Wings of Promise, Citizens of Heaven
Second Sunday of Lent – Genesis 15:1-12, 17-18; Psalm 27; Philippians 3:17-4:1; Luke 13:31-35
Lent is a time to deeply reflect on Jesus’ suffering and death, while also looking forward to the promise of resurrection. During this season, we may feel fear as we face our sins and weaknesses, yet we also trust in God’s promise of salvation and in the hope of resurrection. As our Lenten journey deepens, it’s natural to experience alternating feelings of fear and faith, doubt and trust.
Today’s Scripture passages show us what it means to live as citizens of heaven, even in uncertain circumstances. These passages capture the essence of the Lenten journey: self-reflection, spiritual renewal, and faith in God’s unchanging promises.
In Genesis 15, we see Abram honestly expressing his heart. God appears to him saying, “Do not be afraid, Abram, I am your shield; your reward shall be very great.”But Abram openly expresses his deep concern: “O Lord God, what will you give me, for I continue childless, and the heir of my house is Eliezer of Damascus?” This isn’t mere doubt, but rather wrestling with God’s promise in the face of seemingly impossible circumstances.
Many of us, like Abram, have experienced situations that seem to contradict God’s promises. We too sometimes ask, “Lord, how can this be possible? What evidence is there that your word will be fulfilled in my life?”
God’s response is remarkable. Instead of rebuking Abram’s doubt, God takes him outside to look at the night sky full of stars: “Look toward heaven and count the stars, if you are able to count them… So shall your descendants be.” Scripture tells us, “And he believed the Lord; and the Lord reckoned it to him as righteousness.”
What follows is even more astonishing. In ancient covenant ceremonies, animals would be cut in half, and both parties would walk between the pieces. Both sides of the covenant typically walked between the divided animals, implying, “If I break this promise, may I become like these animals.” But in this story, God alone—appearing as a smoking fire pot and a flaming torch—passes between the pieces. This sends a clear message: “I take full responsibility for fulfilling this promise.”
This is the foundation of our faith. It rests not on our unwavering certainty, but on God’s unchanging faithfulness. Like Abram, even when we find ourselves in darkness, we can look up at the stars and remember God’s promises that shine brighter than our doubts.
This theme continues in Psalm 27. Here we hear a voice of strong confidence: “The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom then shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my life; of whom then shall I be afraid?” But this isn’t naive optimism. The psalmist speaks of enemies, adversaries, and armies surrounding him—real threats causing genuine fear.
Amid these dangers, the psalmist’s deepest desire is revealed: “One thing have I asked of the Lord; one thing I seek; that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life; to behold the fair beauty of the Lord and to seek him in his temple.” Ultimately, his greatest longing is to be with God.
Perhaps the most moving verse is verse 14: “Though my father and my mother forsake me, the Lord will sustain me.” Even if our closest family relationships fail us, God’s embrace remains a secure refuge.
Reading this passage reminds me of Viktor Frankl, a Jewish psychiatrist during World War II. He lost his family and everything in Nazi concentration camps. In his book Man’s Search for Meaning, Frankl shares that even in extreme suffering, he discovered an important insight: “the freedom to choose one’s attitude in any given circumstance.” Like the psalmist, Frankl found inner light amid profound loss and pain. By thinking of his beloved wife and holding inner conversations with her, he realized that love is the true meaning of human life. This realization gave him strength to continue.
Frankl’s insight demonstrates that even in extreme situations, humans retain the freedom to choose their attitude. Similarly, in our faith, we can choose to trust God regardless of circumstances. No matter how difficult the world becomes, as citizens of heaven, we can choose an attitude of trust in God. This is our true freedom.
The psalm concludes with powerful encouragement: “O tarry and await the Lord’s pleasure; be strong, and he shall comfort your heart; wait patiently for the Lord.” Lent invites us into this kind of waiting—not passive resignation, but active, hopeful trust that builds spiritual strength for the journey ahead.
In Philippians, Paul emphasizes our identity. He declares, “But our citizenship is in heaven.” To the Philippians, proud of their Roman citizenship in a Roman colony, this was a challenging statement.
