Staying in a Longing Place (When So Much is Out of Our Control)
Preached at Wollaston Congregational Church
On Sunday March 13th, 2022
Scripture: Luke 13:31-35
This Sunday we continue our Lenten sermon series, “Good Enough.” One of the lessons of “good enough” is that we need to relinquish or let go of the illusion that we are in control. We are not. In this week’s reading from the gospel of Luke, we see Jesus relinquish control as he is faced with a death threat from Herod Antipas.
I’ve heard this morning’s scripture often, and still, when I read the text this week something new jumped out. It’s so obvious that I wondered how could I have missed it in the past. Jesus likens Herod to a fox, and then he likens himself to a mother hen. Do you see the juxtaposition?
Jesus imagines gathering up all the people of Jerusalem under his wings, like scattered and frightened little chicks. This is what mother hens do when they want to protect their young. They squawk and flap and to scare away the threat. Only, a hen does not stand a chance against a fox.
As the passage begins, Jesus is busy, going about the countryside, teaching, healing and casting out demons. He is in the midst of the ministry God has called him to do. At the same time, he is making his way toward Jerusalem.
A group of anxious Pharisees, Jewish teachers, find Jesus teaching the crowds. They give him a warning, “get away from here, Herod wants to kill you.”
Herod Antipas is the tetrarch, not a true king. He has jurisdiction over Galilee. He has killed John the Baptist, and we know that he is now worried that John has come back to life in the shape of Jesus.
He needs to get control over these Rabbi/healers who are disrupting his rule over the people. No sooner does he kill one than another pops up. Herod’s fragile relationship with the Roman rulers keeps him in power and maintains his decadent lifestyle. He has to be on the watch for possible revolutionaries on his turf who might upset that balance.
Jesus is not naïve. He is well aware of this political scene as well as the situation in Jerusalem. He replies to the Pharisees “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 …”
Jesus isn’t out to save his own skin. He knows that this path of healing and teaching leads only to his death. But he has no intention of being killed by this insecure minor ruler. He intends to go all the way to Jerusalem: the city that kills prophets.
As he anticipates coming to Jerusalem, he laments over the city. It is a place he loves. It is the religious center for his people. It is the city of his birth and his ancestor, David. And it is the place where he came of age in the temple as he engaged in conversation with the Rabbis. He called the temple his Father’s house. And yet, he knows that the occupying Roman rulers and the collaborating religious authorities in Jerusalem are not ready for his “good news for the poor.”
Even in his lamentation and longing, Jesus does not resort to power and control. He remains in that hard longing place. “O, how have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings … and you were not willing!”
Foxes, like Herod, have always been there and will always be among us. There are times when it seems that these control freaks want to stamp out the life of us.
Over the past weeks, we have been horrified by the images and stories of the Russian invasion in Ukraine. I heard this chilling comment in one news report: “The Russians bomb what they cannot control.” The atrocities have been committed at the instruction of the authoritarian Russian president, Vladimir Putin.
The Ukrainian people are resisting Russian control. Women try to flee to safety for the sake of their children. Men aged 18 to 60 are obliged to stay and fight. And meanwhile, other nations look on, trying to find ways to stop the Russians without making provocative acts that might lead to a full-scale war in Europe and beyond.
American Quaker author, Parker Palmer, writes: “My heart is broken by what’s happening in Ukraine AND I’m profoundly inspired by the people of that war-torn country. They are driven by a fierce love of life—their children’s lives, their neighbors’ lives, the life of their democracy. They make me wonder, again, about myself and my country.”
Palmer goes on “The opposite of loving life isn’t hating life—it’s fearing life. Authoritarians everywhere fear life’s diversity, complexity, exuberance, unpredictability, and creativity, the kind that challenges old orthodoxies. They feel safe only when they have the power to force the world into a form that meets their needs. What they love is death—the death that leaves the world unchanging as the grave.” [1]
Control is death.
In our own nation, leaders in Texas and Florida seek to control the sexuality of children, by denying the existence of gay and trans people. Laws banning books concerning the uncomfortable truth of racism are being enacted in various states.
