The fox went out on a chilly night,
He prayed for the moon to give him light,
For he'd many a mile to go that night,
Before he reached the town-o, town-o, town-o,
He'd many a mile to go that night,
Before he reached the town-o.
He ran ‘til he came to a great big pen,
Where the ducks and the geese were put therein,
"A couple of you will grease my chin,
Before I leave this town-o, town-o, town-o,
A couple of you will grease my chin,
Before I leave this town-o."
Many years ago, Joe and I would read the story of that old fox or sometimes sing the folk song to Heather, Paddy, and Tim, and that is the first connection I made when earlier in the week I read our Scripture passage.
I thought of Herod - like that old fox –out to get what he wanted:
Then old Mother Flipper-Flopper jumped out of bed,
Out of the window she cocked her head,
Crying, "John, John! The gray goose is gone,
And the fox is on the town-o, town-o, town-o!"
Crying, "John, John! The gray goose is gone,
And the fox is on the town-o!"
He grabbed the gray goose by the neck,
Throwed a duck across his back,
He didn't mind their quack, quack, quack,
And their legs a-dangling down-o, down-o, down-o,
He didn't mind their quack, quack, quack,
And their legs a-dangling down-o.
Then the fox and his wife without any strife,
Cut up the goose with a fork and knife,
They never had such a supper in their life,
And the little ones chewed on the bones-o, bones-o, bones-o,
They never had such a supper in their life,
And the little ones chewed on the bones-o.
Herod Antipas was not someone to be trifled with. He might have been a puppet ruler of Judea, under the thumb of Rome, but he was the king. He tightly held the reins of power in and around Galilee. There were no two ways about it.
It was this Herod who had executed John the Baptist over a disagreement about the nature of divorce and had presented John’s head with a flourish on a silver platter one night at dinner at the request of his lovely wife, Herodias.
It was the father of this Herod who had ordered all the littlest children in Bethlehem slaughtered when he got wind of a newborn king in the area.
It was this Herod who, at his father’s death, mass murdered men, women, and children in the nearby city of Sepphoris in order to quell a Jewish urban revolt. No – King Herod Antipas was no one to be trifled with.
The Pharisees realized that, and some of them even told Jesus to put a cork on the message he was sending out and tone down the healings and exorcisms he was doing left and right. Did he not understand that he was drawing way too much attention to himself – and that was not good?
"Run for your life!” They urged. “Herod is on the hunt. He is out to kill you!" They seemed close to a veritable panic. After all, the last thing anyone wanted was some sort of peasant uprising.
This Jesus – no matter who he thought he was – just should not be talking about the last being first, and the first being last. As United Church of Christ pastor, Kate Huey reminds us, “Did he not understand that none of it sounded like good news to those who thought they were comfortably (if tenuously) ensconced in the places of prestige and power?”
Oh, that Jesus! He was a bad boy. Maybe he was naïve about just who and what he was dealing with. Maybe he was too young to know just how close he was walking the line. Maybe he was merely cocky, or maybe he was inspired by something that even those most devoted to the Torah could not understand. Because, you see, rather than heeding the well-meaning and sensible advice of the more politically savvy Pharisees, instead, Jesus trash talks the king!
“Oh, that old dragon breath! He is nothing more than a horse’s ‘you know what’. Tell the old fox that I have no time for him right now. Today and tomorrow I am busy clearing out the demons and healing the sick; the third day I will be wrapping things up. Anyway, everyone knows that it is not proper for a prophet to come to a bad end outside Jerusalem. Bring it on, Herod, bring it on.”
Clearly, Herod’s threats did not seem to jeopardize Jesus’ sense of mission in the least. The king’s intimidation did not even affect its timetable, which was defined by someone greater than this two bit puppet ruler.
Who is this man, Jesus? Who is this trash talking upstart rabbi who says what he means and means what he says, who refuses to listen to anyone or anything except the voice that speaks from his heart?