Paul warns about “enemies of the cross of Christ” saying, “Their end is destruction; their god is the belly; and their glory is in their shame; their minds are set on earthly things.” The people Paul warns against aren’t outsiders without faith, but those within the church who distort or ignore the gospel’s essence. While claiming to be Christians, they follow their own desires instead of God, prioritize worldly values over faith, and reject the sacrifice and humility of the cross.
This heavenly citizenship isn’t about escaping reality. It’s not about withdrawing from the world, but living in it with different values, different priorities, and different hopes. It means knowing that our true allegiance lies with God’s kingdom, not the kingdoms of this world.
Paul continues: “He will transform the body of our humiliation that it may be conformed to the body of his glory, by the power that also enables him to make all things subject to himself.” This promise reveals how great and wonderful the glory we await is, giving us courage to continue on the path of discipleship, however difficult it may be.
In the Gospel, Jesus himself shows what heavenly citizenship looks like in practice. When warned about Herod’s threats, Jesus responds with calm resolve: “Go and tell that fox for me, ‘Listen, I am casting out demons and performing cures today and tomorrow, and on the third day I finish my work.'” Even political threats couldn’t deter Jesus from the sacred mission he received from God.
As Jesus laments over Jerusalem, we witness one of the most heartbreaking scenes in the Gospels: “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!”
In this scene, God’s love appears as warm and embracing, like that of a mother. God is not a distant king but like a mother hen who, though appearing vulnerable, wholeheartedly embraces her children. Jesus wants to gather God’s people under his wings—into a space of protection and love. But the people rejected this love.
As we journey through Lent, this question touches our hearts: When do we turn away from God’s protection in our lives? Where are we choosing our self-made false security over God’s warm embrace?
For us walking the Lenten path, today’s Scriptures converge into one message. Abraham, who believed in seemingly impossible promises while gazing at the stars; the psalmist, who found light even in darkness; Paul, who reminded us of our heavenly citizenship; and Jesus, who demonstrated God’s protective love. They all invite us on a journey from fear to trust.
But this journey isn’t about manufacturing certainty through our own efforts. Rather, like Abraham, it’s about recognizing that God’s promises depend not on our perfection but on God’s faithfulness. Like the psalmist, it’s believing that even in our darkest moments, God is our light and salvation. Like Paul taught, it’s embracing our identity as citizens of heaven. And like Jesus showed, it’s experiencing true protection and love within God’s embrace.
As we continue our Lenten journey, let us take Paul’s exhortation to heart: “Therefore, my brothers and sisters, whom I love and long for, my joy and crown, stand firm in the Lord in this way, my beloved.”
Standing firm doesn’t mean never doubting or questioning. Rather, like Abraham, it means honestly bringing our questions before God and waiting for His response. Like the psalmist, it means seeking God’s face even in difficulties. Like the heavenly citizens Paul described, it means living according to eternal values, not temporary ones. And as Jesus demonstrated, it means dwelling under God’s wings of love, experiencing true safety and transformation in Him.
This week, how can we live as citizens of heaven in our daily lives? When we wake up in the morning, let’s ask ourselves, “Which kingdom’s values and priorities will I follow today?” When making decisions, let’s consider, “Is this fitting for a citizen of heaven?” When facing difficulties, let’s remember, “I am protected under God’s wings.” Through these small daily moments, we can demonstrate God’s kingdom values in this world.
This Lent, may we grow deeper in faith. Like Abraham, who believed God’s promise while looking at the stars, may we trust and rely on God’s word. Like the psalmist who strengthened his heart while waiting for the Lord through hardships, may we also wait patiently and trust God’s timing. Like Paul who lived as light and salt in the world as a citizen of heaven, may we also live faithfully in the world according to God’s will. And accepting Jesus’ invitation, may we experience not only protection in God’s embrace but also the grace of transformation into new life.
As Paul exhorts us: “Therefore, my brothers and sisters, whom I love and long for, my joy and crown, stand firm in the Lord in this way, my beloved.”
Amen.