Second Sunday of Lent
The Rev. Nigel Taber-Hamilton, Rector
Genesis 15: 1-12, 17-18; Psalm 27: 10-18; Philippians 3: 17-4:1; Luke 13: 23-35
On Ash Wednesday I said that the imposition of ashes on our foreheads wasn't an act of piety, but of honesty - we were acknowledging our own mortality and finitude - we were "getting real" about life.
And so, I said, Lent is a lot about us "getting real".
Today's gospel reading is shows us Jesus doing just that: getting real with his disciples.
The context of today's reading is this: we're in the second half of Luke's gospel. The hinge is the story of Jesus' transfiguration - something changes for Jesus at that point because Jesus, Luke tells us, "set his face toward Jerusalem". That phrase has particular import.... "set his face" implies determination, commitment to a particular outcome, an unwillingness to be turned aside.
So it's pretty clear that up on that mountain something had changed for Jesus. It wasn't he had decided to go to Jerusalem - all the evidence I can find suggests that Jesus was a devout Jew who respected the Temple - if not always it's leaders - and made regular pilgrimages there. More likely, I believe, is that he had made up his mind what he was going to do when he got there.
In that sense he had decided to "get real" with his purpose.
This "getting real" clearly upset some of his disciples. Recall that as he descended from the Mount of Transfiguration he began talking of the possibility of his death and Peter tried to dissuade him from going. Remember what Jesus said? "Get behind me, Satan". That's not only extremely harsh language, it's a clear indication of the depth of Jesus' anger...much worse, in fact, than Jesus directed at Judas. As much as the gospel writers disparage Judas none of them refer to him as Satan (John the biggest Judas-hater, observes that Satan only 'entered' Judas. Judas was thus possessed, he wasn't actually Satan), nor do they show Jesus ever losing his temper with Judas.
It's fairly clear that after the events on the Mount of Transfiguration the disciples are unwilling to bring up that topic - of death in Jerusalem - again.
I suspect we've all found ourselves in places where we have learned not to raise particular subjects with someone, and especially not with someone close to us, because of the way they react. Better to tiptoe lightly around the edges, change the subject: "How about those Mariners?!"
Luke, after recounting this story, starts to share his understanding of what it meant, which brings us to today.
We begin with something that is too easily missed: Pharisees warning Jesus of deadly danger. Given that all four gospels badly mis-represent the integrity, flexibility, and faithfulness of the Pharisee sect within Judaism it's quite remarkable that Luke reports some of them trying to help Jesus.
Jesus' response? It's defiant and to the point: "You know where to find me, but don't worry, you don't need to come and get me - I'm going to come to you". Jesus is aware of the fate of prophets - hence the language of death - and the likely location of that death: Jerusalem. More significantly for us, perhaps, is the metaphor he uses to describe how those prophets respond.
He says, startlingly, "I'll be like a hen guarding her chicks in the face of a fox".
How much do you know about foxes and chickens? Quite a bit, I'll bet. Phrases like "fox among the chickens", or "fox in the henhouse" are dead giveaways, - and I'm not using the word "dead" metaphorically but literally!
In the face of state violence, or the violence of the powerful, the carriers of God's word are like hens in the face of foxes.
But they will, Jesus, says, seek to protect those chicks.
What, do you suppose, is going to happen? The same thing every time. The hen is going to die. Possibly the chicks also.
We know this story. As the Gospels tell it this story is about how the fox comes at night in the Garden when all the chicks are asleep, and how - only a day later - the hen's wings are now spread, her breast exposed, and all of the chicks have fled from beneath the protection of her feathers, and there is a pool of blood on the ground.
This is as real as it gets.
And this "getting real" comes to all of us - at its most basic it's reflective of a very familiar human experience where we come to realize that we're not able to protect those we love from suffering. Or that we, ourselves, are sometimes like the hen in the face of a world full of foxes.
It think this realization is a more mature reflection of what "getting real" actually means - because, despite what Samuel Johnson said, that "when a man knows he is to be hanged in a fortnight, it concentrates his mind wonderfully." the actual reality is that a sense our own death is the easy bit for us; continuing living is the hard bit. In death we move beyond any ability to influence the events of our world, or care for and protect the lives of those we love.
The hard part - the real part - is to keep on living in the face of our world's harsh realities, to keep on struggling to shield and protect those we love, in the face of our own weaknesses and our own terminality.
So I believe that Lent is, at the least, coming to terms with those realities - of seeing and experiencing the pain, of acknowledging the way things are. That's what "getting real" is all about.
This is not easy stuff for a world given to excuses and plea-bargaining, but it is Lent.
But Lent isn't the end of the story. Despair does not rule, but for a season. Hope is not dead, forever. Something awaits us.
But to get to that other place, that richer place requires a mature and considered response to this time. We have to transit this season, we have to "get real" about ourselves and our lives. We have to remember our own mortality because that will change how we see our world and how we approach it.
That's where we are now. That's where we'll be for a while. The more real we can be now, the greater will be our celebration when we come to that other season, when everything - everything - changes. Amen.
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