devotional post #1,998

Luke 13:34-35

Luk 13:34 O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you who kill the prophets and stone those who are sent to you! How often I have longed to gather your children together as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, but you would have none of it!
Luk 13:35 Notice, your house is forsaken! And I tell you, you will not see me until you say, ‘Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!'”

embracing Jesus’ love

Jesus’ image of himself as a mother hen is one of the most tender and surprising metaphors in all the Gospels. He does not compare himself to a warrior, a lion, or a king issuing commands. He compares himself to a hen—vulnerable, nurturing, fiercely protective. A hen gathers her chicks not by force but by love. She spreads her wings, calls out, and offers a shelter that can withstand whatever danger approaches. Under her wings, the weak are safe, the frightened are calmed, and the scattered are gathered into one secure place.

But in Jesus’ lament, the tragedy is not the danger itself—it is the refusal of the chicks. They scatter instead of coming close. They run toward their own ideas of safety, unaware that their independence leaves them exposed. The result is a “forsaken house,” a life without the covering they desperately need. Jesus is not angry; he is heartbroken. His cry, “How often I wanted to gather you,” reveals a long history of divine longing—a God who has been calling, inviting, protecting, and pursuing his people for generations.

And yet, he honors their refusal. He lets them walk away, even though it breaks his heart. Their house remains desolate not because he abandoned them, but because they would not come under his wings. Still, Jesus does not end with despair. He points to a future moment when they will finally recognize him for who he is—the Messiah who comes in the name of the Lord. The door of mercy remains open. The wings remain outstretched. The invitation still stands.

This image speaks powerfully into our own lives. We often imagine strength as self‑reliance, scattering in every direction trying to secure our own safety, our own identity, our own future. But Jesus reminds us that true security is found not in running but in returning. Not in independence but in surrender. Not in our plans but under his wings. And once we have experienced that shelter, we are called to help others find it—to draw them toward the One who longs to gather them, protect them, and give them life.

LORD, we embrace your love and protection, and seek to draw others to you.