Pastor David Miller tells a story about the class bully from 6th grade. It all started with one friend coming to me saying “watch out for Tony, he’s out to get you” . . . and then the second friend came by and also advised caution. But I got downright scared when the third voice of warning came from the guy who sat in the desk to my left. I could not imagine anyone in the class who could care less about my health and well-being than Frank -- the furtive exam sneak peeker -- who attributed HIS low grades to MY persistent unwillingness to openly display my answers during our frequent tests.
So when this very Frank warned me that the class bully was lying in wait for me outside the front door of the school, I began to take the threat seriously. For he, of all people, would hardly want to protect me -- unless he thought the potential for severe harm was quite high.
Naturally, I did the only thing a young boy like myself could do in that predicament. The situation called for pluck and nerve, bravery and bravado, brute strength and sheer willpower. So, I went to the office, called my mother, and asked her to please come pick me up -- at the back door.
On a different note, Jesus was not worried about the bully in his neighborhood. Jesus might have been quizzical when some Pharisees warned him that Herod was out to get him. There was an attempt by the Pharisees to scare Jesus a little; to see if his reaction were one of fight or flight; as if they were waiting to see what Jesus was made of . . . and Jesus responded by calling Herod a fox and challenged any such plans: "Tell that fox I've got work to do first." Jesus was not implying that Herod was shrewd and sly, rather Jesus implied that Herod was not the king he considered himself to be; as a matter of fact, Herod was leadership challenged; the opposite of a king. Jesus cut Herod down to size, and Jesus' audience may have had an inward smile of appreciation at the wisecrack.
Let’s translate "fox" with its proper cultural meaning: A pompous pretender. Jesus was direct. Antipas was, as Dr. Randall Buth translates from the Hebrew, a shu�AL ben shu�AL (a fox, the son of a fox), a small-fry. He was selfish, dishonest, ruthless and cunning. He deceived his brother and married his brother’s wife. He did not have any moral standards. Herod wanted people to call him a lion. But Herod was the opposite of a lion. Another meaning for fox in Hebrew is a pompous pretender.
But, let us not be fooled. Herod is also a predator. Herod fed off the lives of the oppressed people he ruled. He used his power to intimidate, threaten and subjugate. He did not know how to rule and apply justice; Herod was really a petty fox, afraid of those who raised questions about his actions or who opposed his self-serving ambitions. This is why he killed John the Baptist, he wanted to silenced the opposition.
In contrast to the fox, Jesus offers himself to the people of Jerusalem as a mother hen. Now, I’m fully aware that it may be hard for some of us to imagine Jesus as a mother, let alone as a hen! This story is beginning to sound more like Alice in Wonderland than an Aesop fable. But, hear me out. In a study entitled “Jesus as Mother” Caroline Bynum shows how many 12th century Cistercian monks and nuns spoke of Jesus as “our Mother.” It was a way they sought to communicate the intimacy, compassion, and comfort of Christ, as well as the maternal role of leaders within the Christian community. St. Anselm, archbishop of Canterbury, among many others, spoke freely of Jesus as our mother when he said:
”But you, Jesus, good Lord, are you not also a mother? Are you not that mother who, like a hen, collects her chicks under her wings? Truly master, you are a mother. For what others have conceived and given birth to, they have received from you...It is then you, above all, Lord God, who are mother.”
Jesus drew this maternal image from his own Jewish tradition. In the apocryphal book of II Esdras (1:28-30) God addresses God's people in words that sound strangely familiar:
You have not as it were forsaken me, but your own selves, saith the Lord. Thus says the Almighty Lord, have I not prayed you as a father his sons, as a mother her daughters, and a nurse her young babes. That ye would be my people, and I would be your God; that ye would be my children, and I should be your father? I gathered you together, as a hen gathers her chickens under her wings.
Jesus describes his own ministry of salvation, compassion, and protection like that of a mother hen. Jesus knew God to be like a mother hen, who gathers her children under her warm wings. Could he have remembered the Psalmist's words?: Take pity on me, God, take pity upon me, in you my soul takes shelter/I take shelter in the shadow of your wings? (Psalm 57:1) Did Jesus remember how Boaz said to Ruth about caring for Naomi: May the Lord recompense you for what you have done and a full reward be given you by the Lord, the God of Israel, under whose wings you have come to take refuge? (Ruth 2:12) In harmony with God's motherly purposes of protection, care, and salvation, Jesus is telling us that he is like a mother hen, who seeks to gather together his people into a redeemed community under the compassionate wings of God. But then, how sad it is to hear Jesus lament..."but you would not."
Will we gather together under God's motherly wings? God seeks to gather us under her protective wings, as a mother hen gathers her chicks. God wants a relationship with us that is as personal and intimate as that of a mother to her children. It is God's desire to gather us together under her protective wings, when it seems that the destructive forces of our lives circle over our heads or when our enemy, the fox, tries to prey upon us. God wants to gather us under her wings when we grieve, when we're anxious, or when we need the warmth of God's accepting presence.
Will we allow God to spread her wings over us? Or will we turn to the fox, who claims we will be secure through power, violence, and control? Gathering under God’s wings is a vulnerable place to be. You can’t strike back. Even so, not striking back doesn’t mean you’re a chicken. It does mean you don’t rely upon the power and weapons of this world to protect you.
There was once a young Nigerian boy named Olu who had a pet white chicken. They became great friends and inseparable companions. One day the hen disappeared and Olu cried and cried. Then after three weeks the white hen returned to the compound with seven beautiful white chicks. The Nigerian boy was overjoyed. The mother took very good care of her chicks. One day late in the dry season the older boys set a ring of fire to the bush area outside the village. Everyone stood outside the ring as the fire burned toward the center. The purpose was to drive little animals such as rabbits and small antelopes out of the circle. Then the waiting cutlasses claimed their prey. When the slaughter and the fire were over, Olu and his friends walked through the smoldering embers. The boy noticed a heap of charred feathers and smelled burned flesh. It looked like the remains of a bird that had not escaped from the fire. Then Olu realized in horror. It was his beloved friend the white hen all black and burned to death. But then came the sounds of chicks. The mother hen had covered them with her body and they were still alive and well. The mother had given her life for her children. She died that they may live."
Will we gather under the vulnerable wings of Christ? Will we be a mothering church that offers her body and blood for the world? Together under the wings of Christ we live by vulnerable power of the cross as we face a world full of foxes.
