3/16/25 Sermon

This morning, we’re going to hear a story from Luke’s Gospel that I think gives us a really personal glimpse into Jesus’ heart — a moment where his mission, his heart, and his lament for the people of Jerusalem all come together. By this point in Luke’s narrative, Jesus has "set his face toward Jerusalem" — He’s on his way to the city, knowing full well that a prophet’s fate is waiting for him. Along the way, he’s been teaching, healing, and challenging the powers that be, which makes him both loved by the crowds and loathed by the authorities. The passage we hear today comes as a kind of interlude — a window into Jesus’ inner world as he continues his journey toward the cross.

Some Pharisees, surprisingly, come to warn him about Herod — the same Herod who had John the Baptist killed. And in response, Jesus shows both his fearless determination and his deep compassion. This text reminds us that Jesus is not a detached Savior but one who feels deeply for the people he came to love and redeem, even when they reject him. So, as we listen, notice the tension between danger and love, between rejection and grace — and ask yourself: What does it mean to follow a Savior who weeps for the very people who turn their backs on him?

Let us now listen for the Word of the Lord as it comes to us from Luke 13:31-35, trusting that it has something to say to us in this time and place.

At that time, some Pharisees approached Jesus and said, “Go! Get away from here, because Herod wants to kill you.” Jesus said to them, “Go tell that fox, ‘Look, I’m throwing out demons and healing people today and tomorrow, and on the third day I will complete my work. However, it’s necessary for me to travel today, tomorrow, and the next day because it’s impossible for a prophet to be killed outside of Jerusalem.’ Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you who kill the prophets and stone those who were sent to you! How often I have wanted to gather your people just as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings. But you didn’t want that. Look, your house is abandoned. I tell you, you won’t see me until the time comes when you say, ‘Blessings on the one who comes in the Lord’s name.’”

WORD OF THE LORD

Have you ever loved someone who didn’t love you back?  Or maybe they just couldn’t or wouldn’t love you the way you hoped they would?

They call it unrequited love… and it sucks… It just does… I’m sorry but I can’t think of a better work for it.  It just sucks…

What makes it awful, I think, is that you feel like there’s a deficit with you.  Something’s wrong with you and if you could just put your finger on what it was, if you could just fix it, somehow it would be better. They’d love you.  If I were thinner or better looking or had more hair… If I were just kinder or more generous or funnier… If I could just get my act together or be a better listener or If I could just show them how much I really do love them and care… then maybe, just maybe, they’d love me back…

You think it means there’s something wrong with you.  And so you go about trying to change, trying to prove to them that you’re worthy of their love.  And somehow you allow the situation to convince you that you’re unlovable. That It’s an insecurity deep inside of you - some flaw you can’t see or understand  or even fix about yourself. And so you work and work and work thinking that you’re the problem.

But then one day if you’re lucky, you wake up and realize the most heartbreaking, painful and helpless truth about the whole thing:  No matter what you do, no matter what you say, no matter how much you work on yourself or attempt to change or try to prove your love - no matter what you do, they’re not going to love you back.  And so you feel helpless… And sometimes you begin to truly believe the biggest lie of them all… That you’re unlovable… It’s awful to feel like an option or a last resort to someone you want to give your whole heart to… And I’m truly sorry if you’ve ever felt that way. Because I know how painful that is.

I think it’s one of the most devastating Heartbreaks we can feel - to love with all we are, with our whole mind, heart and spirit - and to have that love go unanswered.

One of my favorite writers of all time is a man named David Whyte who wrote this beautiful collection of essays called “Consolations”. In his essay called “Heartbreak” he writes that heartbreak is as inescapable and inarguable as gravity. He says Heartbreak is how we mature... Heartbreak is not a visitation, but a path that human beings follow…' And he calls heartache 'the echo of a deeper connection' — the cost of loving someone or something deeply.”

It reminds me of something the great preacher William Sloane Coffin once said about the matter.   He says, All love is unrequited. All love is ultimately unrequited. We never know fully the mysterious otherness of the person who has become our beloved; we never know fully the hopes, dreams, and even the heartbreak that the other carries. To love another is to know that their life is not fully ours to carry or to know. It is to accept that we must always love in the face of ultimate separation, even if that separation comes only at death.

Heartbreak is how we move closer to the reality that the life we are living is not the life we imagined. It is a core experience that helps us to grow and to see the truth that was there all along.

It got me thinking — if all love carries this ache, what about God’s love? What does it mean for God to love us? I think that’s what we hear in Jesus’ words this morning — God’s own heartbreak. Because if it’s true for us — if all love is, in some way, unrequited and always carries the risk of heartbreak — then what does it mean to say that God is love? What does it mean for Jesus to love us, knowing we may never fully return that love? I wonder if that’s exactly what we’re hearing in Jesus’ words — the heartbreak of a God who loves and loves and loves us, and yet so often, that love goes unanswered.

