Second Sunday in Lent: March 16, 2025

Luke 13:31-35: Jesus, the Mother Hen
Laura Meyers

In our scriptures this morning, we hear many echoes of “home.” When you hear the word home, what are the first things you think about? Is it the physical place where you live…with maybe your favorite chair where you read, or the table where you gather to share meals…or even the garden outside you’ve tended-with food to nourish you or flowers from the seeds of a loved one?  

Those images did come to mind as I thought about home….but outweighing those…were the feelings I have when my partner, Scott and I will call one another and say, “I just needed to hear your voice,” ….or the overwhelming feeling of comfort when my daughter, Anna comes home from UW, and all four of us are reunited …..the love I feel from my dogs when I’ve returned …and they shower me with kisses and greet me with tails wagging, and always the feeling of being held in the arms of anyone who embraces me in a hug—the common denominator being deep longing, refuge, and the places where I am fully known and loved. With God, home is a place of radical welcome, where grace abounds, where we are held in love even when we falter, and where we find rest for our weary souls. 

In our lesson from Genesis, these echoes resound in God’s covenant with Abram—a promise of belonging, protection, and a future, as God leads him from uncertainty into a place of inheritance, as vast and enduring as the stars in the sky. They ring in Paul’s letter, where he assures us that our true belonging is in God, where Christ transforms us and calls us into a citizenship not of this world, but of heaven—a home where we are held in love, hope, and glory. In our gospel, Jesus embodies this home, inviting us into a love that does not waver, a presence that does not abandon, and a belonging that cannot be lost—He longs to be a mother hen gathering her children under her wings, drawing us in that warm embrace of unwavering love.

He says, “See, your house is left to you” (Luke 13:35). In biblical tradition, “house” often refers to the Temple, the place where God’s presence was meant to dwell. Jeremiah 22:5 warns that when people abandon justice, their houses will be left in ruins. This passage is a stark warning that when a community turns away from God’s ways—neglecting those in need, rejecting the voices that call for justice, and aligning itself with oppressive forces—it dismantles the refuge it was meant to protect. 

Jesus’ lament carries this same sorrow, grieving for people who have turned away from the protection of God’s love, placing their trust instead in power and control, which can never truly keep them safe.

As you reflect on what home means to you, we must remember the harsh reality that, for millions worldwide, that physical home is a distant memory or an impossible dream.

As of 2025, over 122 million people worldwide have been forcibly displaced due to persecution, conflict, and human rights violations (UNHCR, 2025). In Ukraine, 6.9 million people have fled the country, while 3.7 million remain displaced within its borders. The war in Sudan has forced over 6 million people from their homes, with 1.2 million seeking refuge in neighboring nations.

In the U.S., 771,480 people are unhoused (USA Facts, 2024), and since January of this year over 37,000 individuals have been deported (Reuters, 2025).

After 15 months of war in Gaza and Palestine, over 46,000 Palestinians have died, and nearly 90% of Gaza’s 2.1 million residents have been displaced. Families are forced to relocate repeatedly, facing famine, cold, and dire conditions, as homes, hospitals, schools, and places of worship are reduced to rubble.

It is heartbreaking. But it is not new. Jesus, too, knew displacement. He knew rejection. Today, we hear the Pharisees warn him that Herod wants to kill him. Jesus begins his reply with, “Go and tell that fox…” Some may interpret Jesus’ words as a way of calling Herod cunning or deceptive. But just a few sentences later, Jesus likens himself to a mother hen, longing to gather her children under her wings in protection. The contrast becomes clear—Herod, the fox, represents the way of power, self-interest, and control. Jesus, the mother hen, represents vulnerability, courage, and that shelter of sacrificial love.

In the world of predators and prey, a fox is a cunning and dangerous figure. A hen, by contrast, seems ill-equipped for defense. She has no sharp teeth or claws, no speed to outrun a predator, and no brute strength. And yet, when danger arises, she does the most powerful thing she can—she gathers her chicks under her wings, offering herself as their shield. If the fox comes, the hen does not run. She stands in the gap. She places herself between the predator and the vulnerable. She absorbs the danger, taking it upon herself so her young may live.

