It may be given to me to speak in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.
Amen. Please do be seated.
There can be something greatly troubling about the reality of the human heart. Human beings
are, of course, capable of love, justice, and acts of great self-sacrifice. And yet there seems to
remain within us a deep-seated inclination to turn away from the path of life and flourishing
that God has set before us.
We often, so often, know what is right. We even see the wisdom of doing what is right. And yet,
time and again, individuals, indeed entire nations, seem to abandon it, the way of the right for
the sake of power, wealth, or autonomy.
The war in Ukraine provides a stark example, as indeed to the horrors that are happening in
Gaza. The world well knows the horror of war, of prejudice, of discrimination. History has
taught us, through terrible cost, that violence and conquest lead only to suffering and
devastation.
And yet, in spite of this wisdom, in spite of the clear and undeniable lessons of history, people
are and have been once again seduced by the temptation of power, the desire to possess, to
rule over that which does not belong to them. Greed and ambition have overcome reason, and
the world once again bears witness to the suffering that follows when human beings choose a
path away from righteousness. Of course, it would be easy for us to read the news and to judge
those who make such devastating decisions.
But before we get too high on our own horse, let us ask ourselves, do we not seek power or
wealth? Have we never sought control in our own lives or over the lives of others? Have we
never been tempted by self-interest at the expense of someone else, by the desire to hold on to
what we have, even if it means holding on and hurting those around us? We must never forget
that the sins of nations begin in the hearts of individuals, ordinary individuals like us. This, of
course, is no new phenomenon. We see the same pattern through history and indeed in
scripture.
Consider the Israelites in the wilderness. They had seen firsthand the miraculous works of God.
They had seen the plagues.
They had escaped Egypt. They had walked through the Red Sea on dry ground, been delivered
from slavery by the mighty hand of the Lord. They go on to taste manna and quail, drink water
out of a rock.
And yet, as they stood at the mount of Sinai, as they stood at the foot of Mount Sinai, as it
thundered with the presence of God's glory, the divine presence dwelling among them in the
ark of the covenant, yet overwhelmed by such evidence of God's goodness and faithfulness,
even yet they turned away. In one of their most striking acts of rebellion, as Moses ascended
the mount to receive the Ten Commandments, the people lost patience and demanded a God
that they could see and control. And so they fashioned a golden calf, offering it worship as if the
works of their own hands could replace the living God.
This wasn't merely impatience, it was idolatry, an abandonment of their covenant relationship
with God in favour of something easier, something they could manipulate. Israel's rebellion is
often described through the Old Testament in terms of idolatry, but it's deeply relational and at
other times described as akin to the betrayal of a faithful spouse. God loves his people with the
devotion of a perfect marriage partner, and yet humanity so often acts like a cheating partner.
The prophet Hosea captures this heartbreak when he recorded the Lord's words, I will punish
her for the festival days of the barls, when she offered incense to them and decked herself with
ring and jewellery, and went after her lovers and forgot me, says the Lord. That's Hosea chapter
2. And this is the very essence of sin, it's not just rule-breaking, it's not just a lack of wisdom, it's
not even just idolatry, it is betrayal of the one who loves us perfectly. But again, just as we can't
stand in judgement of the nations, neither can we stand in judgement of Israel.
In the Old Testament, Israel served as a priestly people, and they were called to act on behalf of
all humanity in their relationship with God. And so their failure was everyone's failure, their sin
is our sin. Because whenever we choose to put ourselves before God, before the good path to
flourishing which God has for us, we are Israel.
Every act of selfishness, every indulgence in pride, every decision made out of greed rather
than love is another golden calf, another betrayal of the one who seeks only to have a perfect
relationship with him. This tendency to act like an unfaithful spouse stems from a yet deeper
reality. We know that we cannot control God.
God's love is perfectly free. He loves us because he is love, and there is nothing that we can do
to influence or control that love. We cannot make God love us any less or more by our actions
or choices.
