Sermon by Michelle - February 21

Have you ever tried to hug a cat?

No, I'm serious. Think of a cat, particularly a cat that's spooked, by a thunderstorm, or a barking dog, or a passing car. You want to reach out, to protect it and hold it close. And the cat... wants to get out as fast as it can. Ouch!

When we hear Jesus speaking about the mother hen in today's Gospel, we often picture a comforting, almost domestic scene: the hen stretching out her wings, prepared to defend the little ones settling in her warm nest. What we forget is that growing chicks - like growing humans and frightened cats - frequently want to be almost anywhere but under the mother's wings. Whether its chicks wanting to explore on their own, cats who don’t want to be picked up, or human toddlers who JUST. WANT. DOWN, the sad truth is that often, the protection offered only seems like confinement. Chicks, cats, and children all think they know best.

This, in fact is what Jesus is grieving when he laments for Jerusalem. Not just that the world is a dangerous place - it is. He knows it. The Pharisees have come to warn him that Herod wants to kill him. Herod, who had killed his cousin John not too long before, because John reminded people of their wrongs. Jesus was not naive about the dangers of the world - he even alluded yet again to his coming death.

But Jesus noticed something else as well. He noticed the confusion. The fear. The emotions that pit people against each other. The terror that leads people to scatter from shelter, and seek their own best defense, rather than shelter in God's protection.

In academia, social scientists have tried for years to understand why people succumb to this behavior: why they seek their own individual good. They have devised countless experiments. In one, four people sat around a table with a bowl full of dollar bills in the center. They were told that if they would all wait - and NOT TOUCH THE MONEY - for fifteen minutes, each of them would receive one fourth of all the money in the bowl. In most cases, the money was gone within five minutes. Because rather than trust the other people to wait, everyone figured it was in their interest to grab as much as they could when they could. The experiment was changed - so that everyone was told there were only twenty one-dollar bills in the bowl, but that each person would get a twenty-dollar bill if the group could wait fifteen minutes. In other words - everyone would get more money - guaranteed - than if they went it alone. It didn't work. In experiment after experiment, after the door closed and the four people sat alone around the table, it didn't take too long for one person to reach out and snatch the first dollar bill out of the bowl. It was better to grab what was available, then to wait in uncomfortable silence, trusting everyone.

The best example of these type of experiments is called the prisoner’s dilemma. The setup is the staple of lots of crime shows: two criminals are brought in on suspicion of having committed some horrible crime together. There is lots of circumstantial evidence, but nothing concrete that would put the two at the scene of the crime. So, the detectives put the suspects in separate rooms, and offer each one a deal: if you admit that you were there, but implicate the other, we’ll go easier on you. You’ll still go to jail, but not as long as the other guy, because you cooperated with law enforcement. Of course, the best situation for the two suspects would be for both of them to stay silent, because there simply isn’t evidence to convict them. They would go free. But, that would require trusting the other suspect to also stay silent. If the other suspect talks, well, then it will look worse for the one who stays quiet. As we all know from TV, this usually leads to the outcome the police want – lots of people ratting each other out. Apparently, there is no honor among thieves.

After years of studying this phenomenon, though, social scientists have figured out a way to beat the system. To make sure that you don't always end up on the losing end. It seems that if you do this multiple times, that is, if you stay in relationship through many interactions, you can eventually build trust and cooperation. It just takes time, and a willingness to be vulnerable and risk being hurt a little.

Of course, God is not cop, manipulating an outcome. Nor is God a criminal, trying to avoid jail time. God is the loving creator of each of us, who only wants to be in relationship with us, to protect us from the world. But Jesus points out that, time after time, we don’t stay in relationship with God. And, tragically, the more experience we have with untrustworthy people, and the more times we have been untrustworthy ourselves, the less we seem able to trust God, too. Once someone has been betrayed, it's hard to trust again.

