My favorite seminary professor
was a brilliant scholar, a half-
Mexican missionary to Mexico
who read ten books a week
and said of Jonah and the Worm,
a book written for children:
“It’s got some of the best theology I’ve read.”
One morning, pointing to a Matthean passage,
he said: “Jesus was a chicken, here, see?”
then laughed his deep-throated laugh,
not caring no one had the courage
to laugh with him.
Jesus, a chicken?
How that moniker fit Jesus perfectly:
Jesus, a mother hen,
not the proud strutting rooster,
not the American church on Fox News
but the rejected hen who clucks and coos,
longing to gather her chicks under her soft wing,
but they’ve scattered and run off
like baby chicks do.