But by contrast, the things which we might love, which are not God, are created by us and so
are easy to control. We can manipulate them, shape them to suit our own desires, use them to
serve our own ends. But this distorted love is not merely a manipulation of things that are less
than God, it is in truth a disordered love which manipulates us.
In our pursuit of freedom and autonomy, we don't gain control, we lose it. Because instead of
walking into the freedom of God's love, we find ourselves bound by chains of our own making,
chains of greed, of pride, of selfishness and despair. We seek control, but in our seeking we
become enslaved.
The psalmist in Psalm 115 recognises this destruction of the self through idolatry. He says their
idols are silver and gold, the work of human hands. They have mouths but do not speak, eyes
but do not see.
Those who make them are like them, and so are all who put their trust in them. Those who
make idols become like their idols. Their idols are dead pieces of metal, just as the golden calf
before Sinai was a dead piece of metal.
The idols we create deaden us, because our disordered love takes us towards their lifelessness
as we abandon God's life and love. Of course, you of us are very likely to make a golden calf,
probably because we're not quite good enough to make a golden calf if we really tried to, but
we're very good at making idols. Whenever we devote ourselves in love to something which is
not God, whenever we allow that love to replace our love for God, that thing becomes for us an
idol.
Maybe it's a job, maybe it's a relationship, maybe it's money or possessions, maybe it's family,
maybe it's even the church. Anything can so easily become an idol when we allow it to replace
God. As we turn to our gospel reading, we see this same rebellion at work.
The Pharisees come to warn Jesus that he needs to leave because Herod is seeking his life.
Maybe they were trying to protect him, maybe they just wanted him to leave. But Jesus knew
that his mission led inexorably to Jerusalem, this city that rejected its prophets time and again.
And so he lamented over the people's unwillingness to be gathered under his care, as a hen
gathers her brood under her wings. The people refuse. That same pattern of rebellion which we
saw in the wilderness and which we see throughout the Old Testament played out once more
as the people turn away from the life that God has for them in Jesus and sought their own way,
their own control.
Disordered love leads to disordered life. Sin takes us away from God and turns our hearts to
that which is less than him. And in loving that which is lesser, we place ourselves on the path
towards death because nothing apart from God can sustain life.
And unfortunately, Israel and Jerusalem discovered this in 70 AD when their path towards their
own power led to a revolution and their own destruction and the destruction of the temple. But
of course, Jesus's anguished mourning over Jerusalem was not the end of the story. In a
reversal of human wisdom, Jesus refused to leave the city of God but stayed and submitted to
death on a cross, crucified by people whose God was power.
Jesus took on our broken humanity, bore the full weight of our disorder and rebellion. In him, in
his life, death and resurrection, our humanity was given its path to healing. Indeed, in him, we
begin the journey towards being made perfect.
We are drawn into his divinity and our disordered love is reshaped into perfect Trinitarian love.
Because we are invited into perfect relationship with God in his name. If we choose to become
Jesus's disciples, he promises that we are in him and he is in the Father.
And so, by his grace, our very being is lifted to God. This isn't some abstract healing, it is real
and active. Through the indwelling of the Holy Spirit, through engagement with the
sacraments, we are united again and again with the work of Christ.
Most especially in the Eucharist, which we'll come to share in a moment. We are drawn into the
life of the Trinity, receiving Jesus's body and blood so that we may be transformed afresh in and
through him. Christ doesn't merely call us to repentance, he provides the means by which we
are changed so that our love may be reordered and our lives restored.
The question this Lent is, will we allow him to do his work within us? Will we admit that we do
create idols all the time of power or of wealth or of self-will? And will we submit to the love
which has the power to change us? Or will we hear Jesus's words of lament spoken over us as
they were spoken over Jerusalem? Let us not be a people who had the chance to be healed but
refused because of our stubborn hearts. This Lent, let us grasp our fresh chance to decide. Let
us be gathered under his wings as a hen gathers her brood.
Amen.