Here’s what Jesus says in Luke 13:34:

"Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you who kill the prophets and stone those who were sent to you! How often I have wanted to gather your people just as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings. But you didn’t want that."

Do you hear that ache?

Jesus gives us a picture — God like a mother hen, spreading her wings to protect her chicks. But the chicks run away. This isn’t anger; it’s heartbreak. A God who longs to gather us, and we refuse. Jesus isn’t scolding them. He’s grieving. He’s standing in the long line of prophets that Jerusalem rejected—but this time, it's God standing there in the flesh, saying: "I just wanted to gather you. I just wanted to protect you, to hold you close, to love you. But you wouldn’t let me."

If William Sloane Coffin is right that all love is ultimately unrequited, then who knows that pain better than God? The God who has been reaching out to humanity since the very beginning — who created us in love, who led us out of slavery, who sent prophet after prophet to call us back — and finally, who comes to us in Jesus, only to be rejected yet again. This is God’s heartbreak. This is a God who loves us not from a distance, but a God who loves us so much that God risks heartbreak — because love that is real always risks heartbreak.

And here’s where it gets even more profound: unlike human love, which will often walk away when it’s rejected, especially after being turned away again and again - God’s love never stops.  It persists. People will give up - and sometimes rightly so for their own safety and sanity. But God never seems to give up. God’s love continues, again and again, reaching out, offering grace, giving love over and over again - even to those who’ve turned away repeatedly. That mother hen keeps her wings open, even if the chicks scatter. God’s love keeps gathering, keeps longing, keeps hoping.

So if that’s the case—if God keeps loving us like that—then the question we have to ask is: How do we love God back? How do we answer that love? How do we reciprocate or requite that love?

First, we let God love us. Maybe that means sitting in prayer and saying, "God, I don’t feel worthy, but I’m here." Or hearing Jesus' words and daring to believe they’re for us. Loving God starts with letting ourselves be loved—because we can't give what we haven’t received.

Scripture tells us that that our love for God never starts with us. It’s always a response to what God has already done. 1st John reminds us that "We love because God first loved us.” And the great Reformed Theologian Karl Barth says that God comes all the way to us in Jesus —and Jesus is God’s final Word of love to us. So before we ever think about loving God, God has already decided to love us fully and freely, without holding back — even knowing that love might not be returned.

And when we do let God love us, it starts to change us. It gives us a new identity—no longer defined by our failures or how others see us, but defined by how God sees us as God’s beloved. It frees us from chasing approval and lets us live from a place of security.

The second thing we do is we love Jesus by walking in his way—seeking justice, showing mercy, offering forgiveness. Maybe that looks like speaking up when someone is mistreated, forgiving a family member, or caring for someone overlooked.

And when we do this, it changes us. Loving Jesus shapes us into people who move toward others, not away from them. It softens our hearts and helps us see people the way Jesus does. It teaches us compassion, patience, and courage—so that, little by little, our lives begin to reflect his love in the world.

The third thing we do is we love God by loving others. Maybe it’s checking on a lonely neighbor, speaking up when someone is belittled, or forgiving someone who’s hurt us—not because they deserve it, but because God loved us first.

And when we do this, it changes us. Loving others opens our hearts and reminds us we’re part of something bigger. It helps us see people as God sees them—beloved and worthy of dignity. It makes us more patient, more generous, and more compassionate. Loving others pulls us out of our self-focus and teaches us to live with open hands and open hearts.

And here’s the grace in all this: even when we fail to love God well, Jesus has already loved God perfectly on our behalf. So when we stumble, when our love feels small, we remember that God’s love for us never stops. God has already made room for us in love. And so we know that while we often love imperfectly, it becomes perfect through Christ.

So today, as we hear Jesus’ heartbreak — as we hear his longing to gather us under his wings — maybe we also hear an invitation.

An invitation to stop running.
An invitation to stop believing that you’re unlovable.
An invitation to let God love you — right here, right now, just as you are.

Because here’s the truth: God hasn’t given up on you.
God hasn’t stopped spreading wide those wings.
God hasn’t stopped loving you — even when you’ve wandered, even when you’ve doubted, even when you’ve pushed God away.

So what would it look like for you to say yes to that love today?
Not a perfect yes — not a "got-it-all-together" yes — but just a simple, small yes.

Maybe it’s as simple as whispering a prayer:
"God, if you’re really there, if you really love me, help me believe it."

Maybe it’s sitting for five minutes today — phone down, distractions off — and imagining Jesus, like that mother hen, gathering you close, holding you safe.

Maybe it’s loving someone this week — reaching out to a lonely friend, forgiving someone who’s hurt you, offering kindness to a stranger — and trusting that when you love them, you are loving God back.

So today, I want to invite you to take one step — just one.
Because the truth is: God’s love is already reaching out to you. The only question left is: Will you let yourself be gathered in?

"Jerusalem, Jerusalem... How often I have longed to gather you."

God still longs for you.
God still loves you.

And that love will never give up.

So come. Come and be gathered in.

Amen.