Eagles, Fowl, and a Savior with Wings
- Kevin Burrell
- 20 hours ago
- 4 min read
The mercy of Jesus is a pair of wings.
“Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you who kill the prophets and stone those sent to you, how often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, and you were not willing.” (Matthew 23:37)
Even in the crescendo of heated accusations, just days before the Cross itself, the tender emotion of Jesus peeks through in that one glorious sentence. It catches us off guard, coming as it does at the end of a litany of “woe-unto-you’s.” If you take a running start at verse 37 by backing up to verse 13, you’ll see what I mean. Jesus holds nothing back, blasting Jerusalem’s religious leaders as blind, derelict, filthy-hearted, serpentine, whitewashed, hypocritical children of hell — a verbal judgment as the teaser trailer of a physical one. But even in the throes of chastising pharisaical nonsense, Jesus still imagines another possibility — a city and a people willing to receive the gathering grace of a mother hen.
A chick is made for its mother’s wings. These past weeks I’ve been watching the Big Bear Valley Bald Eagle live nest cam in Southern California. My wife tells me I’ve become far too emotionally invested, and I’m sure she’s right; I continually pepper our evening meals and bedtime conversations with the unfolding drama of Shadow and Jackie and their two eaglets Sunny and Gizmo. But the parent eagles’ dutifulness inspires me. Jackie bows low and gently ruffles her feathers into place until her hefty wings fully cover her chicks. The channel moderators tell us it’s called a mombrella. I suspect they made that up. But either way it’s a perfect word — a graciously mom-shaped shelter.
Three weekends ago a brutal snowstorm hit the valley, and I stayed up way too late worrying about this poor freezing eagle family (never mind that eagles do just fine in places like Alaska, apparently). At points, it was hard to know for sure if there was still an eagle in the nest under all that piled-up snow. But then a ruffle of feathers threw off enough drift to reveal Jackie still faithfully playing the role of loving mombrella.
It's the image God reveals to an Israelite people recently freed from Egyptian slavery:
“He shielded him and cared for him;
he guarded him as the apple of his eye,
like an eagle that stirs up its nest
and hovers over its young,
that spreads its wings to catch them
and carries them aloft.” (Deuteronomy 32:10-11)
Jesus tells a heart-hardened city; “I wish you would let me be that for you.”
Instead, Jerusalem’s chicks take the hardened way of the Malleefowl. These strange chicken-ish Australian birds lay their eggs in enormous dirt piles and bury them deep to keep them warm. And then they strangely abandon them, jetting off to do whatever adult Malleefowl do with their me-time. When the eggs hatch a few weeks later, the chicks’ first assignment in their smothering dark world is to dig their way out, a process that can take up to fifteen hours. When they finally emerge from the ground like strange little bird zombies, they freeze in place for a solid twenty minutes (either to catch their breath or perhaps to contemplate the stark misery of their existence) and then they quietly wander off alone to go figure life out, without a parent or legal guardian in sight. Happy birthday, buddy.
Malleefowl are born into a cold reality, fending for themselves with no emotional connection to a caring parental presence. No wings wait to take them in. They will find their own way, thank you very much — parental applicants need not apply. And the power brokers in Jerusalem actually preferred it that way.
But our Father’s eagle wings wait for us. Our Savior’s hen wings long to shelter us. The Spirit’s dove wings long to dwell with us. Grace is a thing with feathers. For those who are drawn to trust in a faithful savior, the ruffle of feathers comes near to be your shield and defender.
The story (possibly apocryphal) is often told of a forest ranger surveying the damage of a 1989 forest fire in Yellowstone National Park:
“One ranger found a bird literally petrified in ashes, perched statuesquely on the ground at the base of a tree. Somewhat sickened by the eerie sight, he knocked over the bird with a stick. When he struck it, three tiny chicks scurried from under their dead mother's wings. The loving mother, keenly aware of impending disaster, had carried her offspring to the base of the tree and had gathered them under her wings, instinctively knowing that the toxic smoke would rise. She could have flown to safety, but had refused to abandon her babies.”
When Jesus describes his hen-heart for his people, it’s this and so much more. That mombrella would endure the worst inferno and take the hit for his chicks, huddled over them as their covering. He would die to make them whole, willingly breathing the toxic smoke of their sin, inhaling it as his own, suffering the flames that accompany it. “All we like Malleefowl have gone astray, each of us has turned to his own way, and the Lord has laid on the wings of Jesus the iniquity of us all.” (Isaiah 53:6)
And a living, risen savior is still our covering today, to all those who by faith trust in his wings. In fact, we are clothed in his righteousness. He is oh-so willing to gather us under his wings. Are you?
This Holy Week, take heart that a risen Savior shields, cares, and guards his own — his wings hover over us.