Every few years, lectionary preachers end up on this curious little passage, where Jesus calls Herod a “fox” and then calls God a “Mother Hen.” Isn’t that neat? Let’s look closer…

When Pharisees warn Jesus that Herod wants to kill him (Luke 13:31-35), Jesus responds with three moves: he declares his mission of healing, he denounces the pattern of political violence that kills prophets, and he envisions God's desire to gather her children together under her wings. This three-part response — declare, denounce, envision — is a model for how the church responds to empire in every generation. Including ours. Including now.

The Magi Didn't Just Take a Detour. They Chose a Different Way Home. Here's Why That Matters.

When the Magi are warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they go home by another route (Matthew 2:12). This is usually treated as a plot detail — the wise men dodge the villain and the story moves on. But the choice to go home by another way is doing theological work. The comfortable, efficient route would have served the empire. The Magi set it aside and chose a longer, harder path — because they realized that the way they were going would benefit the powers that wanted to harm the ones they cared about.

The Magi were not helpless travelers. Let's be clear about that. They had resources — education, wealth, the capacity to chart a fast, comfortable trail home. They had every reason to take the efficient route.

But they realized that the way they were going would carry information back to a king who intended to use it for violence. So they set aside the familiar trail and found a new way.

When Jesus says that anyone who puts a hand on the plow and looks back is not fit for the kingdom of God (Luke 9:62), it sounds harsh. Maybe it is. But the plow metaphor is doing something specific — and it's not telling you to abandon your family without warning or surrender your brain at the door. A plow requires sustained attention, active decision-making, and constant correction. Discipleship, it turns out, is not passive. It is one of the most demanding forms of agency there is.

Before we get to the plow, we need to know where we are. Because Luke cares about where we are.

Luke's Gospel, combined with Acts, tells the story of God's mission expanding in concentric circles — Jesus, then family, then the temple in Nazareth, then Galilee, then Samaria, then Jerusalem, then Corinth, Philippi, Ephesus, Greece, and finally Rome. And now across the planet. Luke-Acts is the story of a movement that began in a very particular place and expanded beyond every tribal and national boundary.

In this passage, we're in Samaria. That matters.

The four Gospels are not four copies of the same story. Matthew, Mark, and Luke were written for a season of caution — cryptic parables, coded language, a Messiah whose identity is a secret the reader has to figure out. John was written for a season of declaration — direct statements, bold claims, no parables, no mystery. "God so loved the world." "I am the way." "Love one another." The shift from the Synoptics to John maps onto an experience that some of us know personally: the shift from caution to clarity. From protecting a secret to declaring the truth. From letting people fill in the blanks to saying it out loud. John's Gospel is a coming-out. And the church in 2026 is in a season that needs exactly what John was written for.