Gracious God, help us to see you, in spite of ourselves. Amen.
A story that I love to tell from time to time is from when I was a new priest, serving as the senior priest in a parish for the first time. I’d assisted in parishes a couple of times, but finally, I was out on my own.
In the Book of Common Prayer there are five particular occasions in the life of the church each year that are set aside as being particularly appropriate for baptisms. Some priests will tell you that those are the ONLY times when they’ll do baptisms, but I’ve never been that kind of priest. I generally think it’s a good thing whenever anyone wants to share in this faith journey with us, so I tend not to put up very many roadblocks at all. I want as few restrictions as possible. Bring on the joy!
So, on the very first time that I was doing a baptism all on my own, it was an adult baptism, and she had asked to schedule it for a particular day – a day that would be most convenient for her friends and family. I checked my calendar to make sure I was available, and to make sure that nothing in the church calendar might get in the way of the celebration, and all seemed clear.
The one thing I didn’t think to check was the readings appointed for that day. We got down to the week of the baptism and everything was ready. Some folks in the church had even put together a little celebration for after church to welcome her into the community. And then I sat down to write my sermon.
If I think back to that day, I can still remember the cold wave of realization that hit me once I saw what I was up against. On this long-planned and eagerly anticipated day – a day for the community to celebrate welcoming this beloved child of God into the Christian family – the gospel reading appointed for the day was the story of the beheading of John the Baptist.
It's not a story that comes around in our readings often – just once in the three-year cycle. And to be quite honest, I have a hard time finding much value in it on a typical Sunday when it comes around. So, trying to find a word of hope and celebration for someone just beginning her Christian journey, with that gruesome story as my guide, was nearly impossible.
I don’t remember now what I came up with or what I said – I’m sure I found some way to perform some mental gymnastics to make it work. But I’ve been thinking of that story for the past few weeks as today inched closer.
When I was planning for us to begin our ministry together, I thought of a lot of things. I thought about the time I would need to gracefully conclude my ministry in New Jersey. Michael was directing a production of Angels in America, so I wanted to allow time for that to come to its end. I wanted to give us a little time to orchestrate our move to Toledo, and to start to get settled.
I thought about a lot of things. But what I didn’t think about was how we’d be in the middle of Lent!
This season of somber reflection and introspection is a little bit misaligned with how I’m actually feeling today. I am happy! I am filled with joy! I am eager and excited for the life we’re starting to build together today. Frankly, I am not in the mood for somber reflection and introspection. I’m in the mood for a party! And thankfully, we’ve got one that’s coming together in the back of the church right now.
But as misaligned as the conflicting emotions of this day seem, there is a certain grace in it. Lent is about preparing us to see the world in a completely new way, and about making us ready to see God’s brilliant display of life where the world tells us we could only find death. It’s about shifting our perspectives. And that’s what today is about, too. We are finding new perspectives with and through each other.
So, I hope you’ll forgive me if I’m not exactly ready for sackcloth and ashes today. But I think our work here today – however surprisingly joyful it may be this Lent – I think it still gets the point across. God is doing a new thing here today. It doesn’t look like death, but it definitely looks like new life. And I’m grateful for it.
And the truth is, as Christians, we are no stranger to contradictions. We try to be honest and to act with integrity, but in the end, we’re not here because we’re perfect. We’re here because we want to be a part of a community that helps us to be better versions of ourselves. We’re here because we believe that we can bring each other closer to a clearer understanding of who God is, and who we can be when we understand that God is with us.
But, as much as we worship Christ; as much as we seek to learn from Jesus; as much as we try to align ourselves with God our creator, and grow through the power of the Holy Spirit – even so, it’s not always easy. Even so, we sometimes get in our own way. In fact, more often than I’d care to admit, we Christians can catch ourselves even downright contradicting Jesus. We’ve built our faith around Jesus’ teachings, but all too often, we catch ourselves thinking maybe we know better.