This is the image Jesus chooses for himself—not the soaring eagle, the roaring lion, or the warrior with sword and shield. Instead, he is a mother hen, wings outstretched, gathering her children close. 

Herod Antipas, the ruler of Galilee and Perea, is the same Herod who executed John the Baptist. Calling him a “fox” was a significant insult—foxes in Jewish literature represented deceitful and weak rulers. Jesus makes it clear that Herod’s threats will not stop him from carrying out his mission. His sorrow over Jerusalem connects him to the long line of prophets who came before him— like Jeremiah and Zechariah, who were rejected, persecuted, and, in some cases, killed in the holy city. Jesus knows that he, too, will face rejection and death, yet his response is not one of anger or retaliation but of deep, maternal love.

When He says, “How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings” (Luke 13:34), He is drawing on a powerful image of divine protection. In Jewish tradition, God is sometimes described as a mother bird sheltering her young (Deuteronomy 32:11). Jesus embraces this maternal role, embodying a fiercely protective and deeply vulnerable love.

Jesus’ mission was to gather people—first calling back the exiled people of Israel and then extending that call to the Gentiles. His longing to gather mirrors the promises of Isaiah 60:4 and Zechariah 10:6-10, where God pledges to restore the scattered. Jesus is not only grieving Jerusalem’s past; he is extending an invitation, offering refuge to all willing to come under the shelter of his love.

Lent offers us the opportunity to return to the mother hen’s wings—to find our homes within and rest in God’s presence. This season invites us to slow down and to realign ourselves with the presence of God that sustains and shapes us.

During these forty days, we are invited to reflect on where we have been displaced—by fear, grief, and the pursuit of things that cannot truly hold us—and to consider how we might return. We are asked to recognize how we have strayed, the false shelters we have built, and the burdens we have tried to carry alone. And, we must ask ourselves how we might extend compassion and support to those who have been forcibly displaced, seeking refuge and a place to call home.

Our Psalm this morning perfectly captures this longing:

“One thing have I asked of the Lord; one thing I seek; that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life.” (Psalm 27:5) I can’t tell you how many times when caring for someone at the end of life, the words that are repeated are I’m ready to go home…..

At our core, we all desire to be gathered in, sheltered by God’s love, and know that we are held even when the way ahead is unclear.

Beloved, before I close this morning, I offer the closing verse from our Gospel, from the Psalm Jesus spoke, “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord” (Psalm 118:26). These words, sung by pilgrims entering Jerusalem, were meant to welcome the presence of God. They were chanted during the great festivals, woven into the songs of deliverance and hope. And yet, Jesus wept over a city that would not recognize him, the one who came in God’s name. How often do we, too, fail to see God’s presence among us? How often do we overlook the prophets in our midst, the voices crying for justice, the hands stretched out in need?

Let us pray,

God of mercy and refuge, you have always longed to gather us in, to bring us home, to shelter us under your wings. And yet, time and again, we resist. We chase after what cannot truly hold us, mistaking power for protection, control for security, and self-reliance for strength. We turn away from the very love that seeks to heal and restore us.

Open our hearts to recognize your voice, to trust your embrace. Give us the courage to step toward compassion, even when it costs us something. As Jesus walked toward Jerusalem, unwavering in love, help us walk that same path, even when it calls us into discomfort, even when it makes us vulnerable.

Gather us in, Holy One. Breathe your Spirit into us, that we may become a people who offer refuge to the weary, welcome to the outcast, and the steady presence of your love in a world longing for home.

And may we, when the moment comes, be ready to lift our voices with sincerity and faith, saying Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord.

In the name of Jesus Christ, our mother hen, we pray. Amen.

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Exegesis on Luke 13:31-35, page 131.
Amy-Jill Levine and Marc Zvi Brettler, editors. The Jewish Annotated New Testament: New Revised Standard Version Bible Translation. Oxford; New York: Oxford University Press, 2011.