Mother hen Jesus

 

Luke 13: 31-35
New Ark United Church of Christ, Newark, DE
March 16, 2025

Icon of Christ the Mother Hen. Hen with a red comb and brown feathers standing with her wings spread over 11 fuzzy yellow chicks.  Art by Kelly Latimore.

First off, who are these Pharisees? The word has become derogatory to the point of becoming an antisemitic slur. The Pharisees were sages, interpreters of both written and oral Torah, and debated its truths and wisdom constantly. They preserved Jewish tradition after the first temple was destroyed and their people lived in exile for generations. The Pharisees were what would become rabbinic Judaism following the destruction of the Second Temple in 70 CE. And by no means were they monolithic, just as the word Christian definitely does not describe all Christians.



Jesus was most likely a Pharisee himself in that he too was a rabbi that interpreted the law, and throughout the gospels we witness him debate its truths and wisdom constantly. Like many traditions there were conservative and moderate Pharisees as well as progressive ones, and we can probably guess which school of thought Jesus taught and lived. So, when some Pharisees come to warn him that Herod wants to kill him, we can hear it one of two ways: either these folks truly want to protect Jesus or they want to drive him away from his work.



Either way, Jesus is more provoked about the source of his annoyance, Herod, than the messengers. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Jesus calls Herod a fox and refers to himself as a mother hen. Herod is a client king, Jewish in heritage but Roman in his role as king, serving the occupying force in his own country. He is most definitely the proverbial fox in the hen house, a traitor to God’s law and to the most vulnerable of his people.



Jesus on the other hand sees himself as one who longs to gather and protect God’s people, especially the ones who are being trampled under the boot of Caesar. This is the work that he is about: healing the sick, feeding the hungry, forgiving and welcoming sinners, inviting and favoring the poor at the table, essentially the work of justice that comes from empathy. In his empathy for his people, Jesus counts himself not set apart but as one of them, in which his fate is connected to those he lives and works with. He doesn’t just feel their pain. He sees them and he sees himself.

Cartoon by David Hayward. "Jesus Takes a Selfie".  First panel: Jesus aims his phone at himself to take a picture. Second panel; Jesus looks at the photo on the screen.  Third panel: We see the screen and it is full of different faces: people of color, different genders, ages, and one with a head covering and face mask.

When I imagine Jesus, I often imagine this picture from a childhood book. His eyes are filled with love mixed with pity and there is a constant sadness about him. Jesus cannot help but lament and weep for his people because their suffering is neverending.

Illustration from an Arch book in blues, white, and shades of gray.  Jesus is looking over his right shoulder from a boat to the shore where people are gathering to listen to him and be healed. He has a look of pity and sadness on his face.

Jesus laments that Jerusalem, the center of his faith, would not join him at the margins in gathering all God’s children together. We hear echoes of this in author Toni Morrison’s quote, “I stood at the border, stood at the edge and claimed it as central. l claimed it as central and let the rest of the world move over to where I was.”



That is the work of prophets, to stand at the border, at the edge and urge, challenge, sometimes drag the rest of the world away from power and self-interest to where people are suffering. But as we have witnessed time and time again, it is not enough for prophets to stand at the border, at the edge. Instead, like that lone man standing in front of a line of tanks in Tiananmen Square, like marchers across the Edmund Pettis bridge, like students at Kent State and Columbia University, prophets put themselves right in the path of power and self-interest, demanding to be heard, and one by one, they and their movements are trampled under the same boots they resist.



I find it disturbing that in our culture, the term “mother hen” has negative connotations, describing someone who is excessively protective or overly concerned, as if that is a bad thing. As if going above and beyond to ensure the well-being of others is something that needs to be curtailed. Or to have its budget cut. But that’s because we are overly protective of that which does not need protection, like power and self-interest. And so, because it is also a “feminine” quality, it becomes a negative thing to mother hen anything and anyone.



Like providing a free meal to every student. Or healthcare coverage for every resident. Or the rights of free speech for legal permanent residents as much as citizens. Or initiating a government agency that administers aid and development in other countries. Or accepting all genders and sexualities as free and equal. Or declaring housing a human right.



What if, instead of an eagle clutching pointed arrows in its talons, our national seal had a mother hen gathering her chicks under her wings? And if that sounds absurd or silly, let’s ask ourselves why. I’m not advocating that Jesus be our national prophet, far from it. I’m imploring that empathy, protection, concern, lament, and repentance be values that we embrace as a nation, which should not sound absurd at all.



In her 2008 poem “Of The Empire”, Mary Oliver wrote:



“We will be known as a culture that feared death
and adored power, that tried to vanquish insecurity
for the few and cared little for the penury of the
many. We will be known as a culture that taught
and rewarded the amassing of things, that spoke
little if at all about the quality of life for
people (other people), for dogs, for rivers. All
the world, in our eyes, they will say, was a
commodity. And they will say that this structure
was held together politically, which it was, and
they will say also that our politics was no more
than an apparatus to accommodate the feelings of
the heart, and that the heart, in those days,
was small, and hard, and full of meanness.”



We have become a nation whose ego cannot admit when it is wrong, when it has committed harm, when it has dehumanized its own citizens, when its power and self-interest have led us all down the path of self-destruction. We have become the fox in our own hen house.



Which would make Mother Hen Jesus weep indeed. And yet even in his sadness, even in his lament, he did not give up on his work. There really is no such thing as being overly concerned about the well-being of our neighbors, given the meanness of the world these days. And for however small our hearts have been, we need to repent, make a U-turn on the path of self-destruction and commit to the ways of Love and justice. For that is how we remember Mother Hen Jesus and gather his children under his wings.



I dream of one day, and I hope you do too, when it will be said that we were a people whose collective heart was spacious, and soft, and filled with warmth and kindness. When it will be said that to be an American was to be a mother hen to all people, especially those on the margins, at the border, on the edge. And it’s never too late to start. Amen.

Benediction – enfleshed.com

Go in the footsteps of Jesus, devoted to the work of love.
Go in the mystery of the Spirit, surprised by the unfolding of freedom.
Go protected by God—our hope, our Mother Hen.