One of my favorites is when churchgoers complain that the church is “too political”. Now – let’s be clear – those complaints only ever come when the one who is complaining believes the political stance being expressed is in opposition to their own. But people will cry out, “The church should stay out of politics!”
While that may be a commonly-held ideal, it’s not an ideal held by Jesus. Jesus was constantly weighing in on the political realities of his time. Even in the text we read today, Jesus is talking about Herod and casting judgements about his political leadership. And Herod wasn’t the only one. Jesus openly disparaged the political leaders of his time because they were counter-productive to his mission.
And even when Jesus wasn’t overtly discussing the politics of his time and region, he was behaving in decidedly political ways. He was contradicting the dominant views of who should be considered worthy of participation in the realm of God. He befriended tax collectors and sex workers. He shared the good news of God’s welcome and love to foreigners and people whom the dominant culture had cast aside.
So, we don’t just struggle to hear and understand the message of Christ; we don’t just struggle to follow the example of Christ; but sometimes we even struggle to avoid working in opposition to the message and example of Christ. We struggle even with something that should be simple: just, not getting in the way!
A few years ago, when Katharine Jefferts Schori was elected Presiding Bishop of the Episcopal Church, she made reference in her very first sermon after her election to the nurturing image of Christ as a mother hen, gathering her brood under her wings. Well, there were some in the church who went ballistic over this. How dare she feminize Jesus? How dare she push her agenda down our throats?
The problem is, she was quoting the Gospel according to Luke. She was quoting what we read this morning, and what we read in church every three years on the Second Sunday in Lent. It was no innovation – at least not for her. The innovator in that image was Jesus.
Luke’s account of Jesus’ teaching was that he said: “How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing! See, your house is left to you. [Some translations say, “your house is abandoned…”] And I tell you, you will not see me until the time comes when you say, ‘Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord.’”
Sometimes it’s Jesus’ own words that challenge us the most. Even for us good, faithful, church-going Christians. Sometimes, we get in our own way.
But whenever the images we encounter in scripture make us uncomfortable, it’s important to ask ourselves why that is. If thinking of Jesus as a mother hen is hard for you, it’s worth asking, why is that? Is it because the gender norms you grew up with are being challenged? Is it because you have a hard time thinking of your savior as a chicken? Whatever it is, these spiritual and emotional challenges are the Spirit’s way of drawing us in.
Jesus is longing to draw everyone in. These teachings show us that God is the God of men and women, and everyone else who might not fit into those neat little boxes. Jesus is showing us that the wisdom and truth of God can be found anywhere – even under the wings of a lowly chicken. Even something as unimpressive and ordinary as that can give us a clearer understanding of God, if we open ourselves to finding God’s wisdom.
“See, your house is abandoned. And I tell you, you will not see me until the time comes when you say, ‘Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord.’”
“The one” – whomever that might be who comes to herald Christ in our lives – might not be “the one” we expect. “The one” could come to challenge our assumptions and to help us see in a more expansive way than we thought we could.
Maybe the new life God is promising will look a lot like death. Maybe it will look like a party in the middle of Lent. Maybe it will look like a clumsy, top-heavy chicken.
It’s not our place to put limits on how God’s love might manifest. It’s only our place to be committed to looking for it – to constantly be working to see around our blinders, so we don’t get in the way.
“Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord.” And “the one” may not be who we expect. It could be feminine. It could be poor. The one who comes in the name of Christ could be a refugee or someone from a different culture that we don’t understand. The one who comes in the name of Christ could be a sex worker or someone struggling with food insecurity or housing insecurity or someone with physical differences that make us uncomfortable. Maybe “the one” could even be a chicken. Who knows?
But it’s on us to look. It’s on us to discover. It’s on us not to miss the wisdom of God that has been hanging in front of us, even when we couldn’t see it. It’s on us. But we will sometimes fail. And even when we do fail, Christ will still be longing to gather us together, as a hen gathers her brood. Even when we fail, we’re not lost. Even then, we are loved. Amen.
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