“The Fox and the Hen”

Luke 13:31-35

Pastor Tom Johnson, February 24, 2013

Today’s Gospel reading is one of at least two times Jesus refers to Aesop’s Fables. One reference is to “The Quack Frog” where Jesus quotes the fable word for word, when he says, “Physician heal yourself” (Luke 4:23). This time Jesus refers to Aesop’s Fox and Hen. Aesop probably compiled these stories 500 years before Jesus was born since some of the stories have been found on Egypt on papyri dating back 1,000 years before Christ. In his stories, the Fox is smart, cunning, tricky, and hungry for bird meat. The hen is vulnerable, cautious, and always has to watch her back. Of course, in real life, the fox will always win if the fox gets ahold of a hen; there is little the poor chicken can do to escape his ravenous teeth. Listen to one of Aesop’s fables, about the Fox and the Hen (“The Fox, the Hen, and the Dog”):

One moonlight night a Fox was prowling about a farmer's chicken- coop, and saw a Hen roosting high up beyond his reach. “Good news, good news!” the fox cries. "Why, what is it?" says the Hen. "King Lion has declared a universal truce. No beast may hurt a bird henceforth, but all shall dwell together in brotherly friendship." "Why, that is good news," says the Hen; "and there I see someone coming, with whom we can share the good news." And so saying, she craned her neck forward and looked afar off. "What is it you see?" said the Fox. "It is only my master's Dog that is coming towards us. ...What, going so soon?" she continues, as the Fox begins to turn away. "Will you not stop and congratulate the Dog on the reign of universal peace?" Cunning often outwits itself.

Jesus sees the irony of his own situation. Jesus calls Herod the Fox. Jesus is not resorting to name-calling; he is bringing us into this classic battle between predator and prey. He refers to himself as the Hen. Herod the Fox wants to have Jesus the Hen for a midnight snack...just as his disciples warn him that he wants to kill him. Jerusalem is like all chicken coops that have been invaded by a Fox. The Fox always wins. And the chicks are unwilling to shelter themselves in the shadow of her wings. And here we find the deep cynicism of Jesus' analogy—that for a while, it will look like the Fox has won the day. The Fox will appear to have won when Jesus is arrested and crucified high upon that deathly perch where he spreads his wings on a Roman Cross. But as Jesus says in his story that will unfold over the next weeks, “on the third day I finish my work.” Herod the Fox and Pontius Pilate will think the matter of Jesus the Hen settled when he is pronounced dead and buried. But that is not the end. That is where the hope of the story surpasses its cynicism.

Do you remember how Tom the cat would get his tail caught in the window just before he could swallow Jerry the mouse? Or Wile E Coyote, who would create an explosive ACME rocket and aim it at the Road Runner...and when he lit it, it would not fire off until he was carried off himself on an explosive journey? That is the punchline of the Hen who is caught in the teeth of the Fox—who is in the enemy's cross hairs—targeted by a cunning adversary—but on the third day Jesus has the victory. Jesus the Hen wins. Cunning often outwits itself. Jesus the Hen rises again from the dead.

But unlike the Hen in Aesop’s fable, the Hen has chicks. Jesus has come to shield his people underneath the wings of his protection. Jesus has the maternal instincts found even in the animal kingdom of a hen that would sacrifice herself for her helpless chicks. I watched several videos of hens protecting their chicks from danger. They're pretty hilarious. The hen clucks and squawks violently. She raises her wings to block the view of her chicks in a desperate attempt to preserve the lives of her little ones. The hen selflessly thrusts herself toward the danger. She appears to be driven mad by anyone who would threaten her young chicks. So Jesus appears to be driven insane by his Passion and love for his creatures. He goes directly into the mouth of the Fox in order to deliver us his little chicks.

Jesus says, "How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!" Jesus wants to put his arms around us and for us to hunker down underneath the shield of his strength. He wants to gather us. He wants to draw us in from every part of this world. His voice has gone out like a mother Hen to her chicks. He calls for us to come under the refuge of his wings. We can’t outsmart the Fox. We can’t resist Evil by our own strength. Like the Hen in Aesop’s Fable who appeals to a greater power—the Farmer and his Dog to drive out the Enemy. So we can only appeal to a greater Power—the Lord who heals body and soul—and overcomes the devil, the power of sin, and even death itself. Under the shadow of his wings, we are safe and secure.. His shelter assures us there is no condemnation—but forgiveness of all our sins. The call has gone out; the invitation is given. The willing find refuge and the assurance of his grace.

