Eighth Sunday after Pentecost
Rev. Brent Gundlah
“Choices”
First Reading (Amos 7:7-15, NRSVUE)
Gospel Reading (John 6:1-21, NRSVUE)
I don’t know if you’ve noticed but pretty much every Sunday, right after I’ve finished reading the gospel passage, I say those same five words: “This is the good news.” I do this for two reasons, really: first, to show reverence for what’s just been read and, second, to make clear where the gospel ends and my reflection begins.
The same kind of thing happens in a lot Christian congregations. If we were in an Episcopal Church, for example, the priest would conclude this reading by saying, “The Gospel of the Lord,” and the people would respond with, “Praise to you, Lord Christ.” And in those churches (and many others) you also would have been invited to stand for the gospel reading.
But my pastoral intuition tells me that this language is a little too formal for our faith community and, besides, I’m hesitant to ask you to do any more work than you already have (I mean, you’ve already participated in the Call to Worship, and you’ve had to get up and walk around greeting one another during the Passing of the Peace. I don’t want you to tire yourselves out too much because I’m hoping you’ll actually stay awake for my reflection.
And so I made the decision a while back to conclude the gospel reading with “This is the good news.” It’s all on me, it’s to the point, it’s uncontroversial and it’s factually accurate: “Gospel” being the Old English translation of the Greek word evanglion, which literally means “good news.”
But on some days, that good news is a lot harder to come by than it is on others — and today is one of those days (for so many reasons). I have to tell you, it felt kind of weird to conclude a story in which John the Baptist’s head ends up on a platter by telling you that this is “good news,” because it probably didn’t seem like it for John (or for his disciples). And yet, I assure you, the good news is in there — even though it’s going to take some effort on our part to find it.
This story is sandwiched in Mark’s Gospel right between the one we heard last week (about Jesus trying to minister in his hometown, and then sending out the disciples two-by-two to do their work), and the one we’ll hear next week (about Jesus teaching and healing amongst the increasingly large crowds of people who are gathering to meet him). Interestingly, Jesus himself doesn’t appear in this text.
As today’s tale begins, Herod is having… a moment. He’s been hearing about all of the preaching and teaching and miracles that Jesus has been doing recently, and he’s trying figure out what it all means — mostly, for him. This Herod, known as Herod Antipas, isn’t the same Herod we met at the beginning of Matthew’s Gospel when Jesus was born (you know, the one who wants to find and kill baby Jesus); that was Herod the Great, his father. Herod Antipas is often referred to as “King Herod” he wasn’t really much a king; he was a puppet ruler, appointed by the Romans to keep watch on things in Palestine for them. And, unlike his father, who rebuilt the Jerusalem Temple (despite of his many faults), Herod Antipas didn’t really do anything all that great.
As folks are running around trying to make sense out of Jesus and the things that he’s been doing, some conclude that he’s the resurrected Elijah (the prophet from the book of Kings). Others simply surmise that he’s “a prophet, like one of the prophets of old,” while still others declare that he’s “John the baptizer… raised from the dead.” As the story goes, Herod opts for the prize behind door number three — seemingly because he’s feeling a bit of remorse for having been the one who rendered John dead in the first place.
Your see, Herod and John had a little history between them — which Mark then proceeds to tell us about. Herod imprisoned John because the latter had gotten on the wrong side of former’s wife, Herodias. This discord arises from the fact that John has been getting in both Herod’s ear and the ears of others, telling them that it is unlawful for Herod to be married to Herodias because, as it just so happens, she’s the wife of Herod’s late brother, Philip. Let’s just say that Herodias is none too happy about this and wants John to disappear.
His wife’s feelings notwithstanding, Herod fears and respects John, whom he sees as a “righteous and holy man” — which leads Herod to protect John, mostly from Herodias. But, at this point, she’s clearly had it up to here with the aforementioned baptizer. She’s probably grown quite weary of all the judgmental looks she’s been getting ever since John started reminding everyone about what a sinner she is. And so when Herodias sees the chance to get rid of John once and for all, she takes it.
