In the beginning, Jesus wasn’t moving toward Jerusalem.  He was moving away

from Jerusalem, preaching and teaching and healing and staying one step ahead of the religious authorities who wanted to keep him quiet.  Whenever he healed people, he would warn them not to tell anyone about it – or about him.  He stayed just out of reach of the authorities, slipping away from them in Capernaum, Cana, and Nazareth.

Then he stopped, and turned along the road to Jerusalem.  The disciples, we imagine, looked at each other for a minute and then fell in behind him.  More or less…  Eventually, some Pharisees warn him that Herod, who had killed John the Baptiser, is intending to kill him – but he seems not to care.  He knows the almost certain consequences that lie ahead – what does hearing a death threat add? Jesus’ response implies that he assumes these Pharisees have, in fact, come directly from Herod, so he exposes this by giving them a message to take back to Herod.

While Jesus brushes off the death threat, he then falls into lament, grief, mourning – not over Herod’s plans for him.  Not over his eventual fate in Jerusalem.  But over Jerusalem itself.  Jesus does not accuse Jerusalem.  His words are of lament.  Later in the long journey, when he finally comes to a turn in the road and sees Jerusalem in the distance, Luke tells us, “He wept over it.”

One of the important things to come out of historical Jesus studies over the last hundred years is the rediscovery and the recognition of the utter Jewishness of Jesus.  And we should not under-estimate the depth of feeling a Jew like Jesus had for Jerusalem.  No earthly place was more precious.  And no place brought out Jesus’ sense of compassion more than Jerusalem.  Jerusalem is a dwelling place of God, the place where God’s glory will be revealed – God’s intention for all of creation.

Jerusalem remains important, today.  A few years ago, Palestinian Christian leaders issued the “Kairos Palestine Document” which included these words: “Jerusalem is the heart of our reality.  It is, at the same time, a symbol of peace and sign of conflict.  While the separation wall divides Palestinian neighbourhoods, Jerusalem continues to be emptied of its Palestinian citizens, Christians and Muslims.  Their identity cards are confiscated, which means the loss of their right to reside in Jerusalem.  Their homes are demolished or expropriated.  Jerusalem, city of reconciliation, has become a city of discrimination and exclusion, a source of struggle rather than peace.”

Jesus’ protest and lament over the narrow short-sightedness of Jerusalem is captured in the striking image of God as a hen, gathering her chicks under her wings.  The Bible is full of metaphors of God, and some of those compare God to an animal – fierce, wild animals, like lions and leopards and bears.  Even when the psalms and the prophets speak of taking refuge under God’s wings, the wings are those of an eagle, not a hen.  And yet here, Jesus compares himself to a homely, vulnerable, humble, mother hen.

But the thing that really strikes me about Jesus in today’s gospel is his clarity. Jesus is absolutely clear about who he is and the task before him.  He is absolutely clear in the choices he is making.  And he is absolutely clear that Herod will not stand in his way.  As we saw last week, it is a clarity that began as he struggled with himself in the wilderness.

So, when Pharisees stop him on the road and say, “Run!  Herod wants to kill you.”  He says 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.  It’s necessary for me to be on my way today, tomorrow, and the next day…’”

Do you hear the clarity?  He doesn’t defend or explain himself.  He doesn’t second guess himself.  He doesn’t change his mind or turn around.  And he doesn’t avoid the consequences of what lies before him.  He has “set his face to go to Jerusalem”.  That is less about the destination and more about his clarity of purpose and direction.

This is not the kind of clarity that gives rise to arrogance, single-mindedness, an unwillingness to listen to others, or the self-assurance that we’re always right. This is a clarity that gives rise to integrity, wholeheartedness, and a vision of life that is connected to something larger than, and beyond ourselves.  The kind of clarity that fosters honesty and authenticity, strengthens commitment and resolve, promotes wisdom and discernment, and enables us to see beyond our own self-interest.

What would it be like to live with that kind of clarity?  What if we could bring that kind of clarity to our relationships, conflicts, and decisions?  What if we engaged the world with that kind of clarity?  What if, as churches, we could have that kind of clarity?

I don’t think it’s a lack of information or intelligence that keeps us from clarity.  I believe it’s a matter of facing the “Herod” in our lives – “Herod” as a metaphor for all the things that cloud clarity in our living.

