I’m going to begin with a sappy Mother’s Day quote which is probably in a million Hallmark cards. It is written by Marion C. Garretty. She writes, “A mother’s love is the fuel that enables a normal human being to do the impossible.” As I thought about the differences between moms and dads and the qualities of a good mother, I thought about the way moms meet the physical needs for her children. Shelter, water, food, and warmth. From pregnancy, all the way throughout childhood she provides a sense of safety. She creates stability in the home, establishing routines, and offering emotional support. She fosters love with her children and affection. Children feel like they belong in her home because of the nurture and the strong bond between the mother and the child that produces this connection even to the rest of the family. She boosts her child’s self-esteem. She boosts their confidence through affirmation, encouragement, and positive reinforcement. But she’s not an enabler. She supports and nurtures their talents and interests while also teaching them discipline and problem solving.
The one word that I thought would define a mom would be “nurture”. Webster’s Dictionary defines nurture as training and as upbringing. I thought that nurture was the soft and tender feeling you get when your mom hugs you. But the word actually means “training.” It is “upbringing.” Another definition in Merriam’s Webster’s Dictionary is “the sum of the environmental factors influencing the behavior and traits expressed by an organism.” Or as we would say, “people”. It is the sum of everything that goes into making you who you are. That’s “nurture.”
All these things sound great when we talk about moms, but some of us didn’t grow up with that kind of mother. And even if you did, no mother could give her child everything that child needs to completely fulfill the destiny for which they were created. Even adults who have great moms and dads can grow up and go off and do heinous things. As spiritual beings, we have a deep longing for connection with something greater than ourselves. Human love and acceptance cannot fully satisfy our spiritual hunger for transcendence, or our hunger for purpose and for ultimate meaning in life.
Only a relationship with Christ can provide a sense of wholeness and fulfillment that transcends all the limitations of our humanity. It’s only in Christ and the nurture that He gives that we can realize who we are made to be. The nurture that Jesus gives is intense and persistent. And even though it’s rejected, He keeps offering it.
You know, in this passage we’re looking at—Matthew 23—before we even get to verse 37, you need to understand that this chapter contains one of the most scathing rebukes Jesus ever gave. In fact, He delivers a series of direct condemnations aimed at the religious leaders of His day—verses 1 through 33. “Woe to you, Pharisees… you do this.”
“You stop people from entering the kingdom.” Woe to you, Pharisees. They were supposed to shepherd the people, and they failed. But they didn’t just fail—they used the people for their own benefit. Jesus condemns their hypocrisy, their pride, their legalism. He accuses them of neglecting justice, mercy, and faithfulness. And then He warns them that their actions will bring severe consequences—consequences that include the shedding of innocent blood, and the eventual destruction of the temple in Jerusalem. That happened in 70 AD, when the Roman army under Titus came in and utterly destroyed the city.
And yet, amidst all these condemnations, Jesus expresses His lament over the city of Jerusalem and the people who live there. Jerusalem was the religious and political center of Israel. And by using the image of a mother hen gathering her chicks under her wings, Jesus shows His deep longing to gather the people of Jerusalem under His care and protection. It’s a powerful metaphor of His nurture—and of His desire to shelter and protect His people. So let’s look at the nurturing nature of Christ.
Jesus’ nurture is intense.
Matthew 23:37 NASB: “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, who kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to her. How often I wanted to gather your children together, the way a hen gathers her chicks under her wings and you were unwilling.”
Hear the heart of our Lord. The intensity in His voice is seen in the way He repeats “Jerusalem” twice. In Hebrew culture, when a name is repeated like that, it signals deep emotion and gravity. It’s like when your mom didn’t just call you by your first name—she threw in your middle name too. You knew she was getting serious. You better listen. Jesus repeats it because Jerusalem was special—both to Him and to every ancient Jew. It wasn’t just any city. It was the city.
Psalms 137:5-6 NASB: If I forget you, O Jerusalem, May my right hand forget her skill. 6 May my tongue cling to the roof of my mouth If I do not remember you, If I do not exalt Jerusalem Above my chief joy.