“A wandering Aramean was my ancestor”

Deuteronomy 26:1-11

Pastor Tom Johnson, February 17, 2013

“A wandering Aramean was my ancestor.” That is the first line of the liturgy of giving thanks for God bringing his people into the promised land. Literally “A wandering Aramean was my father.” This statement intrigues me. It captures the whole story of God’s redemption. It is a way of looking at oneself that goes way beyond the self. Instead of a mere individual with a unique identity coming to worship, the worshiper comes at the end of the line of generations of God’s faithfulness. “A wandering Aramean was my ancestor.” There is a bigger story than my particular story. There are lots of stories to tell.

For the Israelite coming to the Tabernacle, their story began when God called their ancestor, Abraham. And when God called him, he was not chosen because of the uniqueness of his bloodline. His ancestry was just as heathen as anyone else’s. Abraham was from Ur of Chaldees. The region is also called the region of Aram. Abraham was a wanderer; he wandered his way to the land of Canaan. When Abraham’s grandson Jacob had a falling out with his brother Esau, he ran away; and he wandered his way through Aram and married two Aramean women. Their wandering, nomadic life is a reminder that, like Jesus, they had no place to rest their heads or call home. Their wandering, unlike Jesus, was a result of broken relationships and the power and persistence of sin in their lives.

Because of the jealousy of his brothers, Joseph was forced out of his home to wander as a slave in Egypt. Because of the famine, his brothers would wander on down to meet Joseph—the one they sold into slavery. Generation after generation passed. Moses was born. His mother placed him in a wicker basket, and so he began his life wandering down the Nile River. After Moses killed an Egyptian, he was forced into his own wandering in the wilderness. God called Moses from his wandering. Moses led the Israelites out of Egypt, they wandered in the wilderness again. For 40 years, they wandered—40 years of hunger, temptation, and stumbling into sin. And now that they have come into the Promised Land with the words,  “A wandering Aramean was my ancestor.”

And so  Jesus in our Gospel reading, takes on the life of a wandering Aramean—taking on the temptations and struggles of a people groping through 40 years of struggle with hunger, thirst, and temptation.. But unlike those who preceded him, Jesus does not wander and stumble into sin. He maintains a steady diet of God’s Word. He humbles himself and takes on all that it means to be a human being struggling to survive the wilderness of this world.

What could the opening words of our liturgy be this morning? How should we approach the blessings we have received since we have come into the Kingdom of God through the Body and Blood of Jesus? How could you and I summarize the deep and perplexing stories of our lives? And how could we do so celebrating how God has safely brought us into the arms of his mercy and assures us of a safe continued journey to our Promised Land? I know what I would say. “A wandering Viking was my ancestor. My father’s line goes back to the Island of Gotland in Sweden—the battleground of the resiliant and often bloody people who worshiped the gods of thunder, land, and sea. In my wanderings, I have met those who have a wandering Aztec for their ancestor, wandering Han Chinese, various wandering tribes in Africa, and wandering First Nations peoples. When Paul preaches at the Areopagus in Acts 17, he describes the human race as groping and feeling their way toward God.

When the Israelites embrace an Aramean as their ancestor, they are embracing the whole of the human race. They are saying their story is part of a greater human and universal story of what God is doing to bring all nations, tribes, and peoples to him. Maybe that is why Jesus goes into the desert. He identifies with us in his wandering in the desert for 40 years. Certainly, he is the new Israel who does not fall into temptation as the Israelites did. But more importantly, he is a human being who shares our experience of struggle through trial and temptation in this world.

“A wandering Aramean was my ancestor,” we can say, as we give thanks for all God has done. “My journey is rooted in God’s love for my wandering ancestors generations ago. Our journey has taken twists and turns—there was nothing to commend us before a holy and righteous God. But he has called me. He has a plan—not only for me, but my children—and my children’s children, my family, and friends. And the end of our journey, although it may include wanderings, hunger, and temptation—God will bring us safely through to the other side. He will bring us home. And, in some ways our being here this morning is already a homecoming. In this gathering, we are neither Jew nor Greek, Aramean nor Barbarian. We are God’s children. He is our Heavenly Father. Jesus is our Savior. The Holy Spirit is our Counselor. You and I are sisters and brothers in Christ. We have wandered from very different places and peoples. But God has brought us together in his Son.”