Herod decides to throw himself a birthday banquet and gets a little carried away. Herod’s daughter (who, according to some, is actually Herodias’s daughter from her previous marriage to Herod’s brother, Philip) shows up and dances for Herod and his guests. Making things even more confusing, the daughter’s name is also Herodias — though other sources from the period actually tell us that her name is Salome, and I kind of wish Mark had gone with that name instead because it would have made it a whole lot easier to keep track of all this.
In any event, everyone is so impressed by the dancing of Herodias or Salome (or whatever the heck her name is) that Herod grants her a wish — one without limitation. Herod even promises her half of his kingdom if she so desires (which is kind of ridiculous because it belonged to the Romans and so wasn’t actually Herod’s to give away).
Herodias, not knowing what to ask for from Herod, goes to her mother to solicit some advice — and Herodias (the mother) knows exactly what to ask for — namely, the head of her nemesis, John the Baptist, on a platter. And this puts Herod in a bind because, like I said earlier, he fears and respects John, and also likes to listen to what he has to say; indeed, Mark tells us that Herod is “deeply grieved” by the choice he’s going to make — not so grieved that he doesn’t do what Herodias asks him to do, mind you, but grieved nonetheless.
You see, Herod made a promise in front of his guests and, as their leader, doesn’t want to lose face. He also doesn’t want to incur the wrath of his wife (who is clearly not a very nice person). Herod’s fears for himself win out over his feelings for John, so he sends soldiers to bring back John’s head on a platter just as Herodias (and, well, Herodias) requested. Hearing about what’s transpired, John’s disciples come and take his body away, and then lay it a tomb — foreshadowing, of course, what will happen to Jesus as the gospel story unfolds.
As humans who are well-acquainted with how the world we live in generally works, we shouldn’t be too surprised by the actions of Herod and Herodias here — saddened and disappointed, yes, but not surprised. When people find themselves in situations that challenge their authority, their reputation, their comfort or their survival, they tend to do whatever they can to get themselves out of those situations.
And people with power who find themselves in such situations tend to wield their power without concern for anything (or anyone) else. They say that absolute power corrupts absolutely, and while Herod might not have been the biggest fish in the Roman imperial pond, he was apparently powerful enough to pull this one off.
But when Jesus suddenly appears on the scene talking about the same kinds of things that John previously had (and performing healing miracles to boot), Herod is a little concerned; in fact, he believes that Jesus is John raised from the dead. And while Herod may have been wrong in one sense (because Jesus wasn’t actually the resurrected John), he’s kind of right in another — and therein lies the good news to be found in this disturbing story.
John might have died, but what John stood for — truth-telling, humility, service to God, and a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins — most definitely didn’t. And in all of those timeless ideals, John still lives.
And Jesus might have died, but what Jesus stood for — all the things that John stood for, peace and justice and equality for all God’s people, love of God and love of neighbor above all else — most definitely didn’t. And in all those timeless ideals, Jesus still lives.
You see, try though they might, the powers that be, the rulers of this world, have never been able to keep the way, the truth and the life under wraps for very long.
God has always sent us prophets and, yes, even a Messiah, to remind us that death will never have the final word, that love will ultimately prevail (even if it doesn’t always seem like it in the here and now).
John and Jesus;
Elijah and the prophets of the Hebrew scriptures before them;
Martin Luther King and Oscar Romero and a whole host of others after them.
People who are willing to stand in the breach between God and the powers that be;
people who put aside their authority, their reputation, their comfort and even their lives for the good of others;
people who are willing to risk it all for the good of all.
Mark places this story of Herod’s misdeeds in between two stories of Jesus being Jesus, and this is no accident. Herod, this worldliest of kings, goes about as far as a person could go in order to look out for no one but himself, breaking more than a few of God’s commandments along the way.
By contrast, Jesus (and John) present an entirely different way of being in the world — serving others, curing the sick, feeding the hungry, forgiving people, being vulnerable. Jesus and John and God’s prophets in every age give life to ideals that just won’t die no matter how hard the powers of this world try.
Sure, things can often look bleak, but stories like this one remind that love always survives, that love always endures, that love always wins.
And even though it may not always seem like it to us in our place and time, violence and hatred and fear will not the last word.
And if that isn’t good news — even on a day like this one — then I don’t know what is.