Palmer goes on “In every realm from religion to politics, [authoritarians like Putin] will do whatever is necessary to get unruly life ‘under control.’ In the long run, they will fail, of course: life always overcomes. But God help those who have to live ‘in the meantime.’”
Of course, we have no control over authoritarians. But, we do have control over our response to them. We also have the opportunity to watch out for our impulses to control.
We are often tempted to try and take control, when we fear for our loved ones. When our children struggle socially we long to rush in and fix it. When they make choices we don’t like, we want to stop them instead of allowing them to experience the consequences.
Twenty years ago, when my husband’s parents were dealing with terminal illness, we wanted to talk with the doctors and insist that they did everything in their power to fix things. We were sure that if we brought my mother-in-law or father-in-law to the right hospital in the United States, the problem would be solved. The benefit of experience has allowed me to be more accepting of my dad’s failing health and his need to finally give up and be at peace.
Over the past week, I have been thinking back over my life with my dad and I’ve found many reasons for gratitude. One very important reason is that my dad was not authoritarian. He did not try to control my choices as a child and teenager. He was quietly proud of my successes, but never made academic achievement the “be all and end all.”
He was there to comfort me when I failed, but he did not need to fix it.
When I became a parent, I realized how much presence of mind and courage this gift takes. Our son, Ben, began to reject food that he didn’t want at about the age of 2. I was astonished at my own desire to force him to eat, which would have been a losing battle, believe me.
As parents we walk a fine line. Our children need boundaries and discipline and at times they will need our advocacy. And yet, once we try to control them or fix them, their lives, or even who they are, we are no longer loving them. Control is the antithesis of love.
Perhaps Jesus also experiences the impulse to control the children of Jerusalem. Instead, though, he says that he longs to gather them together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings. But the children of Jerusalem are not willing.
These children – these little chicks - are not only the lost and the lonely, the destitute and the oppressed. They are also the oppressors. They are the Romans who try to exert control over the Jewish people. They are the religious authorities, who are determined to control the religion by keeping the Jesus’s message under wraps.
In today’s world the infants and children who are being bombed in Ukraine are frightened chicks. The mothers who are traveling without their husbands or partners, to bring the children to hoped-for safety, are like frightened chicks. And the men, teenagers, fathers and grand-fathers, who are staying to fight are like frightened chicks.
Putin is like a frightened chick. The Russian soldiers are like frightened chicks. The leaders who are trying to control the sexuality of our children and dissemination of uncomfortable truths are like frightened chicks.
I shared a picture of a sculpture called "Tower of Mothers" in the Wollaston Congregational Church weekly email. This sculpture was created in 1937 by a German artist, Käthe Kollwitz. Sue Monk Kidd writes "The sculpture depicts women standing in a circle to protect their children from the horrors of war. It’s one of the most powerful anti-war images I’ve ever encountered, a metaphor of fierce determination and solidarity, and a portrait of Ukraine. The artist lost her son, Peter, to World War I and went on to create works that inspire resistance. 'I am in the world to change the world,' wrote Kollwitz."[2]
The way Kollwitz envisions change is through the protection of children from the horrors of war. Enacting this kind of protection means remaining in a place of longing rather than control.
It is hard to stay in a place of longing … the longing to wrap our arms around someone who is not willing … the longing to protect our children or our elders from harm … the longing to steer our nation, our community, our church in the directions that we know are best.
It’s especially hard when we know that a hen does not stand a chance against a fox. Except, as Parker Palmer says “In the long run, [attempts to control] will fail, of course: life always overcomes. But God help those who have to live ‘in the meantime.’”
We who live in the meantime are like chicks, insecure in our world, scurrying here and there in search of someone who will take control. Instead of taking control, Jesus simply extends mother-hen wings for any who would take shelter with him.
We learn from Jesus that this is how we protect and how we help. We live in the longing, extending our own mother-hen wings for those who are willing to take shelter.
May all God’s people say,
Amen
[1] https://www.facebook.com/parkerjpalmer
[2] https://www.facebook.com/suemonkkidd