"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, but you were not willing!"
--Luke 13: 34
On the Mount of Olives in Jerusalem you’ll find the Church
of Dominus Flavit, the Church of the Lord’s Weeping. It’s in the shape of a teardrop and overlooks
the city; in fact, if you look at my Facebook page you’ll see that my cover
photo is taken from inside the church, looking through a window behind the
altar and out onto the city, where the remains of the Temple, the Dome of the
Rock, and the Al-Aqsa Mosque are visible.
Behind the altar of The Church of Dominus Flavit. The Temple Mount can be seen in the background.
The site commemorates this moment, when Jesus weeps over the city and
laments, “How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen
gathers her brood under her wings. Actually, there is a mosaic on the alter of
Dominus Flavit showing a hen gathering her chicks, piercing her breasts so that
they can feed on her blood.
There is so much pain in Jesus’ voice, so much
disappointment that the very people to whom he has come preaching forgiveness
and love have rejected him. That pain
runs deep, as prophet after prophet has been denied or killed by the same
people. It is a pain that is still
visible when you look just outside the Dominus Flavit Church and see barbed
wire, used to keep unwanted folks out, or when you look to the west and see
Bethlehem far off in the distance behind the separation wall. Amazingly, it is this place, a place that has
never truly known any kind of peace, that God chose as
a dwelling place and keeps coming back to, and over which Jesus weeps.
Barbed wire just outside of The Church of Dominus Flavit on the Mount of Olives.
Why did he weep?
Maybe because Jerusalem served as a microcosm of the whole world—since
in ancient times it was actually believed to be the geographic center of the
world; there is still a marker inside the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. Jerusalem was the place where all folks--not just Jews gathered. It was diverse, but it was also full of pain. Jerusalem had corruption, it had
violence, it had oppression of the Other.
It still has all of those things.
So does the world. When Jesus
weeps for Jerusalem he doesn’t just weep for the city God loves, he weeps for
the whole world that God loves, a world full of sin, where people worship their own needs and pay more attention to what the world values than what God values. These are the kinds of folks of whom Paul says in his Letter to the Philippians, "their god is the belly," meaning that they honor only those appetites of the flesh, instead of the higher purposes that God has for them.
We have, all of us, been enslaved by sin. Some of us can
casually shake them off, treat them as if they’re no big deal, but for others
they can weigh pretty heavy on us. This is especially the case for those of us coming from traditions that focus more on our own wretchedness and sinfulness, rather than God's abounding love and mercy. Maybe we
made a decision years ago that has affected where we are today, and that
decision haunts us. Maybe we find
ourselves stuck in a rut, and we think it’s because God is punishing us for
something we did. Maybe we hurt someone
we care about, and we don’t know how to ask for forgiveness. Maybe we just don’t believe that we are loveable, that God could possibly love someone like me. We’ve
all been there, weighed down by sin in all of its twisted forms. And if we say we haven’t, we’re lying.
But there is good news in all of this. Paul reminds the people of Philippi that “our
citizenship is in heaven.” Philippi was
a Roman colony. All around those folks
were reminders of the power and prestige of Rome, but Paul reminds them that it
is not Rome that is the great power and authority over this world, and it is
not Rome to whom they belong. They
belong to the place where the King of Kings rules with sacrificial love, not wealth and military might. That is
where they belong.
It’s where we belong too.
And it’s all because of the love that Jesus has for each and every one
of us. It’s the same kind of love that
he showed when he wept over Jerusalem, wanting to bring the whole city, and the
whole world, into his loving arms. He has, in fact, done just that. Like the hen with her chicks under her wings, he has brought the whole world into himself--those who believe in him and those who do not. For those of us who know him as our Lord, he has fed us with his own blood, as that hen fees her chicks. His blood has nourished us, brought us forgiveness, and given us hope that, too, are citizens of something so much bigger than this world.
We can easily dwell on our own sins and beat ourselves
up. It is especially easy to do so during Lent, a time when many of us feel like all we are meant to do is beat our breasts and wail and lament. We could hold on to our sins and let them eat away at us. We can hold others’ sins against
them and refuse to show compassion toward them.
Or we can hold on to the truth that Jesus loves us. You, me, them. Everybody.
Yes, the world is full of sin, and yes we will fall over and over again. In our baptismal vows we say that we will
promise to repent and return to the Lord, not if we fall into sin, but when. But just as God kept coming back to Jerusalem, so Jesus keeps coming back to us. He does not quit on the people he loves. And he asks us not to quit on him, nor on one another. To forgive even unto "seventy times seven." To keep coming back. As he keeps coming back.
The mosaic on the altar of Dominus Flavit showing a hen feeding her chicks with her blood.