Jerusalem was the vision of peace. That’s what the name means—peace. But now, Jesus is saying that this city of peace is about to become the seat of destruction. War is coming. The people will be devastated. And all of it—within 40 years—because of their rejection of Christ. By the time Jesus enters Jerusalem around 30 AD, the city had been Israel’s capital for roughly 900 years. Israel itself had been in the land for around 1,400 years. And if you read the Old Testament, you see a pattern. Over and over again, God warns His people. He tells them, “If you don’t repent—if you remain unfaithful—destruction will come.” And He raises up prophet after prophet to call them back. Sometimes they listened. But only for a little while. Most of the time, they turned away again. And yet, the Lord was always hesitant to execute the justice they deserved—the justice we all deserve. Not just them. Us too. But He held back because of His love for them.
One powerful example is found in the book of Hosea. God tells Hosea, a prophet, to marry a prostitute. Strange instruction—but purposeful. She would be unfaithful to him, and God tells Hosea to go buy her back from slavery. Not to make her a servant, but to take her back as his wife. To love her. That relationship becomes a living picture of God’s covenant love for Israel. Though they continually ran after other gods, God kept pursuing them. In Hosea 11:8, after God has promised judgment, you hear this heartbreak in His voice:
Hosea 11:8 NASB: How can I give you up, O Ephraim? How can I surrender you, O Israel? How can I make you like Admah? How can I treat you like Zeboiim? My heart is turned over within Me, All My compassions are kindled.
It’s like God is saying, “I’m going to judge you—but I don’t want to. I love you.” That’s intense.
Now I want you to know that the basis of Jesus’ love is no less intense. This kind of intense nurture flows out of His compassionate and merciful nature toward sinners and sufferers. You see, whether you realize it today or not—and I think most of us in this room probably do—we have gravely offended God. We’ve done it through our sin, our lack of thankfulness, our distance from Him, our turning away. And yet, His heart toward sinners and sufferers is compassion and mercy. Not enablement, but real compassion and real mercy. His love for His people is so intense that He chose to share in our fate—to experience it alongside us. God became a man in the person of Jesus.
Now realize, Jesus isn’t just any human being. He’s God in the flesh, come to be our Savior.
Hebrews 2:14 NASB: Therefore, since the children share in flesh and blood, He Himself likewise also partook of the same, that through death He might render powerless him who had the power of death, that is, the devil,
That’s intense. God became a man because of the intense nurture He longed to give His people. And His love didn’t stop at becoming human. After He took on flesh, He went to the cross—and He approached it with a kind of sturdy, rugged joy. That sounds strange to us. Who goes to an instrument of death—a brutal, humiliating death—with joy? Yes, the night before in the garden, He did say, “If it’s possible, let this cup pass from Me.” But He followed it with, “Yet not My will, but Yours be done.” What a moment—that inner struggle. But even so, the Bible also tells us there was a kind of joy. Not a fake smile plastered on His face—but a confidence. A resolve. A joy in what He was about to accomplish. Later in Hebrews 12:2, Jesus is described as
Hebrews 12:2 NASB: the author and perfecter of faith, who for the joy set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.
The cross was designed to heap shame on Rome’s enemies. But Jesus didn’t cling to status or reputation—He despised the shame. He pressed through it. Joyfully. Now this wasn’t some twisted, psychotic kind of grin—like something out of a Joker movie. This wasn’t insanity. This was purpose. He knew what He was accomplishing. Because His nurture for you is that intense.
Go back to Matthew 23:37 and notice the way Jesus calls out “Jerusalem, Jerusalem.” He says it twice, displaying His intense nurture for this city—for the people of this city. And look at what He says about them: “Who kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to her.” The tragic reality is that Jerusalem had a long history of killing God’s prophets and persecuting those He sent. Every one of them in the Old Testament faced resistance—every one. That’s not just history. That’s human nature.