"The Veil"

2 Corinthians 3:12—4:2



Pastor Tom Johnson, February 10, 2013

The first time God brought his people to the mountain, it was terrifying. Mt. Sinai quaked and shook at God’s thunderous, trumpet-like voice. The people thought they were going to die. In order to calm the Israelites, God used Moses as his mediating prophet. Moses went up alone to the mountain. Then he came down to reveal God’s Word. But even that did not fully resolve the fear factor for the Israelites. Moses started coming down the mountain with his face shining—radiant because he had been talking with God. Moses was not even aware that his face shone and that having a conversation with our Creator would have such a brilliant effect. This also frightened the people of God. “The were afraid to come near him.” And so, after Moses shared God’s Word with them, he would cover up his face. He put a veil over his shining skin.

In some cultures, wearing a veil is not only the norm, it is required by law. It can be a custom or a religious practice. But usually, it is the women who cover their faces—not elderly men with bright cheeks and luminous noses. In Islamic culture, women wear a hijab or a burqa to dress modestly. They cover the hair, ears, nose, and face—anything that might cause men around them to fall into temptation. Decades ago, women in Lutheran churches wore hats or head coverings to promote modesty and minimize distraction in worship. The New Testament Scripture promotes this idea of modesty.

The veil Moses wore kept the beauty of the Lord’s presence hidden. It kept others from falling into the temptation of fear. The veil covered the glory of the Lord that emanated from Moses’ face. Later, God instructed the Tabernacle and Temple to have a special room where only the High Priest could enter once a year called the Holy of Holies. And God instructed Moses to put a large veil in between his presence their at the Ark of the Covenant and his people. This veil protected the priests and the Israelites from the temptation and danger of entering into his presence thoughtlessly or without reverence.

Today, on the Altar—the Table spread before us—there is a veil draped over the bread and the wine. It is a good reminder that we should receive Communion worthily—believing he is present in his Body and Blood and delivers forgiveness. This week is the beginning of Lent. We will place a veil over the cross in our sanctuary. The cross will somewhat hidden—perhaps as a reminder that the unveiling of the cross is coming closer—a hint that the death of Christ is behind the veil of what Jesus says to his disciples—hidden from their understanding. The veils we wear and drape over things are evidence of our weakness, how easily we fall into temptation, that we are vulnerable to the awesome holiness of God, and that we so easily live under the power of fear.

In our Epistle reading, Paul tells us that there is a veil over our minds—that our nature is not understand God’s Word with mere human understanding—that we cannot, and will not, believe and trust God with our natural minds. We have a veil over our minds that prevents us from experiencing the world as it truly is—full of the glory and presence of God. In our Communion liturgy we quote the angels in heaven who day and night cry, “Holy, holy, holy, Lord God of pow’r and might; Heav’n and earth are full of your glory!” (Rev 4:8). The Angels and the company of heaven see what we only can see as in a mirror dimly—but one day face to face. And “only in Christ,” our Scripture says, “is that veil over our minds set aside.”

On the mount of transfiguration, Peter, James, and John get a peek behind the veil. Moses is there along with Elijah both faces shining brightly. But it is the face and body of Jesus that shines even more brightly still. Like the Israelites before them, they can hardly bear the truth and reality of the glory of God revealed in human flesh. “This is my Son—the Chosen,” the voice from heaven says, “listen to him.” And they are overcome with terror. The disciples see the unveiled Christ, the eternal Son of God, the Light of the World. It is a momentary experience of the reality that Jesus is both divine and human. He is not just Rabbi, teacher, but the Word of the Creator who said, “Let there be light.” This will not be the last time they see Jesus in his unveiled glory. When Jesus is Crucified, the veil in the Temple will be torn in two at Christ’s death. The veil that separated God and his creatures will be removed. Just as we will remove the veil over our cross on Good Friday, so we will more clearly see the significance of the death of Jesus. When Jesus rises again on the third day, the veil that shrouded him in death is removed. We see him bright and glorified. And he assures us that he will take us with him, bless us and keep us, makes his face shine upon us, lift up his countenance upon us, and give us peace.

