This is one of those Sunday mornings that potentially sent a number of preachers back to the drawing board based on Saturday’s news. It happens sometimes (and in the case of violence, particularly political violence, it seems to be happening more and more frequently). But it happens sometimes that something takes place in the neighborhood or country or world made that just can’t be ignored when the worshiping community gathers on Sunday morning, even if it happens after all the plans were made.
However, for folks following the lectionary, and even more particularly folks who had planned to preach from the gospel, there was potentially less re-writing to do. Because unfortunately, political violence isn’t new. And really it’s persistence is part of what makes it so evil. That human beings continue to think that scaring, and hurting, and even killing our opponents is a reasonable way to get to the more perfect society we crave is evidence of our sinfulness and the marring of God’s image in all of us.
Violence used to intimidate, violence used to threaten, violence used to try to appease one group or advance another, violence used to silence voices and the people we don’t like – is not the answer. It is not righteous. It is not God-fearing. It is not justice-seeking. It most certainly is not courageous, which, by my reading, is at least one point Mark is trying to make in telling the story of the violence of the beheading of John the Baptist in the middle of stories about the ministry of Jesus and the sending of his disciples.
Mark tells this story out of sequence chronologically. It’s set as a flashback here, and at the same time it also functions a bit as foreshadowing to Jesus’ own arrest and execution. The story is told in Mark’s narrative right when when word about what Jesus and his disciples are up to, what they are able to do in God’s name, is spreading throughout the land. It has spread so well that not only have the people seeking liberation from demons found him, not only have those who want to be healed from physical ailments and afflictions begun to follow him, but his name is being spoken of in the halls of power. King Herod Antipas himself, son of the Herod who ruled when Jesus was born, has heard of Jesus and is formulating his own theories about who Jesus is. John the Baptist, he muses, the very one he himself killed, raised from the dead.
Now whether he really means he thinks John has been resurrected or he means Jesus is carrying the mantle for John as Elisha did after Elijah’s death, doesn’t matter too much. What does matter for Jesus, for his disciples in the moment, and his disciples in the generations that follow is that he sees the two, John and Jesus, as carrying similar weight, similar authority, similar power, and, therefore, a similar threat.
The first five chapters of Mark’s gospel are a whirlwind of activity as Jesus moves onto the scene, picking up where John left off after his initially unexplained arrest. Jesus proclaims the nearness of God’s kindom. He, like John, calls for repentance, a turning around, a turning away from the kingdoms of the world and turning toward the reign of God. And he demonstrates his authority to even make these claims by demonstrating his authority over demons and evil spirits, over the chaos of nature and the mystery of physical illness and affliction. We see him tussle with religious authorities over practices around fasting, Sabbath-keeping, and cleanliness and purity. We see him pushing the boundaries of what is acceptable – pushing at the tightly held beliefs of both religious and political leaders.
And then, just before we find out that Jesus and his disciples are on King Herod’s radar, Jesus called his disciples together and began to send them out, two by two, with authority over unclean spirits, to carry his good news far more widely than he could on his own. This, in fact, seems to be what King Herod has heard of – both Jesus’s ministry and the sending of the disciples to expand it, and this is when Mark decides to tell us just what being noticed by King Herod can lead to.
John’s arrest, we learn, came when he dared to speak truth to power. He criticized the king’s marriage to his brother’s ex-wife as contrary to spiritual law. The non-biblical ancient historian, Josephus, tells of John’s arrest, as well, and blames it on a political challenge. The reality is, though, that a spiritual challenge is the same as a political challenge when the challenger preaches that the kingdoms of the earth are subject to the kingdom of heaven. These are all wrapped up together for John, and Herod, and Herodias, Herod’s sister-in-law turned wife.
What follows is, without a doubt, a cautionary tale for our time, not just our era, but our highly charged political season. What follows is a story that shows what happens when we lose touch with what Abraham Lincoln referred to as “the better angels of our nature,” when we are swayed by groupthink and confuse the crowd with our conscience.
King Herod was a “tetrarch,” a leader from among the local people installed by the Romans to rule over Galilee. He was, essentially, a puppet with a very long string. He had the freedom to exercise his authority pretty much however he wanted as long as he protected Roman interests and did not overly antagonize his subjects, such that they might rise up and cause trouble for the empire. Within this structure he could treat a low-status prison like John pretty much however he wanted.