The truth is, humankind has a deep hostility toward God’s nurture. God desires to bring us near. To care for us. But in our sin, we push back. He regularly sent prophets to call them to repentance and obedience. But more often than not, they responded defensively. Not with humility—but with resistance. And this goes deeper than Jerusalem. We, the human race, have a built-in aversion to God—at least the God revealed in Scripture. We see Him as a threat to our freedom, to our right to do what we want. That’s what sin does.
Sin distorts our perception of who God is. It twists our understanding of His Word. And when the truth is distorted, we begin to misread His messengers too. That’s why Jesus said, “If they persecuted Me, they will persecute you.” It’s not just about rejection—it’s about blindness to God’s heart.
It reminds me of a son being gently advised by his mother to cut back on video games and focus more on homework. How does he respond? He gets irritated. He deflects. He gets defensive. My friends, many of you know what that’s like. And that’s how we are with God. When He’s trying to do us good, we get defensive. We push back.
And this isn’t just true of unbelievers. Some of the most religious people I know get defensive when confronted with the Bible’s most basic teachings. They say things like, “You can’t say that,” or “Surely God doesn’t expect that from me.” Or they suggest, “You must be reading that wrong.” Instead of humbling ourselves before God and acknowledging our need for His grace, we often react with resistance. We reject the truth. We lash out against those who bring it—just like they did in Jerusalem. They’re no different from us. And we’re no different from them.
And yet, despite Jerusalem’s long history of rejecting God’s messengers—and ultimately rejecting Christ Himself—notice how our Lord responds. He doesn’t lash out in anger or condemnation. He responds with longing. With this deep, intense yearning. Jerusalem, Jerusalem… I’ve sent one after another to you. And now I’ve come Myself. And you still reject Me? You reject My love. You reject My care. You get defensive.
Do you hear His heart in this? Do you realize that nothing in your life—nothing—happens apart from the intense nurture of Christ for you? Even the things you think are horrible? Even the things that feel like setbacks or suffering? They’re part of His upbringing. Part of His training. His care.
Jesus’ nurture is persistent.
Notice what He says: “How often I wanted to gather your children.” How often, over and over again, the Lord sent prophets to them. The Lord held back His judgment and delighted to show them mercy if they would truly repent. Over and over again, Jesus longed to gather His people under His wings. This wasn’t some fleeting moment, some sentimental reaction in the heat of the moment. This was a continual desire of Christ. A longing that persisted over time. It wasn’t something new. He had always longed for them. Despite their rejection and hostility, Jesus doesn’t give up on them. He is persistent in His pursuit of reconciling them to Himself.
And if you’re saved, if you’re His, you know how persistent He is and that He doesn’t give up on you. Even when you run toward your sin and away from Him, He steps in. He puts things in your path because His nurture is persistent and intense. His nurturing love is not conditioned on your response to Him. But we often view it that way, don’t we? We assume Jesus will respond to us based on how we’ve behaved—which we know hasn’t been great.
His care for your life is not based on your performance but rooted in the character of His love. It’s grounded in His compassion. Just because you’ve persistently rebelled against Him doesn’t mean He’s saying, “I’m through with you.” If you’re His, He may make you miserable—not to punish you, but to draw you back, because He loves you. Like a good parent disciplines their child—not out of anger, but out of care. His enduring patience and grace, even in the face of repeated rejection and rebellion, shows His relentless commitment to your well-being. “How often I wanted to gather your children together.”
His parental care and concern are also seen in His longing to gather them together into the blessings of community and fellowship, where they can experience belonging, support, and a restored relationship with Him and with one another. He says, “I wanted to gather you together with the rest of my sheep.”
If a mother had twelve children, would a loving mother be content to leave one of them in the hands of someone dangerous, even if the other eleven were safely tucked in bed at home? No mother would rest content in that situation. A good mother would not settle while even one child remained in danger. In the same way, our Lord reveals His heart: “How often I wanted you to come home. I wanted to gather you to Myself, with your other brothers and sisters.”