“A More Excellent Way,” (1 Cor. 12:31b—13:13)

1 Cor. 12:31b—13:13

Pastor Tom Johnson, February 3, 2013

Often called “the love chapter,” 1 Corinthians chapter 13 is the most requested passage of Scripture for weddings that I receive. Of course, these words are not just written for starry eyed newlyweds but for all people. In fact, Paul has the Christian community particularly in mind. In the previous chapter, Paul tirelessly emphasizes that we are all one Body of Christ. We are all united together—what happens to one of us happens to all of us. In the community of God’s people, there is no room for personal agenda. There is no need for Christian celebrities. The abilities and talents of one person should not be valued so much that we ignore the gifts of another. The eye should not say to the hand, “I don’t need you.” The head should not say to the feet, “We can go our separate ways.” If we operate that way, we will not have community. We have personality cults. If each person is not valued, we will have grade school politics—with some in the inner circle and the rest outside.

But Paul wants us to know “a more excellent way”—a better path—a more honorable way of living—a much healthier way to form Christian community. And that more excellent way is summed up in one word: “Love.”

“If I speak in the tongues of mortals and of angels, but do not have love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give away all my possessions, and if I hand over my body so that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.”

Paul invites us into an imaginary church—a spectacular place—where members don’t speak English or Spanish—but “Angel-ish”—the language of angels. Their words drip poetically and sweetly from their lips with great persuasion. This fantasy congregation has prophetic powers—with members who can give an answer to all our questions and read our minds. Every curiosity is satisfied. There is nothing hidden from the prophets’ penetrating eyes. This fantasy community has faith so strong they can change the landscape and geography of the earth. Their prayers move mountains into the sea—prayers that make us have to change our topography maps. This fantasy church is so bold and courageous in their faith that they surrender their bodies. They will throw themselves into the fire willingly. They will jump off cliffs and throw themselves on live grenades for their religion.

But this spectacular world of angelic language, prophetic powers, faith that can move mountains, and offering of selves to the fire is missing one thing: love. There is no genuine, authentic, unconditional love. The language that is supposed to sound angelic. But without love, it is just noise—like an unmusical and angry gorilla beating on cymbals. Without love, even our best poetic language is like nails scraping down a chalkboard in the ears of God and in the ears of a world in desperate need of authentic, genuine love. Prophetic powers may impress those looking for sensationalism and signs and wonders. But without love, reading minds and profound theological insights are worthless—especially for people who hunger for unconditional love. Faith that can move mountains may flatten the Rockies and rearrange the landscape on the Lakeshore. But without love, such faith cannot move the human heart one milimeter. Without love, Paul says “I am nothing.” What Paul is trying to say is, without love, we don’t amount to jack squat. Delivering my body to be burned, jumping off the top of the Willis Tower in the name of religion may be impressive stunts. But without love, it is a waste of human life. Paul says, “I gain nothing.” Your third degree burns are all for nothing.

“Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends.”

Love is not a spectacle of linguistic, theological, pietistic prowess. Love has no selfish agenda. Love is not competitive. Love is not about me. Love is not about the self at all. Love, rather, is an open door into the reality of God’s grace. Love can be the stuttering Christian who speaks authentic forgiveness and hope. Love can be the tongue tied believer who may not have all the answers but genuine compassion. Love can be the stumbling, yet genuine, prayers of God’s people that pray for a broken, needy world. Love is the unsensational, unspectacular, plain, and ordinary lives of God’s people doing acts of love without any need for acclamation or applause. There is nothing phony about true love—nothing disingenuous—nothing self-promoting. Love is selfless…humble…positive…optimistic.

There is something better than sensational and spectacular religion—and that is the reality of God who loves this world—who gave his Son Jesus—who knew human and angelic languages but shared stories and wisdom in the everyday language of ordinary people. He knew the future and hearts of people but also knew our trials and temptations yet without sin. He never doubted or questioned his faith but he had the courage to express his anguish on the cross of feeling abandoned and forsaken by God. He is the mover of mountains and the Author of Creation and the greatest mountain he removed was the guilt and condemnation for all our sin. He handed his body over, not that he would boast in himself, but purchase a place for us in our eternal home.

A noisy gong and two clanging cymbals, $1,200 dollars…explosives that can remove a mountainous obstruction, $15,000…a 30 minute counseling session with self-proclaimed prophet, $150…someone who truly listens, never judges, has genuine concern, and authentic, unconditional love…priceless.