“The Fox and the Hen”

(Psalm 27 and Luke 13:31-35)

          This morning’s gospel text locates us right in the middle of the story. When we catch up with Jesus here, we’re about halfway between a young unwed mother on her way to Bethlehem and that same mother grieving at the foot of the cross.  Halfway between the animals around the manger and the angels at the empty tomb.  A few chapters back, Luke told us Jesus had “set his face toward Jerusalem,” (9:51) and it’s clear from today’s text that he continues to have this goal in mind.  A relatively straightforward narrative here, on the whole. Mostly this warning that Herod Antipas (the same one who killed John the Baptist) is now seeking to kill Jesus, followed by Jesus’ response to this news.

But on another level, our gospel text reads a little like an old fable, doesn’t it?  The fox chasing down the hen, and the hen taunting the fox:  “Here’s where I’ll be over the next few days, just in case you’re feeling hungry?”  And forgive me, but it’s even got a little Road Runner and Wile E. Coyote flare to it, as the storyteller makes it clear he’s on the side of the hen (who would otherwise be the more helpless character). Here the poor fox hasn’t got a chance to catch her – at least not till the hen is good and ready.

          Certainly the animal metaphors are worth mining just a bit, as Luke paints portraits of these two characters, Herod and Jesus.

          First, Herod the fox.  Commentators are divided on the significance of this image, for in the Old Testament, foxes tend to be simply destructive, while in Greek literature, they are generally cunning.  I find both aspects work well for a man who had John the Baptist beheaded and now keeps a close eye on Jesus. Herod understands at some level that this young prophet from Nazareth is a major threat to his authority, so he’s going to do what he can to rid himself of that threat.  But whether it’s cleverness or destructiveness the author has in mind for this particular fox, remember this is not Herod’s own self-designation, but a rather daring insult coming from Jesus. As one commentator puts it, publicly “calling one’s political ruler a ‘fox’ is probably not the best way to procure long life.”[1]

          And then the hen.  We expect this to be a fairly helpless critter, when threatened by a fox.  But notice that’s not at all where Jesus goes with this image.  Instead, think “mama bear instinct” – the desire to protect her cubs (or here, her chicks) is so strong that even the fiercest predator doesn’t intimidate her. Instead of a panicky bird, chased around by a fox, we have a proud, protective hen, sitting calmly on her nest, just daring the fox to try to mess with her, or her chicks.  It’s a marvelous image, this picture of God’s children finding refuge in the shadow of God’s wings.  We see it in Deuteronomy (32:11), a number of times in the psalms (17:8, 57:1, 61:4), and here Jesus uses a similar metaphor for himself.  The twist, of course, is that Jesus offers the shelter of those powerful wings, and the chicks – who he identifies here with the residents of Jerusalem – foolishly refuse the offer.

          In part, of course, Jesus simply knew that Jerusalem, which would be the site of his death and resurrection, would not be, for him, a universally welcoming place.  The phrase we see there at the end of our gospel text - “blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord” – remember, these are the very words with which he’ll be welcomed into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday, but what then?  Rather than being able to gather them all under his wings, he’ll be rejected and betrayed by those closest to him, and as for the rest – there will be an awful lot of voices in that crowd shouting “Crucify him!”  All too similar to the way other prophets have met their end, for speaking the truth to power.  And so Jesus sounds wistful as he laments over the royal city – would that it could be otherwise.

          The fox, the hen, and the little chicks.

          The king, the prophet, and the royal city.

          How does the story resonate for you? 

Do you find yourself mentally noting how many foxes are in power even now?  How difficult it has always been for God’s prophets who speak the truth?

On a more personal note do you long for the protection of those powerful divine wings?  Or in a tone of confession in this Lenten season do we find ourselves a bit too foolish, sometimes, to take advantage of their shelter?

          Perhaps you appreciate the realism here – the fact that this wonderfully soothing image of a mother hen gathering her chicks under her wings for protection is coupled with the reminder that the fox is ready to pounce at any time.  The space under her wings is comforting not only because it’s cozy, but because the world outside can be difficult and dangerous. God’s steady presence, not eliminating life’s pain, but holding us through it.

          I find the imagery in this morning’s psalm helpful in a similar way.  What a great song of comfort we find here in Psalm 27.  “The Lord is my light and my salvation…the Lord is the stronghold of my life…he will hide me in his shelter.”  And yet, the song wouldn’t resonate nearly as deeply without the other half of the equation.  “The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear?”  Well, the Lord is needed as a stronghold because there is actually quite a lot to be afraid of, if we’re honest with ourselves.  The psalmist’s list includes evildoers and enemies, days of trouble, false witnesses, and violent threats, and we could add from our own lists as well.  But it is precisely in the context of these dangers that we hear those powerful words of trust: “I believe that I shall see the goodness of the Lord.”

To pile on yet another metaphor, it’s been said that God doesn’t always still the storm, but he can calm the sailor. (Max Lucado)

          Whichever way we hear the story of the fox and the hen, we are invited this day to bring it into conversation with the rest of our Lenten journey.

          The temptations and dangers that surround us.  But in the midst of them, always, the steady, comforting presence of God.

          The journey toward Jerusalem, and the cross. And an invitation to be gathered up by Jesus along the way.

          Amen.