This longing is seen throughout the New Testament in the heart of Jesus. A prevalent theme in His character and emotions is compassion and mercy. In Matthew 9:36, Matthew tells us that when Jesus saw the crowds, He felt compassion for them. The Greek word used there is splagchnizomai, from which we get our word “spleen”. It refers to a deep, bodily sensation—care and pity that you feel in your gut.
Matthew 9:36 NASB: Seeing the people, He felt compassion for them, because they were distressed and dispirited like sheep without a shepherd.
He saw the people on the hillsides of Israel as sheep without a shepherd—wandering, vulnerable, and unprotected. In Luke 15, Jesus asked,
Matthew 18:12 NASB: “What do you think? If any man has a hundred sheep, and one of them has gone astray, does he not leave the ninety-nine on the mountains and go and search for the one that is straying?
Jesus does not take His cues from mothers. Mothers take their cues from Him. Consider the heart of the Lord. Reflect on your life—on every major event, both good and bad. Your history could be seen as the story of your life, or it could be seen as the story of God’s persistent and never-ending pursuit of you.
While reflecting on this, I was reminded of a Victorian poet named Francis Thompson. His family expected him to become a doctor, but he struggled under those expectations. That path didn’t work out. He tried other ventures, but those also failed, and eventually, he became an opium addict living on the streets of London. He lived in the Charing Cross district, which was a harsh place in the late 1800s. Despite his circumstances, Thompson was a gifted poet. He frequently wrote responses to editorial columns in London newspapers but never signed his name. Editors grew frustrated, and one even remarked that someone greater than Shakespeare was writing to them—yet they had no idea who it was.
One of his most well-known poems is titled The Hound of Heaven. I won’t read the entire piece—it would take too long—but here are a few lines he wrote while sitting on the banks of the Thames River, reflecting on God and the love of Christ.
“I fled Him down the nights and down the days. I fled Him down the arches of the years. I fled Him down the labyrinthine ways of my mind and in the midst of my tears.”
He was running from God—trying to escape, trying to find purpose and make something of himself after failing to meet his family’s expectations. He felt like a failure. Then he describes God’s pursuit of him as an unhurried chase, a steady and unperturbed pace. God speaks to him:
“All things betray thee, who betrayest Me.”
Everything Francis thought would bring him fulfillment ended up betraying him. Yet in those betrayals, he began to recognize the persistent hand of God—drawing him back even as he turned away. In his desperate search for satisfaction apart from God, he came face to face with his own inadequacy and unworthiness. He acknowledged his failures, realizing that he could not find fulfillment on his own. And at last, he surrendered. In the closing lines of the poem, God speaks:
“Ah, fondest, blindest, weakest,
I am He whom thou seekest.
Thou drivest love from Me, who drawest thee.”
He thought God had given up on him. But God would not let him go. Like a hound of heaven, He pursued. He would not leave him alone. If you belong to Him, He will not leave you either. He will not stop—not for your comfort or ease, but for your good. Not to cause pain, but because He loves you. He will have you, because you are His. Every addiction, every struggle, every trial bears the redeeming stamp of God’s love. All of it.
You may wonder how God could allow certain things into your life. From our perspective, many of them make no sense. But if you will trust Him, He will redeem even the most painful, wretched moments. You are not lost. You are here, listening to His Word. If you are His, He knows exactly where you are. And He is both intense and persistent.
I’m reminded of a moment in The Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis, when Lucy hears that the Savior of Narnia is a lion named Aslan. She’s just a little girl, and she asks, “A lion? Is he safe?” The response: “Of course he’s not safe. But he’s good.” Our Lord is not safe. But He is good. He is intense. And He is persistent.
And then notice that
Jesus’ nurture is protective.