Even people of great faith have trouble trusting God. Abram wandered the desert, with just his wife, for years, simply because God told him to do so. And now, in today’s Old Testament reading, he has reached a relatively ripe age. For years, and years, God has promised him offspring, land and wealth, which he could leave to his offspring. And today, Abraham has had it. “Where are those offspring, God?” he asks. “You’ve been saying that for years, and yet, I continue childless. How can I trust you?”

Despite this outburst, Abraham is still considered a person of faith. The father of our faith, in fact.

Because Abraham does not abandon God, and God’s protection. He questions it. But there is a difference.

This past Wednesday, we began our program called “Transforming Questions.” After dinner, we tackled the fundamental question: Can a person of faith still have doubt?” As you might have guessed, Abram was one of the examples we used: a man of great faith – who literally left his home and family to follow God’s word, but who still at some point wanted proof that God was planning to deliver. Asking God – being angry with God, being sad about what has happened, and even wondering why God let something happen – all of those are natural responses to life events. We can do that, and God will understand.

But sometimes, we do more than question. We struggle to get away. Like the chicks, or the cats, or the toddlers, we want freedom, not confinement. We think we can do it ourselves, instead of waiting for God’s timing. We view life as a series of problems to be tackled on our own in this moment, instead of asking where God is calling us.

Did you notice who warned Jesus about Herod? It’s not the disciples. It’s not the crowds who follow Jesus around. It is, of all people, the Pharisees. The people Jesus has been chastising, pointing out the errors of their teaching. Lots of people have wondered – why on earth are the Pharisees warning Jesus of Herod’s plans? Are they really trying to protect him? Most people don’t seem to think so. Some have gone so far as to suggest that this was an effort to get Jesus out of their temple, and away from them. Others have suggested in fact that the Pharisees were working for Herod, who didn’t want a scene, either. The idea was that if Jesus had fled Jerusalem, maybe he would have fallen into Pilate’s jurisdiction. Or maybe there’s a simpler answer – the Pharisees saw that Jesus was gaining in popularity, and they were trying to score points with his followers.

Whatever the reason, it would appear that the Pharisees are not finding comfort in Jesus. They see the trouble brewing, just as Jesus does. Yet, rather than find safety in God’s arms and God’s teaching, they scramble out, sure they can find a better way. Play off the powers – try to get protection by allying with the emperor or the popular leader. Try to do something to make sure that they will be protected.

Many years ago, I lived in a house in Ohio, that had been built a hundred years ago, and badly built at that. Whenever storms came through, they would shake the very foundations of the house, which meant that the upper floors would rattle and tremble with each thunderclap. For my cat, it was very unnerving. Yet, the most logical place to which to escape – the solid stone basement – would flood during storms. Within an hour, an inch of water would seep onto the concrete floor – just enough to make one’s paws uncomfortably wet as one sat. And so, whenever it stormed, my cat would dash from one corner of the house to another, frantically seeking safe shelter. And if I would take pity on her, and try to pick her up, to hug her and calm her down – she would desperately try to get out from my arms, wriggling, squirming, and yes, scratching, if need be. Get me out of here! She seemed to say. Let me find a safe place to hide. We think she had been abused before I got her, and so, after a few months and even a few years with me, she did not want to hide in the shelter of my wings.

And so, I would let her go, to resume her frantic search. Until, eventually, she realize that there was nothing safe, or more secure, than to settle on my lap as the storm raged outside; safe, warm, and secure. She searched the whole house – from shaking attic closet to flooded basement pond – only to end up in the place I had first tried to bring her: safe, secure, in the arms of a loving protector.

One definition of sin is anything that separates us from God. Our own nervousness, our impulsive nature, our trust in our own plans, or even the way we sometimes seem to be hardwired to distrust. There are lots of reasons why people flee from the shelter of God. But in Lent, we celebrate - yes, celebrate - the fact that God is always waiting for us, wanting us to return to relationship, and God's loving embrace.