Resist the Fox’s Fear
Dear Friends,
Last week, we began the season of Lent with an invitation to self-examination. Yesterday evening, in our Lenten supper series, we reflected on the question: “How do I get closer to God?” Bishop Robert Wright of Atlanta invited us to pause, check in with our souls, and ask: What patterns shape our lives? And do they lead to greater well-being—for ourselves and for others?
These questions have stayed with me as I sit with our Gospel reading for this Sunday (Luke 13:31-35). In it, Jesus is warned that Herod—the fox—is out to get him. The crowds urge him to run, to hide, to let fear dictate his next move. But Jesus refuses. He sees Herod for what he is: cunning, calculating, self-serving. And instead of retreating, Jesus presses forward in his mission of healing, casting out demons, and proclaiming God’s kingdom. Then he turns his lament toward Jerusalem, the city that kills prophets, the people who refuse the love of God. And yet, God’s desire remains: to gather them in, sheltering them like a mother hen with her brood—offering safety, embrace, and belonging.
I’m struck by the contrast between the fox and the hen. The fox is an image of fear—the force that prowls at the edges of our lives, whispering that we aren’t enough, that we aren’t safe, that we should retreat. The fox tells us we don’t belong. That change is a threat. That scarcity will define us. Fear is foxy indeed.
And yet, Jesus does not answer fear with fear. He doesn’t play by the fox’s rules. He doesn’t seek escape. Instead, he stands firm in his identity and purpose: “Go and tell that fox that I am busy doing what I came to do.” And then he offers another image—not one of power or cunning, but of nurture, safety, and embrace. God, like a mother hen, longs to gather her children close, to call them to rest under her wings.
To be gathered under God’s wings is to move toward trust. To resist the fox’s whisperings and to step into freedom—the freedom that comes when we know who we are and what we are called to do. It doesn’t mean we won’t encounter danger, or that fear will vanish, but it does mean we don’t have to let fear rule us.
The journey of Lent is, in many ways, a journey of reckoning with our own foxes—the fears that keep us from fully living, from trusting in God’s provision, from stepping forward with courage. What are the foxes that circle your life? The voices that tell you you’re not enough, that you don’t belong, that you should play it safe? And where do you hear the call of the mother hen - the invitation to shelter, to rest, to freedom?
Jesus shows us what it looks like to live in deep trust—to refuse to be driven by fear, to resist the fox’s games, and to step forward in courage. May this Lent be a season of gathering under the wings of God, and a season of learning what it means - for you and for me - to live utterly free.
In Christ,
Amelie
