Pentecost 8B
July 14, 2024
Mark 6:14-29
INTRODUCTION
Fair warning: some readings today may not be appropriate for children or sensitive audiences. In particular, our Gospel reading. Today we will hear from Mark the gruesome story of the beheading of John the Baptist. It is the only assigned Gospel reading we get in the three-year cycle in which Jesus is not center-stage, is hardly even mentioned but for briefly at the beginning. The context is a tangled web; let me set the scene for you.
First of all, narratively, this is presented as a flashback, sandwiched between the story we heard last week, about Jesus sending out the 12 to spread the Gospel, and their return. Bread. The meat is, Mark tells us that King Herod has heard about how well disciples’ mission was going, and people start speculating about who Jesus might be – Elijah, a prophet, or maybe even John the Baptist resurrected, an idea that unnerves Herod because… and then we find out why.
Now a word about who is who, because they all have similar names. This Herod is not the same one (Herod the Great) from Jesus’ birth story. This is his son, Herod Antipas, who rules over Galilee and is allowed to keep his power just as long as he protects Roman interests. Herod Antipas’s wife is Herodias (see?), who had divorced Antipas’s half-brother Philip to marry Antipas – which was against the law according to Leviticus, and John has publicly called them out on this – so Herodias has it out for John. The daughter referenced (also called Herodias here, but Salome elsewhere, so we’ll go with Salome for clarity): Salome is Herodias’s daughter from a previous marriage. So you see, even the set-up is kind of a mess!
Now a word about Amos (our first reading). Amos was an 8th century BC prophet who prophesied the fall of Jerusalem, and often spoke of the sins of the rich, who “oppress the poor and crush the needy.” In today’s passage, God uses the image of a plumb line, a tool used in construction to measure and align things, to say, “God’s people are not measuring up; they are crooked. It’s too late – things are about to get bad.” Reading that alongside the Herod story, eight centuries later, and looking at our world today, it’s hard not to think, “Yeah, no kidding!”
It’s a tough set of readings. As you listen, let them serve as a mirror, or a way to reflect on the brokenness and sinfulness still in the world. Where is God asking and equipping us to shine God’s light in this darkness? Let’s listen.
[READ]
Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.
Whenever we Lutherans hear the Gospel read in worship, we respond, as we just did, with “Praise to you, O Christ!” Well, this week’s Gospel makes one wonder if that was quite the right response. No two ways about it: this story is awful, gruesome, disheartening, gory, and it really should have a parental advisory on it. It leaves us wondering: but where is the grace? What about this story is at all life-giving?
Well, in this case I think the answer is simply: it’s not. This story by itself isn’t life-giving, and embodies no grace. Rather, it is a mirror that shows us the depth of human sinfulness. Such sinfulness is on absurd display, and like it or not, the sheer magnitude of their sin gives us an unsavory glimpse into our own.
For example, look at Herodias, the resentful wife. She has been harboring a smoldering grudge against John the Baptist ever since he exposed her and humiliated her in the public sphere, standing in her way toward power, becoming queen. Though Herod had put John in jail, that wasn’t enough for Herodias. Her hatred had festered so long and infected her heart beyond repair; her resentment had eaten away any decency she may have had, until she was finally given the opportunity to make her hateful, murderous thoughts a reality – and the public, extravagant way she went about it was icing on the cake, because she had endured public shame and now he would, too.
Now, I assume none of us have ever ordered an enemy’s beheading… but we know a thing or two about smoldering grudges, and resentment that eats away at our hearts, that chips away at our decency and make us into people we’d rather not be, and yet we can’t seem to let our grudges and resentments go. Herodias shows us the extent to which such anger and hatred can destroy us and the people around us.
Or, look at Herod. He’s a bit more complex. Herod actually liked John’s preaching. He knew John was a righteous and holy man, and Mark tells us Herod was greatly perplexed by John’s teachings, and liked to listen to him. He had probably thrown John in jail to protect him from people like his wife. He had no desire to harm John. Yet, he also loved his power and his reputation, and he loved having what he wanted when he wanted it. His heart was divided: he knew what was the right thing to do, but he did not possess the strength of character to do it. We see this struggle in the moment Herodias makes her murderous request for John’s head. Mark tells us Herod is “deeply grieved.” He didn’t want to do it. He knew it was wrong. Yet his reputation was on the line. He had an unhinged wife who would no doubt turn her rage on him. And so, though he knew the right thing to do, he chose the wrong thing.
This also hits a bit close to home, huh? We also find ourselves occupied by questions like, “What will people think?” We try to justify our actions, even if we know they are wrong. “I know I shouldn’t have said that… but she deserved it.” “I shouldn’t laugh at that racist joke, but everyone else is and I don’t want to look like a snob.” “I should call my friend who is sick or grieving, but I wouldn’t know what to say, and it would be awkward, so I’ll just avoid the situation.” The human heart can always find reasons to avoid doing what is right.
There are plenty of other ways this story shows us that, as we prayed this morning, “we are captive to sin and cannot free ourselves.” And like in life, if we stay in this dark place, wallowing in the devastation of this story, we will have a hard time finding our way out. So, let’s zoom out a bit now, and look at the broader context. As I said in my introduction, this story is the meat of a sandwich, in which the bread is Jesus sending the 12 out in pairs to proclaim the gospel, and their return. It shows us just how difficult, even risky, the life of discipleship can be, especially in a world in which earthly rulers do horrible stuff like what we just heard. The world is broken, that’s still a reality. It was broken in the 8th century BC when Amos was prophesying, it was broken when John the Baptist lived and worked and died, and it is still broken today, 2000 years later. Earthly rulers still prioritize power and reputation over doing what is right; they still hold grudges to the point of destroying their political enemies, they still choose themselves over the greater good, even if they know it is wrong. This sandwich Mark gives us in chapter 6 is a tough one to swallow, precisely because it rings so true to life.
So, let’s zoom out even a little more, to a different kind of meal. Directly after Mark places that second slice of bread on this sandwich of death, Jesus and the disciples find themselves in a remote place, where 5000 people have followed Jesus to hear him teach. And they are hungry. The disciples suggest Jesus send them away, because how could they possibly feed all these people? Instead, Jesus takes a measly five loaves of bread and two fish, and with that he feeds this 5000-person crowd, with 12 baskets of food left over.
When Jesus is back in the picture, you see, he offers them a different kind of feast – one characterized not by earthly desires and power-hungry leaders, not fueled by anger and hatred, but by selfless service and love. Herod serves up a head on a platter; Jesus serves up the bread of life. Herod and his ilk serve up greed and death; Jesus serves up abundance and salvation.
Mark did not intend for us to read this horrible story about John’s beheading by itself. He includes it in part because it shows us what a world without Jesus in it looks like: It looks like wallowing in anger and hatred to the point of being destroyed from the inside out. It looks like devastating consequences resulting from our selfish justifications for our sin. It looks like the end of the road. But as soon as Jesus comes back on the scene, he first cares for his weary disciples, and he then provides a feast that feeds souls and bodies, with more than enough for all.
That is what our life with Jesus looks like, my friends. It calls us away from our self-destructive ways, and toward a way of abundance. It confronts us with our sin, yes, but also shows us a different way, a better way. It provides nourishment, love, hope, and life.
Let us pray… God of life, we look to the world to feed our hungry souls, and it so often fails to deliver. But you don’t. Guide us by your Word out of the way of sin, and into the light of your glory. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.
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