He wanted John shut away. That much is clear. He is fickle enough that he is offended by John’s words, maybe worried about John’s popularity, and so he arrests him and throws him into prison to get him out of the way. But that seems to be about it for Herod. He’s not out for John’s life, at least at first. In fact, he even seems a bit curious about John. He recognizes his righteousness, his holiness. He’s confused by John, but, he liked to listen to him, Mark tells us. As the king he could destroy John, but he doesn’t seem to want to.
But also as the king, a seemingly insecure one at least, he likes to show off. He likes to display his power. And he gets himself into a bit of bind when he enthusiastically offers his step-daughter, identified as Salome in the writings of Josephus, whatever she wishes in return for the entertainment she provided for the courtiers, officers, and leaders of Galilee and Herod’s birthday party. As soon as she made her request, or rather her mother’s request, Herod realized he had made a mistake. He was grieved, Mark tells us, but just how grieved was he, I can’t help but ask, and grieved over what?
While I know none of us have ever been in this exact position, clearly, I do think we can find this feeling in our experience. It’s part peer pressure, to use the term we teach our young people, and it’s part pride. When we have made our position known, when we have given our word, when we have the attention of others and we have staked our claim, but then… something changes. Maybe, like with Herod, the stakes have changed. Maybe an inner voice inside tells us we’ve gone too far. Maybe we’ve taken a step back and reevaluated things and see a different point of view, a different way forward, a different understanding and we might want to change our mind.
But we know how changed minds are perceived in this day and age – in this political climate – in this culture that values and rewards pithy sound bytes over nuanced understanding, unwavering declarations over curious consideration. We have seen politicians and heroes derided for being flip-floppers. We’ve seen people’s character and courage questioned when they have dared to question their position, their plans, or the action, when they’ve dared to speak against the dominant narrative of their own “side.” Courage and faithfulness gets defined as going along with the group, and departure from one’s group is punished with being ostracized, isolated, or worse.
King Herod crumbles under the pressure. Maybe in his mind, definitely to his guests, it looks the like the opposite. He’s probably rewarded for “sticking to his guns,” for following through on his promise, for delivering results, delivering the gruesome head on a silver platter. He’s likely praised for his display of power, revered for his strength, honored for this act of courageous violence.
But is it really any of those things? Is this courage? Is violence, especially political violence, ever courage? I really don’t think so, and I think that is, at least in part, what Mark is trying to tell us.
Mark’s original audience received his gospel about 40 years after the events it depicts. There were likely very few people left who would have been alive when Jesus was active in ministry, when his life and his love and teaching led to his death and his death was redeemed by his resurrection. These are second or third generation disciples of Jesus who lived with the terrifying persecutions of Emperor Nero at the front of their minds and whose courage of faith was tested all the time. They didn’t just read Jesus’ warning to the disciples in the gospel that “prophets are not without honor, except in their hometown, that they could have to “shake off the dust that is on [their] feet” when they are sent away without welcome, they lived this themselves. Some were maybe even wondering if they want to live with it anymore at all.
To them Mark tells the story of John the Baptist and confirms what they are experiencing – that speaking truth to power is dangerous. That preaching about a new kingdom is going to put you at odds with the old kingdom. That it will take courage to be a disciple of Jesus whose gospel challenges both spiritual and human forces.
And to for them Mark paints a picture of what this courage will need to look like. It isn’t found in a king who is swayed by public pressure, who is hungry for the attention and accolades of those who surround him, who will weaponize his political power and lash out violently against someone who challenges his ego. Instead, and this is almost a throwaway line at the end of the story, it’s in the actions of John’s own disciples, who, having heard what had been done, knowing the risk of being associated with him, went to Herod’s palace anyway to retrieve the body of their teacher.
This is courage, true courage, rooted in faithfulness. This is conviction that proclaims God’s dominion over the dominion of violence. It proclaims that those who are weak respond to challenges with violence, but those who bear the strength of God’s image walk in with compassion and defiant peace.
For as the psalmist said, “the Lord will speak peace to God’s people.” In the salvation of God “steadfast love and faithfulness will meet; righteousness and peace will kiss each other.”
May it be so in all of God’s realm. Amen.
For Some Reason 