“Herod” could be, for example, the illusion that someone else is in charge of and responsible for our life, or the institutions to which we give loyalty even after they have betrayed us.  Or “Herod” is the belief that there is some authority out there that knows stuff, and if we can just find him or her, we’ll find the answers to our lives and the solutions to our problems.  Or perhaps our “Herod” is formed of lingering fears, primal wounds, or chronic guilt that determines and drives our lives – the old messages we continue to serve, fight against, or try to heal.  Or it’s the part in us that just wants to make others happy, gain approval, and meet expectations – the ways in which we overcompensate and try to prove ourselves.  Or “Herod” is the stuck places in our life where we do the same old things over and over but nothing ever changes.

Whatever it is, “Herod” clouds our seeing, and causes us to lose focus – things look fuzzy, or vague.  And when we lose clarity in life, we lose something of ourselves.  The world is complex, and I am not.  The world is powerful, and I am not.  I feel overwhelmed and powerless.  I get stuck and act as if I have no choices.

Clarity isn’t about knowing and seeing everything.  And it doesn’t mean we have all the answers.  It’s about knowing and seeing ourselves.  It’s knowing our own heart, our deepest convictions, and what matters most to us.  It’s about seeing clearly our gifts and abilities, and at the same time acknowledging our limitations.  As individuals and – again – as churches.

When we can gain some of that kind of clarity, we find a bit more of ourselves, direction for our life, and choices before us.  And most of the time, in that moment, we know what to do.  We even find ourselves able to invite others into clarity – as Jesus did.

That’s how I want to live.  And that’s how I want Bloor Street – and St. Matthew’s – to live in our future life and ministry.  I want us to live with the kind of clarity that lets us “Go and tell that fox, ‘Look… I am on my way – today, tomorrow, and the next day.’”

Herod is out to get him, to distract him, to rattle him.  But Jesus continues.  He follows his vocation, his innermost calling, and there he finds strength, and purpose.  His life gains perspective.  In Man’s Search for Meaning, his book born of the Nazi death camps, Viktor Frankl quotes the philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche:  “Those who have a ‘why’ to live can bear with almost any ‘how’.”  Jesus’ sense of identity and purpose enabled him to face his fear of suffering and abandonment, trusting that his life had meaning, and that God’s purposes for him and for the world were more enduring than Herod’s violence, and hatred.

We are vulnerable.  Of course we are.  Jesus was, and we are.  But vulnerability is not a weakness, a choice, or something we can arrange to do without. Vulnerability is the underlying, natural state of our humanity.  The desire to be in-vulnerable is the vain attempt to become something we are not, closing off our understanding of the grief of others.  Nietzsche does not say, “Those who have a ‘why’ to live can succeed and prevail with almost any ‘how’.”  Frankl quotes Nietzsche because he wrote, “Those who have a ‘why’ to live can bear with almost any ‘how’.”  Can press on, persist, not lose courage, or hope – can bear with almost any “how.”

The biblical story that counters this story of Jesus continuing on to Jerusalem despite the danger is the story of the prophet Jonah.  Jonah who did not want to go when called, who had no love for the people he was sent to, who wanted God’s wrath to come down on the Assyrians at Nineveh.  Jonah who was terrified, who sought by extreme means to flee what God had called him to.  He could not change his singular view of God as the exclusive defender of the Jewish people.  He could not see God as merciful even to enemies – could not see God’s love, which is able to fuel courage in the face of fear, render violence powerless, and refuses to heed the threats of the “powerful”.  Jonah lacked the clarity of Jesus in that moment, the clarity that enabled Jesus to continue on his way.

We, as churches today, are discovering the need for that kind of clarity as we look at a world of turmoil, unpredictability, and threat, and as we dig deep to replenish the sources of our true calling, our vocation as communities of faith and spirit.  Bloor Street this week embarks on an intensive series of consultations, involving everyone, to listen to one another, to learn, and to sense God’s spirit among us stirring us to clarity for such a time as this.

The journey is hard, and our small acts of justice will not always bear the fruit we want to see.  Jesus’ ministry and death did not immediately change the political and social systems he was fighting against.  He knew that hearts and minds, and destructive systems are not changed overnight… and that’s why he trusted and enabled us to continue what he began for the life of the world.

That life is always coming toward us, in a thousand different ways, every moment of every day, full of promise.  God’s life never gives up, never lets go of us.  Life is waiting for us to say, “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord.”  Not just words of acclamation to be spoken, or shouted, or sung.  They are the words of a people like us, whose eyes, ears, and hearts are clear, and purposeful, and open to what is coming – as promise, as new life.

May it be so.