"Gather Us Up"

(Please read Luke 13:31-35)
Lectionary Lent 2-C

At some point in my early high school years, I decided that I wanted quail for pets (don’t ask why). I went to the local quail hatchery. My three new babies actually hatched in my hands. I took them home to their cardboard box of a nursery, where I had placed soft shavings, a jar lid filled with water, some quail mash (yes, there is such a thing), and soft cloths to keep them warm. Surely they would fall asleep soon. I was wrong. For nights afterward, I found myself sitting on the floor, holding chicks in my hands so that only their tiny heads could be seen. They needed to feel protected, swaddled, safe and warm.

My quail had to be taught to eat the mash and drink the water. They cried out when the security of my hands was found missing in their lives. These little ones needed names, so I gave them all one name (it was easier to call them). They grew into gangly and very vocal adolescents, wanting freedom. I gave them what they demanded. I began to let them out in the backyard, watching them carefully. They would walk in the grass and fly a bit, testing their wings. Always, when I called their name, they would come back to me. But as they grew, they demanded more freedom. I would release them early in the mornings before I left for school. In the afternoons, I would stand in the yard and call their one name, waiting and hoping for their return. Again, I would call their name and search the skies, longing to see the three fly home to me. And that they did. Every morning there was freedom for my "children". Each afternoon, I longed for their return. Always, there was joy as they were back in the safety of my hands. But then one day, they didn’t return. I found out later that they had trusted too much and befriended a cat. It was a time of tears for those I had once held, sheltered and given their freedom.

Maybe it’s the "mother hen" in me that has longed for the return of her chicks, but in reading Luke 13:31-35, my heart feels so deeply for Jesus at this time in his journey to Jerusalem. He knows. He knows that Jerusalem has wandered into a wilderness that keeps the people from hearing his voice. I should think that we can, at times, fill in our own names into Jesus’ longing and lamenting. Often it is our own singular name. "Oh anna, anna." And just as often, it is our one collective name. "Oh beloved children, beloved children. How often I have longed to gather my children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, but you were not willing!" There is this tremendous longing in Jesus for us to come home from our wanderings and those wildernesses that we find ourselves in at times. He calls our names and stands with his sheltering arms open and waiting to gather us in once more. He looks for us on the horizon and longs for us from deep within his heart. What an unimaginable love this proves to be. Soon, at the end of these forty days of Lent, we will once again be reminded just how unimaginable this love is for each of us.

God of the ages, God of the Covenant, God of Love … You are our light and salvation; whom shall we fear? We are pushed into dangerous places and cornered by foxes. We are chased up trees by cats that seek to devour us. But we are your beloved children and if we listen carefully, even in the midst of our own "chirps" and cries for help, we will hear our names being called. Make swift our return to you. Perhaps give us flight back to you. "Oh beloved children, beloved children. How often have I longed to gather you together as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings." With these very words, we see your Son stretch out his arms and open his palms, flesh against wood, for us. Saving grace. Forgiveness of our wanderings. The sheltering arms of his unfathomable love. He has longed for us and we for him and we are saved. We give you thanks, O God, for the shelter of your Love. Amen.

anna