He says He longs to gather them together. How? He uses an illustration—a hen gathering her chicks under her wings. I don’t know what you know about mother hens. I grew up around them. Some were better mothers than others, but one thing was always true: if their chicks were in danger, they had an instinct to cover them. The hen would place her own body between the threat and her chicks, spreading her wings over them. Even if it meant a painful death, she would shield them. I remember one hen in particular we called Featherfoot. I used to call my mom Featherfoot, because that hen wouldn’t just care for her own chicks—she would care for any chicks that came to her.
This is the image Jesus gives us. His heart is filled with tenderness and mercy toward those in sin and in need of saving grace. These were not people cheering Him on. These were hostile, resistant people—and still, this is how He feels about them. Parents know what it’s like to love a child who pushes back, who becomes rude, angry, even hostile, while all you’re trying to do is care for them. Now consider the heart of God, who is far more merciful and compassionate than any of us. Jesus speaks from that kind of tenderness.
Dane Ortlund, in his book Gentle and Lowly, reflects on Matthew 11:28–29. He writes that Jesus “is irresistibly drawn to the fallenness and brokenness of humanity.” Not to those who have it all together—but to those who know they don’t. Even when a believer’s actions seem to create distance, those very actions often become the path that draws us back. He pursues.
I’m reminded of Peter in Luke 5:8. After fishing all night and catching nothing, Jesus tells them to go out again. This time, they catch more than they can handle. Peter suddenly realizes who Jesus is. He is in the presence of the Son of God. His reaction is immediate: he
Luke 5:8 NASB: “fell down at Jesus’ feet, saying, ‘Go away from me Lord, for I am a sinful man!’”
Perhaps you feel like the Lord doesn’t want to be around you today. Peter understood that feeling, and yet you can hear the Lord’s heart toward him. Dane Ortland continues “His deepest impulse is to move towards sin and suffering, reflecting the love that goes beyond affection, mercy, and grace.” Christ is not moving away from you. He is moving toward you—even when you feel the weight of your own unworthiness and the disgust in your soul. That’s precisely what draws Him even closer.
I was reading another book this week: The Heart of Christ for Sinners by Thomas Goodwin. It’s a very readable Puritan work. I often return to writers from the 1600s, and this one is especially accessible that centers on Hebrews 4:15:
Hebrews 4:15 NASB: For we do not have a high priest who cannot sympathize with our weaknesses, but One who has been tempted in all things as we are, yet without sin.
This verse is profound. Our Lord was tempted as we are. Often, we’re tempted to dismiss that by saying, “Yes, but He didn’t have a sinful nature like I do. He was God. Can He really understand?” We need to realize that Jesus, though without sin, can still comprehend and relate to the struggles we face with sin.
His temptations didn’t arise from sinful desires, but He understands the intensity we feel—the pressure and the weight of temptation. He does not approve of sin. He never minimizes it. He never says, “It’s not that bad,” or “You were born that way, so it’s understandable.” He never excuses it. But He understands it. And He meets that understanding with compassion and mercy.
Because verse 15 says He can sympathize with our weaknesses—He has been tempted in every way we should conclude that we are able to
Hebrews 4:16 NASB: draw near with confidence to the throne of grace, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.
I like the King James Version here. Instead of “confidence,” it says “boldness.” That word matters. It is bold for a sinner like me to come and stand before God. Bold to believe I can draw near to Him. But I should, because of what Christ has done. That kind of boldness magnifies who He is. It declares, “I know You are the Christ, the Son of the living God, and I know You love me.” John Owen once wrote that the greatest unkindness you can show to God is to not believe that He loves you.
The people in Jerusalem were unwilling—especially the religious leaders—because Jesus threatened their position. They were known, respected, looked up to. It was a control issue. But we are no different. The answer is not to say, “I’ll try harder,” or, “I’ll clean myself up and make a sacrifice.” Hebrews tells us those sacrifices never took away sin. They pointed to Christ—the only one who could. Until you’re willing to say, “My attempts to reform myself are useless,” and come to Christ alone, you won’t come at all.
