It will come as no surprise to most of you that I grew up in the suburbs.  Like most suburbanites my understanding of farm life came solely from books, movies and television.  While I have a soft spot for most animals, I can't say that I have any particular fondness for hens.  The few times I have been around them, I mostly just tried to avoid getting pecked!  Save for their ability to provide us with food, at first glance, hens don't seem to have the appeal that many other animals do.

So why, in our gospel reading for this morning, does Jesus compare himself to a mother hen, who longs to gather the chicks under her wing?  Of all the images of God that might be available to us, why pick a hen? 

A quick search of the internet makes it clear that being viewed as a mother hen is a mixed bag.  While there are numerous websites or blogs that speak of folks (usually women) who have been nurturing in some important way, there are also a host of websites that use the word "hen" with significantly less appreciation.  If you think of the term, "hen-pecked," you'll get the picture!

I meet with a group of clergy colleagues every week to discuss the passages from the lectionary (the three-year cycle of readings).  When we got to this passage, one of my colleagues began smiling.  He told about growing up in a fairly impoverished rural area of Appalachia.  His grandmother kept chickens.  Not having money for a hen house, her chickens roamed the yard.  My friend was often given the job of collecting the eggs.  Now since there wasn't a henhouse, this meant he had to wonder around the yard to find where the chickens had laid their eggs.  All in all, it sounded fairly chaotic!  As he talked, I was still trying to figure out what was so appealing about the image of Jesus as a mother hen!

But then he described what happened if a hawk or other threatening shadow crossed the sky.  The mother hen would begin to make a unique sound.  Instinctively, all the chicks knew that sound signaled danger.  They would quickly come running, and the hen would spread her wings wide and hunker down, hiding every last chick.

Now, I've never seen this happen.  But as my colleague spread his arms wide in demonstration, I began to understand what was might be compelling about the image of Jesus as a mother hen. This is a picture of God which does indeed speak to us:   a protective, loving, warm, defending, supporting God.   At some point in your life have you not longed for a place like that?  When the stress and strain of life seem too much, haven't you yearned for a place where the threats of life are held at bay and the pain of life is folded into the warmth of security?   When human love and strength has not proved worthy to the test, don't we long for a place to turn where we know we'll be safe?

The five verses that comprise our gospel lesson this morning are more than a bit challenging.  In truth, it would be easy to go in any number of directions in preaching on this text.  Yet the image of the mother hen kept coming back to the forefront for me.

In the gospel of Luke, most of the action happens as Jesus makes his way to Jerusalem, where he will face certain death.  On his way, some Pharisees tell Jesus that he should move on, because Herod wants to kill him.  It's interesting that the Pharisees, who most often are portrayed as being unhappy with Jesus, are the ones to issue this warning.  Perhaps, like the disciples they don't really understand what Jesus is up to.  Regardless of their motivation, listen to Jesus' response!  "Tell that fox that I'm going to keep on doing what I'm doing until I'm done!"

Then Jesus begins to lament over Jerusalem, "How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!" Contrasted with Herod's political power and violence, we are given an image of vulnerable tenderness. Within just a few verses, we have the interesting pairing of Herod the fox and Jesus the mother hen.  If you put a fox and hen together, where would you put your money?  I've been told that one fox can wipe out a small flock of chickens in a single night.  What is the force of a hen, in the face of the violent stones of Jerusalem?

But I also learned a few things about hens.  After the eggs are laid, a mother hen will "brood" or sit on the eggs for about 3 weeks.  In order for the chicks to develop properly, she'll turn each egg carefully, as often as 30 times a day.  She'll do this using her body, her feet and her beak to move the egg precisely in order to maintain the proper temperature, moisture, ventilation, humidity and position of the egg.  And she will do this not knowing if the eggs have been fertilized or not!

In other words, she is willing to invest her time, her care, and her nurture, without any assurance of the outcome.  After they hatch, a chick, like any other bird, will quickly attach to its mother, following her wherever she goes.  Her chicks know the sound of her voice. They count on her to lead them to food and water and to lead them away from danger. 

