both the Jewish religion, because the temple is there, And of Herod’s government, which is ostensibly Jewish. Herod is a Jew by birth. But in reality, it’s this kind of collaborationist regime under Roman authority.

It’s kind of like a Vichy France kind of situation. It’s Israel that’s run by Israelites, but not really. It’s on behalf of Rome. In Jerusalem, that is the seat of two kingdoms, really.

Gods, for one, still centered upon the temple that still stands at the time, worship and sacrifice where the priests are the bridge between earth and heaven, the people and God. And then on the other hand, it’s also the seat of Herod’s kingdom, this political puppet administration. that exploits and mistreats God’s people while still also claiming to be representative of that people. So while teaching with authority about the coming and present kingdom of God is guaranteed to be kind of inflammatory no matter where he is, Now, Jesus is doing it both in the shadow of Herod’s palace and of the temple mount.

He’s offering this direct challenge both to God’s reign, as the religious leaders understood it, and Herod’s traitorous, illegitimate kingship. Jesus is in a really threatening place. But what was it he said exactly right before he receives this urgent warning? What motivates the Pharisees to tell Jesus that Herod wants to kill him? Well, let’s go back just one verse to verse 30. Jesus says, .

..look, those who are last will be first, and those who are first will be last. Now, that language doesn’t really upset anybody anymore, which is probably to the discredit of the church.

Our American presidencies, like the British monarchy, now often begin their administrations in a Christian cathedral, the heart of the capital city. They expect to hear a squishy blessing from the Bible, not to hear any sharp or destabilizing words from the scripture. But, despite the small size of Jesus’ movement in Herod’s day, it’s not like Jesus has an army on standby here. And the truth that Jesus is really just some wandering preacher from Nazareth who’s allegedly been going around healing people, King Herod is obviously shaken to the core by what Jesus says.

But Herod hears that Jesus is preaching things like those who are last will be first and those who are first will be last. And he knows quite well what that means. He knows that he’s first and that he has no interest in being last. He doesn’t hear it either as some kind of aspirational, pious, pie-in-the-sky kind of someday hope.

He hears it as a threat, a threat right now to his throne, to his regime. When the words of Jesus were spoken into the land, the king was afraid. And not only does he not want to be last, after all, he also doesn’t want the rabble that are gathering to listen to Jesus to be first. And he acts accordingly.

He responds. Jesus has simply got to be dealt with. This is a problem. And he has to be dealt with the way that all rebels are dealt with.

People can’t be allowed to talk like this. People can’t be proclaiming God’s judgment on the king and on the ruling class. That has to stop. And so as Herod fumes and plots, we see something really strange happen.

there’s this apparent alliance that emerges between Jesus and the Pharisees. Did you catch that? It’s really kind of weird. It’s the Pharisees that come to Jesus to warn him of Herod’s scheming. This group of religious leaders that we tend to understand as Jesus’ most consistent foes, the Pharisees.

I did some reading on this this week because it stuck out to me, and biblical commentators are really torn on this. Are the Pharisees warning Jesus here because they legitimately want to help him? Are they sympathetic to him? Or is it because they’re in cahoots with Herod? They’re trying to drive him out of Jerusalem as quickly as possible. And I’ve got to tell you, maybe I’ll feel differently next time I preach this passage, but I feel like we need to give the Pharisees the benefit of the doubt and say that it’s because they’re trying to be helpful. The Pharisees, after all, despite how we might read Scripture and might assume what it’s saying, the Pharisees are not friends of Herod.

They’re certainly not friends of Rome. That’s not what they were about. much of their day-to-day life, much of why they existed as kind of an order among the Jewish people, is because their practice, their debate, is about trying to live a life of faithfulness and holiness whenever they’re under this impure, unholy regime that has no respect for God, no respect for God’s laws. So, okay, the state’s not going to be Jewish.

We’re not going to be existing in a Jewish environment. How can we be faithful even still by ourselves? That’s what they were trying to figure out. That was the whole goal of the Pharisees. They despise the king.

They despise the Roman Empire. They keep as separate from these worldly forces as they can. They don’t want to be defiled by any of this. It’s the Sadducees, not the Pharisees, who are these willing collaborators with Herod and Pilate.

The Sadducees like Rome and Herod. And Luke’s gospel in particular, John’s worse, but Luke’s gospel in particular is really not terribly harsh on the Pharisees. It’s a pretty nuanced portrayal. They don’t really portray the Pharisees as Jesus’ primary enemy in Luke.

So these theological opponents, they do fight with Jesus. I mean, they don’t think what he’s doing is right. They nonetheless recognize in Jesus a fellow Jew. They’re inclined to help him just this once, at least, escape from Herod’s clutches.

And I think it’s just really profoundly humanizing of this group whose name has almost been used as a slur for people who are legalistic or who misunderstand the spirit of the gospel. You call somebody a Pharisee or the way they’re behaving is Pharisaical. But the Pharisees are not these one-dimensional hypocrites. And we might keep that in mind if we’re ever tempted to write off any of our siblings in Christ that way.

It’s more complicated than it seems. So it’s this really poignant moment, really. The Pharisees really seem to see Jesus here. They really seem to even kind of care for him as their brother in some ways.