One more quote from a book I read this week—Mere Christianity by C.S. Lewis. He writes,
“No man knows how bad he is till he has tried very hard to be good… You find out the strength of a wind by trying to walk against it, not by lying down. A man who gives in to temptation after five minutes simply does not know what it would have been like an hour later. That is why bad people, in one sense, know very little about badness. They have lived a sheltered life by always giving in. We never find out the strength of the evil impulse inside us until we try to fight it: and Christ, because He was the only man who never yielded to temptation, is also the only man who knows to the full what temptation means – the only complete realist.”
Until you realize how intense, persistent, and protective His love is, you will never come to Him. Until you’re willing to relinquish everything and say, “Jesus, I don’t trust myself anymore,” you won’t come. You may try to reform your thoughts and behaviors, but the desires remain. And you wonder, “Isn’t it just as bad that I still want to do the things I shouldn’t want to do?” No matter how hard you try, that impulse is still there. You say, “I’m not worthy of You. Depart from me, Lord.” But until you understand how much He loves you in spite of you—and that He will not leave you alone—you won’t come. His love is intense. His love is persistent. His love is protective.
Look with me at Matthew 11:28, where Jesus calls out to the people:
Matthew 11:28 NASB: Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.
Weary and heavy laden from what? From trying to keep God’s law and failing. Not just from a hard day’s work—Jesus is speaking of spiritual exhaustion. The burden of trying to find meaning and purpose in life. The cycle of trying and failing, again and again. “I still haven’t found what I’m looking for,” says the songwriter. “I can’t get no satisfaction. I try, I try, I try.” To those who are weary and heavy laden, Jesus’s says to you, come and He will take that load off your shoulders and I’ll give you some rest. He says,
Matthew 11:29 NASB: Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me…
What is a yoke? It’s the bar that joins a pair of oxen together. Typically, you want the oxen to be the same size so they can share the load and plow the field evenly. But if one is smaller, the larger ox bears most of the burden. That’s the image Jesus gives us. He says, “Take My yoke upon you.” He already has the yoke on His shoulders. He invites you to come under it—not to carry the weight equally, but to let Him bear the brunt of the work. That’s what He means when He says, “Learn from Me.” Then He describes His heart. As Dane Ortlund points out, this is the only place in the New Testament where Jesus personally describes what His heart is like. And He uses just two words: gentle and humble.
Matthew 11:29 NASB: … for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.
My friends, the Lord is not saying, “I wish you’d clean up your act. I’m putting up with you because I have to, like a mom’s duty or dad’s duty.” When he sees your suffering, your sin, he’s actually drawing nearer to you. I often feel like the worst of the worst. Others might disagree, and that’s fine—we each know only our own hearts. But I mean it. And the Apostle Paul, who wrote much of the New Testament, felt the same. In Romans 7, he confessed his ongoing struggle with sin. Yet he took deep confidence in the fact that there was no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. Jesus wants to nurture you. So come to Him. How do you come to Him?
Cry out to Him where you’re at, wherever you go. If you want to come down here in a moment, yeah, I’ll pray with you. We can do that. Or you can cry out to Him where you’re at. Come to Him. Say, I have no longer worthy or ever was worthy called your child. And I guarantee before you can even utter those words out of your mouth, He’s putting a robe on you, a ring on your finger, and sandals on your feet. So let’s pray as Matthew and the team come up.
Closing Prayer
Oh Lord, the nurture of the best mothers around could not compete with the nurture that you give to your people. Thank you for hiding me underneath your wings, so that I don’t have to bear the brunt of the wrath of God, of your wrath against my sin. Thank you Jesus, that you would actually joyfully endure the suffering that came to you on the cross, in order that you might cover me with your wings and that I might draw close to you because I am not worthy. I am He who was hostile towards you. I am He who continually tries to cross the line. And yet you continually gather me back to yourself. I thank you that you love and care for me with such great intensity, such persistence, and that you protect me the way that you do. Oh, my Lord, save me, make me Yours, and give me a heart that will love You more and more. I forsake myself and I turn to You. In Your name I pray, Jesus, amen.
