Excuse me, but is it OK for us to sit here?

A few weeks ago, three visitors walked into church a little late. They came through a door up front near the chancel, and when they opened the door, you could tell that at least one of them was shocked to see people looking at them. It's a bit overwhelming. They walked directly to the front row and sat down in front of me. Now the front row is not an actual pew but wooden chairs that make it look special (It's not really. Some clergy sit there sometimes). We all stood to sing a hymn, and one of the women turned around to me and asked, "Excuse me, but is it OK for us to sit here?" And I practically shouted over the hymn: "Absolutely!" I smiled. The elderly gentleman beside me in the pew gave her a tender pat on the shoulder communicating "You stay right there." So, they settled in for the church service.

I spent the rest of the service thinking about what experiences of not belonging might have led to her question. What places and churches might these visitors have attended that told them it was not OK to sit on the front pew?

Perhaps her question resulted from the oddity of a row of chairs followed by rows and rows of pews. Or perhaps she was a prophet with a question for the Church today: "Excuse me, but is it OK for us to sit here?"

So Much is Out of Control

I’m in a Lent-y kind of mood these days. I’m finding it a little difficult to see Resurrection yet, to see Easter fully around me these days. I’m a little overwhelmed these days by all the bad news surrounding me. The world feels heavy at the moment.

However, winter and long days of little light are slowly leaving us, and signs of spring are emerging. My tulip leaves are sprouting. The gorgeous magnolia tree down the street bloomed this week, a sure sign that spring is coming soon.

I am reminded during these times of in-between that so much is out of my control. And that I love control; I love to have a plan. How much time do we spend planning out our futures as if we can control what is going to happen?

So Much Is Out of Control

Luke 13:31-35 is a bit of a tangled ball of yarn. It’s not straightforward; it’s not simple. We don’t read it and immediately get the point, the spiritual truth that is obvious and ready for our attention.

³¹ At that very hour some Pharisees came and said to him, ‘Get away from here, for Herod wants to kill you.’ ³² He said to them, ‘Go and tell that fox for me, “Listen, I am casting out demons and performing cures today and tomorrow, and on the third day I finish my work. ³³ Yet today, tomorrow, and the next day I must be on my way, because it is impossible for a prophet to be killed away from Jerusalem.” ³⁴ Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing! ³⁵ See, your house is left to you. And I tell you, you will not see me until the time comes when you say, “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord.”’

Jesus has been teaching in various parables telling stories about faith as small as a mustard seed. He has been healing people like the woman who was bent over for 18 years. And now in Luke 13 the Pharisees come to Jesus and tell him that Herod is after him and wants to kill him. Many people see the Pharisees in a negative light as bad people but notice here that they are probably well intended. They're trying to keep their fellow Jew alive.

But Jesus understands his mission in a different light. He begins to talk about the miracles that he has performed today and the ones that he will perform tomorrow. Then he notes that on the third day, he will finish his work. His time on this earth must come to an end.

Turning his focus to Jerusalem, he notes it has a reputation as a place that is rough on prophetic voices, and he laments not being able to comfort Jerusalem.

Jesus uses the image of a mother hen who gathers together her brood underneath her wings providing them protection and motherly love and comfort it is a beautiful image of divinity, a tender understanding of the power of love to provide and care for people.

Jesus is lamenting; he is grieving what could have been. He is weeping over the possibilities that are no longer possible. It is with sadness that he thinks of Jerusalem, sadness at what might have been, sadness over the current reality of the moment. He experiences sorrow and grief.

Even Jesus realizes that so much is out of control.

I've been to the place in Jerusalem that commemorates Jesus’s weeping over Jerusalem. It's located on the Mount of Olives which is a hill overlooking Jerusalem. From there you have sweeping expansive views of the city. In fact, it's one of the best places to take a picture of the city.

They've built a church on this site and named it Dominus Flavit which means “the Lord wept.” The church has a beautiful courtyard outside where people gather today. Tourists are usually more in awe of the landscape and are less likely to be visiting in order to get in touch with their sorrow or grief. People go to Jerusalem to walk where Jesus walked but rarely do they go to weep where Jesus wept.

But inside the church, there is a window that gives you that beautiful scene of Jerusalem. There's also an altar in front of it and on the altar there is a mosaic of a mother hen gathering her chicks beneath her. It's probably one of my favorite places in all of Jerusalem to sit or stand in that church and look at that mosaic of our Mother Hen God and then to look above that mosaic and through the window to modern-day Jerusalem.

Hope and grief. Mixed together. God gathering us together. Fiercely protecting us. And modern Jerusalem, full of tension and conflict as people fight over identity and land.

What are you lamenting today?

What has you in sorrow and grief as you look upon it?

Today I am lamenting the anti-science, hateful bills coming out of Frankfort, Kentucky. Perhaps you've been hearing about these pieces of legislation, pieces of close-minded fear? One of these bills would make gender-affirming healthcare illegal. Health care. Medical services for the benefit and well-being of people. Illegal. Because of fear and a restricted version of religion.

I am lamenting the ways in which it seems at every turn smallness and fear are winning out over the expansive love of the Living God. I am so incredibly sad for and fearful on behalf of my trans students and friends and family members who find themselves under attack. I wonder if I might retranslate our lesson from Luke 13 today to say: Frankfort, Frankfort, the city that kills the people who are different than you!

What a sad moment for our Commonwealth. I lament.

The good news this morning is that the sorrow and grief we feel and the lament we express come from a place of LOVE. It comes from a place of wanting better for someone, for someplace. Jesus wanted something better for Jerusalem. Many of us want a better world, a better state than we have now. Our lament reminds us of our love for justice and a love for people. Our lament over bad legislation reminds us of our commitment to the full dignity of each person.

20th-century philosopher and mystic Simone Weil said, “The Gospel makes no distinction between the love of our neighbor and justice.”

No distinction between love of neighbor and justice. They are the same. Our God, who comes to us as Mother Hen gathering together Her Children, compels us to love our neighbor. To do the work of justice. To lament when we see injustice in the world.

So, lament for the world that has not yet come.

Love your neighbor.

A Benediction (Or Miscellaneous Thoughts)

1. If you know someone who might like to read this newsletter, forward this email to them.
2. Have you seen the creative images for the church year by Kate Trigger Duffert?

3. You can read an online version of this newsletter here.