SECOND SUNDAY IN LENT

READING:
Luke 13:31-end
 

Broken Pots

Some years ago, there was a Lent course based on Les Misérables by Victor Hugo. I suspect that many groups watched the musical rather than read the book. However, regardless of how people engaged with the story, it remains a powerful example of transformation through love and perseverance.

You might remember the plot—Valjean, a hardened ex-convict, bitter and full of anger after 19 years in prison for stealing a loaf of bread, finds that upon his release, society continues to reject him. However, his life changes when Bishop Myriel, instead of turning him in for stealing silver, forgives him and gives him even more than he tried to steal. The bishop’s act of radical grace and unwavering belief in Valjean’s potential transforms him.

I wonder what it takes to stand alongside someone who is broken and totally vulnerable. And I wonder if you have ever witnessed someone who has not given up on another person. Sometimes, we see a teacher going the extra mile with a seemingly troublesome child. Or a person at a homeless shelter helping someone over and over again because they need support and understanding.

Transformation often takes a long time, with many slips along the way. When people have been badly hurt and damaged, when they are very vulnerable, it can take a lot of loving persistence to show that we have not given up on them. And when we draw alongside such people, we become vulnerable too—we can get hurt, and our world can be turned upside down, both physically and emotionally.

Today’s Gospel

I wonder what part of today’s Gospel reading caught your attention. In many ways, it is an odd and challenging passage—without an obvious storyline.

The passage occurs during Jesus’ journey towards Jerusalem—a central theme in Luke’s Gospel. It refers not just to Jesus moving physically towards the holy city but to his journey towards His impending death, fully aware of the opposition he faces. It is a journey of total vulnerability that culminates in His crucifixion.

Jesus’s lament

Yet, despite the looming threat of death, we read of Jesus expressing deep sorrow for Jerusalem and for the people who live there. He laments that its people have repeatedly rejected prophets and those sent by God to help and guide them. Jesus’ sorrowful words reveal His deep love for Jerusalem, even in the face of rejection. It is a love that reflects God’s longing to gather His people, like a hen gathering her chicks under her wings—offering protection and tenderness.

I wonder how you emotionally react to this beautiful image of God as a mother hen, shielding her chicks with outstretched wings. Have you ever experienced being held or supported in such an intimate way? A duvet image of God—soft, warm, and protective.

Praying for a broken world

As we reflect on the issues in our world today, as we  pray for the suffering we see across the globe, I wonder if we can glimpse the deep sorrow of a God who is with us in all the crises of today? The God who sees everyone’s vulnerability. The God who is with every child and adult dying needlessly through acts of war or violence. The God who is present with each person experiencing rejection or suffering from malnutrition. The list goes on and on.

Or perhaps there is something happening in your own life that has made you feel deeply vulnerable—so out of control.

If we believe in a God who is with and alongside each person, each of us,  who is hurting, then we see the  God who is prepared to be vulnerable. The spiritual writer Richard Rohr, an American Franciscan friar, suggests that instead of beginning our prayers with “Almighty God,” we might sometimes start with “All-Vulnerable God,” emphasising God’s openness and tenderness in being amongst  us.

A God who became totally vulnerable.

The Incarnation—the birth of Jesus—reminds us that God was prepared to become utterly vulnerable, coming among us as a baby, born in an occupied country and without a proper home.

Anyone who has had the frightening privilege of looking after a newborn will appreciate that vulnerability. The first time we place a newborn in a car, we feel as if every other driver on the road is going ridiculously fast. We are suddenly carrying the most precious, fragile life, and we want to protect it from harm.

And it is in that moment—when we fully appreciate the vulnerability of God’s act of becoming the Christ child—that we begin to understand what it truly means to come alongside those who are hurting.

Every aid worker who enters a war-torn country risks their very being. Every person who steps in to help someone in a challenging situation makes themselves vulnerable too. Even if we are not in physical danger, when we truly empathise with someone in pain, our world can be turned upside down.

How often, when we hold a tragic situation in prayer or hear devastating news, do we find ourselves weeping? Our humanity touches another’s humanity. Our own vulnerability is exposed, and we acknowledge our deep need for God.

The Church today is called to mirror this loving, vulnerable heart of Jesus.

As the institutional Church, we might feel that we are in difficult times—that we are struggling, even failing. But perhaps that is exactly where we are meant to be. A gathered people, a vulnerable people, a broken people.

And it is only when we recognise our own brokenness and vulnerability that we come close to mirroring the Incarnational God we seek to follow. In humility, we serve others, we come alongside others, and in that very weakness, we find God already present in the brokenness of the world.

Mending the broken pot

There is a traditional Japanese technique called Kintsugi—the practice of repairing broken pottery by mending the cracks with lacquer mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum. Instead of hiding the damage, Kintsugi highlights it, turning the fractures into beautiful, unique patterns. This philosophy embraces the idea that imperfections and breakage are part of an object’s history and should be celebrated rather than concealed.

In humility, perhaps this is what we—as individuals and as the Church—are being called to embrace at this moment in time. Coming alongside others in our brokenness—as broken pots—so that the light and love of God may shine through the cracks for all to see.

And in that, the world itself will be transformed.