A mother hen can be fierce in her defense of her chicks. And their trust in her is absolute.  They huddle under her wing oblivious to the threat that may lurk nearby.  If they try and slip out, she will gather them back in.  There is a tremendous risk for the mother hen in extending her wings. She is exposed and vulnerable.

Richard J. Fairchild writes about a friend who grew up on a farm near Mission, B.C. His friend tells a story about the day that the hen house burned down on his grandpa's place just down the road.  Ike arrived just in time to help put out the last of the fire.  As he and his grandfather sorted through the wreckage, they came upon one hen lying dead near what had been the door of the hen house.  Her top feathers were singed brown by the fire's heat, her neck limp.  Ike bent down to pick up the dead hen.  But as he did so, he felt movement.  The hen's four chicks came scurrying out from beneath her burnt body.  The chicks survived because they were insulated by the shelter of the hen's wings, protected and saved even as she died to protect and save them. (Richard J. Fairchild, Spirit Network 1998-2006 from a sermon entitled, "Of Chicks and Eggs")

A mother hen is literally willing to die if it means that her chicks will be saved! I'm beginning to understand why Jesus might choose that image, as he sets his face toward Jerusalem.  The hen's strength is not the strength of political or military power, but the power of extravagant love that will risk it all.  It's the power we see on the cross.

The problem is that some of the chicks refuse shelter.  They run out from the gracious wings and find themselves unprotected and vulnerable to attack.  While Jesus grieves over Jerusalem, he also grieves over all his "chicks" who throughout the ages have abandoned the safe shelter of his wings.  That includes you and me.

We're fairly familiar with the image of God as our shepherd.  We take comfort in that.  The image of God as a mother hen is far less familiar.  But think about it: aren't we more like chicks than sheep?  We don't live nice, quiet, pastoral lives. We don't follow along calmly.  No, most of us are running around in a million directions, often not even knowing where we're going or what we're up to.  We find ourselves lost before we know it.

As Virginia Ramey Mollenkott has written, "we are the people who refuse to let the child within us cuddle inside the safety of God's protective wings. Because we have a deep-seated fear of being known and loved to the uttermost, we discover ourselves to be (all too often) the chicks who will not be gathered." (Virginia Ramey Mollencott, The Divine Feminine: The Biblical Imagery of God as Female (New York: Crossroads, 1983), p. 92.)

Which chicks are we - those who cuddle in or those who refused to be gathered?  The issue, of course, is that unlike chicks who are imprinted to follow the first moving thing they see, we humans are not.  We make choices each day.  Sometimes the lifestyle of the fox looks pretty alluring.  Power, wealth, winning - we're well-trained to go after those things! 

Sometimes we don't so much refuse to be gathered as we get distracted.  Something across the way looks interesting, and so we wander away - forgetting that the mother hen is calling us.

Many of you may have heard the story about a couple who has been married for a few years, and one day they are getting in the car to go some place.  As usual, he drives. As they are getting ready to pull out of the drive, she turns to him and says, "Remember how it used to be when we were dating? Even in the car, we couldn't stand to be separated and we always sat cuddled up against each other. Remember?" He turned to look at her, and he grinned. "I haven't moved."

Jesus, the mother hen, hasn't moved either. The choice is ours.  Accept the shelter and protection of God's wings, or go it on our own.  We will not be coerced or forced under wing.  Rather, we are called, in every moment of every day to gather with all of the other chicks in the canopy of God's enfolding love.  There may be times when it's a bit cozy under those wings.  Times when we run into each other, or step on each other's toes, or want a little more space.  But those wings are broad enough to include us all.

If we enter the shelter of Jesus, we go with him all the way to Jerusalem, all the way to the cross.  The wings of this mother hen don't promise us that there won't be danger or pain or problems or struggle.  Those wings promise us that we will not be alone and that the power of love that is displayed on the cross will be enough. Are you willing to be gathered in?