Who is this man who heals the sick, gives sight to the blind, causes cripples to throw away their crutches, and sends demons off with a roar and a groan?
Who is this man who willingly sets out on a journey of conflict and tension that will eventually take him to Jerusalem, the seat of religious and regional political power? And that, for the Gospel writer of Luke, is terribly important.
As Episcopal priest, Barbara Brown Taylor, comments “Nothing that happens in Jerusalem is insignificant. When Jerusalem obeys God, the world spins peacefully on its axis. When Jerusalem ignores God, the whole planet wobbles.” It is hardly rocket science to know that when Jesus stirs things up in the Holy City, there can not possibly be a good end for Him.
United Church of Canada pastor, James Love, puts it this way: Jesus “is moving out from his ministry on the margins of the empire in Galilee and moving towards the center of power, Jerusalem; the big city; the place where the Great Temple stands; but also the centre of Roman regional control…Jesus (seems) to know that…when centers of power have the truth proclaimed in them and to them, they often respond with violence…He seems to know (too) that (his) Good News will cause the powerful to feel threatened.
Who is this man who intuitively understands that Herod’s words are nothing when they stand in the face of the power of the Word of God?
Jesus is a mystery. He is the Great Mystery. One moment we think we know him as the macho trash talking young rabbi, but in the very next verse in Luke’s Gospel, we see someone completely different. It is almost as if we glimpse the raw essence of his soul. Maybe without even thinking, he shares a metaphor for his ministry and his purpose that is so achingly beautiful, so gentle, and, above all, so daringly feminine.
“O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, which killest the prophets, and stonest them that are sent unto thee; how often would I have gathered thy children together, as a hen doth gather her brood under her wings.” (KJV)
Jesus likens himself not to a lion, for he is not – and never will be - the King of the jungle. Neither is he swift like the cheetah nor strong like the ox or the bull. He is so much less – and yet so much more. He is like a barnyard chicken, a mother hen.
Jesus will cry out again for Jerusalem as he sits upon a donkey on the hill outside the city before his triumphant entry on Palm Sunday. That time just seeing the Holy City laid out before him will reduce him to tears.
But for now, it is only a heartfelt lament – almost like a love song. You see, if Jesus had his way, he would gather together all of his people in Jerusalem – all the peasants and the shopkeepers and the scribes and the elders and the Pharisees – and one day even Judas – all of them. He would gather them like a mother hen and protect them under fragile wings.
It is like Barbara Brown Taylor noted. “If you have ever loved someone you could not protect, then you understand the depth of Jesus’ lament. All you can do is open your arms. You cannot make anyone walk into them. Meanwhile, this is the most vulnerable posture in the world --wings spread, breast exposed -- but if you mean what you say, then this is how you stand.”
Once there was a firefighter who came upon an eagle’s nest after a devastating forest fire had ravaged the landscape. The eagle, of course, was dead – charred and stiff now – lying upon her nest. The firefighter kicked the bird away, and all of a sudden peeping filled the air. The chicks had all survived the terrible fire because the mother had spread her wings and lay on top of them. She had given her own life to save them.
Jesus seems to know that his days of trash talking are numbered. He will never be the kind of ruler that anyone expects – or maybe even wants. In his book, the last will always be first, the gentle will inherit, and the peacemakers will end up on top.
And in the end, he will be little more than a chicken – no fangs, no talons, no massive and imposing physical presence. As Barbara Brown Taylor writes so poignantly, all the chicken has is “her willingness to shield her babies with her own body. If the fox wants them, he will have to kill her first.
Which (the fox) does, as it turns out. He slides up on her one night in the yard while all the babies are asleep. When her cry wakens them, they scatter. She dies the next day where both foxes and chickens can see her -- wings spread, breast exposed -- without a single chick beneath her feathers. It breaks her heart, but it does not change a thing. If you mean what you say, then this is how you stand.”
Rev. Nancy Foran is pastor of the Raymond Village Community Church, Raymond, Maine
http://www.rvccme.org/
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