at the First Congregational Church of Stoughton

United Church of Christ

A few weeks ago, I was in A.C. Moore buying prayer shawl yarn, and I saw that the shelves had already been stocked with Easter decorations. It was a little jarring to see the pastel blues, pinks, and yellows of colored eggs and bunny rabbits when in my brain I was deep into the gray of Lent. While I am used to retailers being months ahead of the secular calendar, I think there are many of us who prefer the way the sacred calendar is all but ignored this time of year. After all, the gloom and doom of Lent is a hard sell; it’s a lot easier to skip it altogether and go straight to the soft, fuzzy fun stuff of Easter.

If we did that, however, Easter would have no meaning. If we denied the reality of Jesus’ suffering and death, then we would also deny the full grace and goodness of his resurrection. No, we must travel this season of hard truths and uncomfortable questions.

And so, on this Second Sunday of Lent, we continue our journey with Jesus to the cross as he moves ever closer to Jerusalem. We sense the impending doom in today’s verses, when some Pharisees come to warn Jesus that Herod Antipas wants to track him down and kill him. This petty tyrant is the successor to the evil King Herod the Great of the nativity stories and just as intent on hindering the work God sent Jesus to do. Herod’s vision for the world, motivated by fear and insecurity, is all about power, oppression and exclusion.

Consider the contrast: Herod has soldiers; Jesus has – well, let’s see – a couple of fishermen, a tax collector, and a prostitute or two. Herod rules; Jesus serves. Herod kills his enemies; Jesus prays for his.

Jesus’ vision, motivated by love and forgiveness, is all about transforming the world, all about turning the values of the world upside down. Jesus offers love, compassion and inclusion. And he preaches that the last shall be first; the meek shall inherit the earth; the greatest among us are those who take the role of servants; and tax collectors and sinners will be welcomed into heaven ahead of the righteous and religious.

And so, Jesus continues toward Jerusalem, the city considered to be the dwelling place of God. Its very name means “foundation of peace,” but throughout scripture it has been the place where prophets who are bold enough to speak God’s truth are persecuted and murdered. Knowing that his own fate will be no different, Jesus laments over the holy city which rejects God’s message and God’s messengers, and he cries not for himself, but for those who do not want to hear the Good News of God’s Kingdom built on love, peace and forgiveness. “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it!”

Even with the cross looming, Jesus does not retreat, and he responds unequivocally to Herod’s threats. “Go and tell that fox,” he says. Go tell that cowardly, inept, destructive Herod that I will not be stopped. I will carry on, I will proclaim God’s kingdom, and I will fulfill God’s purpose.

Jesus has chosen a path of faithfulness and service – and ultimately a path of death – because it is “the work” that God sets before him. Jesus calls Herod a fox; and using tender feminine imagery, he likens himself to a mother hen. "How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!”

This image is beautifully depicted in a painting by Frans Floris, which you will find on your white bulletin insert. It is a picture of Christ as on the cross, with his arms outstretched like immense wings, protecting humanity. And at his feet is a mother hen, brooding over her chicks.

On the other side of your white bulletin insert is a picture of the altar at a small chapel called Dominus Flevit, which means “The Lord Wept.” This chapel sits on the western slope of the Mount of Olives, overlooking Jerusalem, and according to tradition, it is on this site that Jesus wept over Jerusalem.

The mosaic medallion on the front of the altar depicts a white hen whose wings are spread wide to shelter the pale yellow chicks that crowd her feet. The words of Jesus’ lament surround her, with the last phrase in a pool of red underneath the chicks’ feet: “you were not willing.”

Lent presents hard truths and uncomfortable questions.

We must face the hard truth that, in the shadowy recesses of our hearts, there may be a little Herod in all of us. And during this holy season of repentance and introspection, we must ask ourselves uncomfortable questions: how have we rejected Christ’s message of love? How have our actions contributed to the oppression or rejection of God’s people? What are the things we do in our society, in our community, in our family, even right here in this church, that would make Jesus weep over us in anguished lament?

We must ask questions which go straight to the heart of our faith: Do we believe that God bestows grace upon us all? Do we believe that God dwells not just with us, but also with those we might consider unacceptable, unlovable, unworthy, and beyond the reach of God’s love?

And, we must look deep into our hearts to ask: Do we believe that each person is created in the image of God? Do we affirm the dignity and worth of every God-created human being? Do we believe that each person is loved infinitely and unconditionally by God? Are we truly committed to Jesus’ vision for the world that embraces all people?

And if we are, then each one of us has a responsibility to proclaim our beliefs with boldness, to be God’s prophets in this time and place.

And that leads to the most uncomfortable question of all is:

“Are we willing?”

Are we willing to speak boldly in the face of opposition?

Are we willing to incarnate Jesus’ inclusive embrace of all people?

Are we willing in this church to extend an unequivocal and public welcome to all people, no matter their age, race, nationality, ethnicity, economic or social status, faith background, marital status, family structure, mental or physical ability, sexual orientation, or gender identity and expression?

In this sacred place, where we can come – in our need – to experience God’s embracing love, are we willing to extend it to others?

In this house of God, where we can come – in our brokenness – to experience Christ’s sheltering grace, are we willing to extend it to others?

The living Christ spreads the wings of his inclusive reach to the farthest margins and proclaims that no one is beyond the embrace of God’s gracious love. And with his arms outstretched on the cross for us, he calls us to do the same.

And he asks us: Are we willing?

Amen.