And he returns that olive branch. And so he comes with this hostile response here, but it’s not directed at them. It’s directed at Herod. And he says, Go tell that fox, look, I’m throwing out demons and healing people today and tomorrow.

On the third day, I’ll complete my work. You hear that foreshadowing there, the third day? The biblical scholar Richard Swanson points out that the Pharisees probably are chuckling at this a little bit. They’re probably rightly interpreting some sarcasm here. whenever Jesus says, go tell that old fox, right? Jesus and the Pharisees both know quite well that they’re not going to be hanging out with Herod anytime soon.

It’s not like they have a standing Friday night poker game. These people’s social circles do not cross. And the rest of Jesus’ response, too, is just not hostile towards the Pharisees. He’s frustrated.

He’s in despair. He’s in despair. But he’s not hostile. He’s compassionate.

He’s not mad. He’s just disappointed. How many of you have said that to your kids? He’s not mad. He’s just disappointed.

And just listen. You can hear that tone in his voice. Jerusalem, Jerusalem. You who kill the prophets and stone those who were sent to you.

How often have I wanted to gather your people just as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings. But you didn’t want that. Look, your house is abandoned. I tell you, you won’t see me until the time comes when you say blessings on the one who comes in the Lord’s name.

foreshadowing again, a reference to Palm Sunday. He’ll arrive in Jerusalem again. These adoring crowds will surround him, waving palms, shouting, Hosanna, blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord. And yet, he tells the Pharisees with a sigh, he’s going to be leaving soon, don’t worry about it.

Herod’s not going to get his hands on him this time around, but he’s going to be back before long. And again, just try to hear Jesus’ tone here. You can imagine maybe even some tears in his eyes because I believe he’s speaking with real love for the Pharisees. Jerusalem, Jerusalem.

How often I have wanted to gather your people just as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, but you didn’t want that. Jerusalem. Jesus knows what’s coming. He knows these stories that we’ll be hearing for the rest of Lent.

And Jesus does not want to go to the cross. Jesus, like his father, has never wanted the people of Israel to wander astray, leading themselves into destruction and suffering by their unwillingness to live into the grace that God has offered them, into the abundant life of love that they were made for. But as our communion liturgy says, we turned away and our love failed, even as God’s love remained steadfast. God doesn’t want this hostile adversarial relationship with us where he’s standing as judge to convict us for our crimes.

That’s not ever what God has wanted. God’s not looking to smite. God’s not looking to condemn. God, speaking to the Pharisees that day and to us every day, wants to gather all people under her wings like a mother hen, protected, nurtured, loved, cared for.

So I wonder, you’re all city people for the most part. Have you interacted with chickens much? Have any of you ever owned chickens? Okay, there’s one. It’s another one of those moments where I recognize I’m a Butler County hillbilly here. But I think it makes a difference in helping us to understand Jesus.

We did have chickens when I was a kid from about third grade onwards. I spent countless winter evenings rounding them up, making sure they were locked up in the safety of the coop for the night under that red light in the hay. And I found that one thing about hens specifically, roosters are terrible, but one thing about hens specifically is that they are just natural carers. In fact, hens have a deep instinct.

Farmers have worked hard to breed this out of them to varying levels of success, but they have an instinct called broodiness. And that’s this fierce maternal drive. And it causes them to prioritize sitting on their eggs above doing anything else. Something like comes over them when this instinct hits.

They don’t know or care if the eggs are fertilized or viable or not. All that they know is there is nothing more important in the world than protecting and nurturing those eggs. And naturally, that makes it pretty much impossible to collect the eggs when the hens are acting this way. This is like a life or death.

You are not getting that hen off those eggs, which is why breeders hate this instinct. It’s kind of inconvenient if you want some eggs. But that’s just what hens do. They live their lives for the benefit of their young.

And if you haven’t held one in your hands, it’s hard to describe the comforting warmth of a hen’s pudgy body, right? Right? The feathers on the outside of a chicken, its wings, its back, its tail, its neck, they’re sleek, they’re cool, they’re slippery, they’re this outer shell to deflect dirt, dust, wind, insects. But under the wings, if you can somehow get under there without them flapping you in the face, is a totally different feeling. The feathers that are under the wings are this soft plush down. And heat radiates in there like an electric blanket.

I’ve never been a baby chick, but I can imagine there’s no safer feeling in the world than to be tucked under a hen’s wing, sheltered from the cold, from every external threat. Okay. And Jesus says this is exactly what he wants for us. He doesn’t care if you’re a baby or well into old age or an adult who prides yourself on never having to take shelter with anyone else, never having anyone else take care of you.

Jesus wants this for you. He wants to hold you in the warmth and the safety of his wings, concealing you from every threat and storm and trial. He wants you to know that he’s got you covered. You’re protected from all harm.

That the God of the universe is a shelter just for you. Jesus shakes his head as he reflects to the Pharisees, but you didn’t want that, he says. And so often that’s true for us now. But we know deep down that we need that.

That’s right. For your mother hen, there is nothing more important in the world than protecting and nurturing you. In fact, she would give and has given her life for you. And so in the gathering storm of the journey towards the cross this Lent, and in our own lives, we will face dark moments and threats that we can’t face alone.

But we have a shelter now and forever. In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.