The Second Week in Lent: Under God’s Wing
The theme of this year’s Lenten devotional, Full to the Brim, is an invitation into a radically different Lent, a full life. It’s an invitation to be authentically who you are, to counter scarcity and injustice at every turn, to pour out even more grace wherever it is needed. And so, this Lent, let us trust – fully – that we belong to God. Let us increase our capacity to receive and give grace. Let us discover the expansive life God dreams for us.
Read: Luke 13:31-35
Commentary by Rev. Ashley DeTar Birt
While we were in seminary, one of my good friends adopted a dog who, on her best days, could be described as “hectic.” She was (and often still is) a wild tornado of a dog who, although adorable, often got herself into worlds of trouble. There were many complaints of never-ending barking, I and many others bore scratch marks from being jumped on over the years, and there are more than a few stories of injuries caused by this poor pooch. Just recalling the tales is exhausting! And yet, my friend loves her dog with a kindness and patience that I don’t think I’ve ever seen before. She shows kindness and mercy, even when the dog exhausts her. She signs up for training after training, hoping that she and her dog will both learn some skills to help them manage better. She buys toys and treats and equipment so that her dog always knows how much she loves her and has the best chance for success in the world. She is fiercely loving and protecting, showing a warmth and understanding that the world often doesn’t toward her pet. Even when her dog pushes her to her limit, she’s still her dog, and her love never ends.
With this in mind, it’s not hard to understand Jesus’ sentiment in Luke 13. Jerusalem has not always treated Jesus particularly well, and yet it is clear that he still loves it so very deeply. All he wants is to protect it, like a mother hen protects her brood. Jerusalem’s actions can’t and don’t change that, for that is what true, unconditional love actually looks like. We can be frustrating, we can be challenging, we can be difficult. We might even, intentionally or unintentionally, try to push God away. Yet God will remain with us, still loving us because God’s love never ends.
Know that you are loved, no matter what you do.
Come Rain or Shine
“I will keep on.”
That’s what I heard him say.
I will keep on
driving out demons
and healing people,
speaking the truth
and loving endlessly,
searching for the lost sheep
and crying for the brokenhearted,
feeding the hungry
and welcoming the outcast.
“I will keep on.”
That’s what he said, right
after he said my name, right
after he called me beloved, right
after he welcomed me home
and saved me a seat.
And I knew,
there was no stopping him.
I was under his wing.
Come rain or come shine,
today and tomorrow,
this love keeps on.
Poem by Rev. Sarah (Are) Speed
Enough | T. Denise Anderson
Wood and acrylic inlay
Read: Luke 13:31-35
From the Artist | Rev. T. Denise Anderson
Jesus’ lament over Jerusalem’s intransigence is powerful because you can hear a righteous indignation and a deep anguish. He foreshadows his own execution, but his pain is for the waywardness of his people. This is one of a handful of times scripture uses feminine, specifically maternal, imagery in connection to God: “How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings…” (Luke 13:34b, NRSV) That, for me, is significant. As a mother, I know what it feels like to watch from a relative distance as a child makes heartbreaking decisions. I didn’t want to illustrate the details of the scene with my piece; I wanted to depict the emotions in it, to somehow capture the heartache of a parent whose children have chosen a destructive path.
Engaging with this theme has drawn me to wood and water. Here, I’ve moved away from realism and my usual oil paints to a medium with a more graphic quality: wood inlay. I wanted a simple depiction of this very specific pain. I felt that an emotion so germane to the human experience had to be anthropomorphized, and because Jesus uses feminine imagery, I decided to depict a figure who could be perceived as feminine, but perhaps could also be perceived as masculine or nonbinary. The Parent’s eyes are closed as if they cannot bear to watch what’s happening. The hair radiates to the left, mimicking a mother hen’s wingspan. The teardrop is a clear acrylic inlay with its underside painted blue, and the subtle way it refracts and reflects light is reminiscent of water.
As I consider the destruction we continue to visit upon each other and all of creation, I imagine God is still grieved. What emotions arise within you when you consider the human condition?
Pray
Breathe deeply as you gaze upon the image on the left. Imagine placing yourself in this scene. What do you see? How do you feel? Get quiet and still, offering a silent or spoken prayer to God.
Under God's Wing | Lisle Gwynn Garrity
Acrylic on raw canvas with digital drawing
Read: Psalm 27
From the Artist | Rev. Lisle Gwynn Garrity
The beauty of the psalms is that they are personal; they are prayers that are honest, desperate, and undeniably human. The psalms remind us that theology is not just something we think about—it’s something that we live. Scholars think the author of this psalm may have been seeking asylum in the temple, fleeing persecution. Learning that contextual detail expanded the psalm for me—it was no longer just my personal prayer, but the prayer of someone fighting for their life.
The day I began working on this image, I learned that 40 Afghan families would be seeking refuge in the city I call home. With that in mind, I read the psalm again, imagining the words spoken from the lips of one forced to flee their home. When I finished the psalm, I gritted my teeth and prayed my own desperate plea: “Please, make it so, God. May your protection expand to everyone. Please.”
I invite you to read the psalm again from a similar vantage point. When you do this, how does your faith grow fuller? How does this impact your sense of who God is?
When I began this image, I drew a young boy peeking out from the open folds of a canvas tent in a refugee camp. I added rugged stones lining the bottom hem of the tent, holding the flimsy fabric in place. But then I felt compelled to turn the tent flap into a wing with feathers lined in gold. At that point, all the details of the boy’s setting no longer mattered. I erased them from the scene. I saw clearly the promise of this psalm: you are under God’s wing. May you dwell there, surely and safely, all your days long.
Pray
Breathe deeply as you gaze upon the image on the left. Imagine placing yourself in this scene. What do you see? How do you feel? Get quiet and still, offering a silent or spoken prayer to God.