In Mark 6:14-29, the famous death of John the Baptist, we get a scene so absurd we might miss what’s right in front of us.
When Herod went to see a therapist to justify killing John
Proper 10B | Mark 6:14-29
If he had had Charles Dickens to draw on, Herod might’ve described this as a Scrooge moment. He’s telling his therapist (while we’re reimagining our history) how scared he was.
Did you see a ghost? we imagine the therapist asking.
Herod stares at the ceiling, hesitating.
Well, no. I didn’t see him. But I knew he was coming for me.
The therapist notices the curious choice of words.
Why would he be coming for you? Do you know him? she asks.
Of course I know him! I had him killed! the words leap out. His ashen face and vacant stare reveal where his mind is going. Back, piece by piece, to that moment.
He starts with the justifications; those cascading events which made the end seem inevitable.
Getting Married
I just wanted to get married, but he got in the way.
How did he get in the way?
He said we couldn’t get married.
Why?
Well…he said I couldn’t marry Herodias because she was my brother’s wife. And I get that it’s unorthodox…
Is that what he called it? Unorthodox?
No. He said it wasn’t lawful. But I’m the king, so I make the laws.
Is that why you had him killed? Because you’re the king?
No, no, that isn’t…I was mad. Frustrated. He was getting in the way, but I didn’t… [beat] you know, I liked listening to him. After I put him prison, of course, I’d sit and we’d talk. It’s silly, but it kind of reminded me of Pharaoh and Joseph.
You listened to him?
Yeah, he’d talk about God and repentance and I could just hear the holiness in his voice. He could speak like no other.
Do you think that’s why he thought he could tell you not to marry your brother’s wife? That it wasn’t lawful? What do you think he meant by that?
I know he wasn’t talking about civil law. He was talking about God’s law. But I was so…livid…I wasn’t thinking.
I had him arrested. But I didn’t have a plan after that. Prison was about punishment; get him out of my hair for a while. I never meant…he keeps talking.
Do you want to tell me what happened?
The Birthday Party
It was my birthday. We had all these people over and you can imagine the scene, how birthdays go with the banner, streamers, and balloons. The cake was decorated. We always made a deal about the cake, didn’t we?
It was a party, you know, the balloons were colored like the rainbow, the red wine flowed, our cheeks flushed rosy. I think there were all the colors in the rainbow…right? I don’t actually remember now.
But we were laughing and I asked her to leave her friends for a minute and come and dance—she loved to dance—she’s so graceful. I see that in my dreams, you know. That’s where I am at night, dreaming, seeing her dance. And I don’t know if it was the red wine or the fact that she’s my little girl and I’d give the world for her, but I promised her I’d make her dream come true. Just ask.
And I didn’t know why she left. It seemed so strange, I mean, I expected something impulsive like a pony, but…she wasn’t gone but a minute. And when she got back, I noticed how she looked different. She didn’t glide up to me like she does. It was different.
I can’t explain but…her steps were smooth and elegant. It was like she was a stalking cat, like a lioness. Really, she looked just like her mother.
And she declared in front of all of our friends that the one thing she wanted was the head of John the baptizer.
What was I supposed to do? I watched the color drain from the room. The guests…I know they were whispering and talking about me…saying I was losing a step. That I didn’t have what it takes to rule. That I’m soft.
I couldn’t let them think I wouldn’t keep a promise. My word is my bond, right?
I had to! There was no choice. I sent my guards down to the prison…and we waited. I don’t remember anything except the time stopped. Isn’t that weird? It was the longest moment of my life and yet I don’t really remember anything about it.
You know, in my dreams, a cat prowls the perimeter of the room, I don’t know where that comes from. And this one kid keeps trying to untie the balloons from the chairs. He’s obsessed with this one balloon. This one red balloon.
Anyway, so the guards come back with this platter, and I swear to God that for a second I thought they had brought out the lamb…I just don’t know where my head was. But I knew what it was. I’m sure I knew.
And when I saw it…I didn’t realize how much blood would be there. I almost excused myself. It’s just…I had them give it to her. And she took it and left. It was so surreal. Where did my little girl go?
Where did she go?
I found out later that she took the head to her mother. I knew I was angry, but I just…I’m the king, so I don’t need to worry about it, but I didn’t know that she…I knew she was mad. I just didn’t see it.
Clouded
I really do wish Herod had had a therapist. Of all the people, he needed one. If he had, oh how things would’ve been different!
But of all the stories in Mark, this is such an odd interlude. It isn’t directly about Jesus. He’s obscured by Herod’s fear of John, of God bringing John back as a testimony against him! But it’s not clear in the way the healing stories are clear or last week, how Jesus went home and was treated with such distrust.
Why is this story here? What’s Mark really getting at?
As the story unspools, we hear these ridiculous self-justifications from a king who didn’t want to kill John. But he felt trapped. All these people with all their desires…
Managers and executives know that feeling. Judges, officers, mothers and fathers, every person who has to deal with other people knows that feeling. That feeling of helplessness when you know what the right thing really is but all these other voices cloud our vision. And in that moment we get lost. And like getting turned around in the forest, we think this is the right path. So we take it.
As unsettling as the whole story is, the most disturbing line in the text actually comes when Herod is making the decision.
“The king was deeply grieved; yet out of regard for his oaths and for the guests, he did not want to refuse her.”
So he did it! What he didn’t want to do! What he knew he shouldn’t!
Where is his priority?
I mean that literally. Remember the word “priority” is singular. It’s not just an ordering of thinking. It is so there can be only one priority. So where is it?
Is it in his devotion to John? His daughter? His kingdom?
Can we find it in his keeping an oath? Or honoring his guests?
What is his priority? It’s not really clear! In fact, it looks like he’s acting without priority.
But I’ll tell you what it’s not. He hasn’t made God his priority. A God who is love. A God who was revealed to him in the voice and image of John the baptizer. Who spoke of repentance and turning toward God.
This story is far less strange when we consider how geared Mark is toward the Good News of Jesus the Christ. How often the author reveals how beautiful the kin-dom looks through Jesus’s eyes. And how distorted and gruesome our world can look through those same eyes.
Mark gives us this story for the same reason he gives us an imperfect Peter and constantly failing disciples. Why the focus is often on human failures to see God’s work in the world.
Mark gives this story such rich detail because this isn’t a throwaway scene, but integral to seeing how mixed up we can get. When we’re blinded by loyalty to our families, lust to our libidos and thirst for power, social pressures to conform. Fears of what our friends will think.
It’s not a story of paranoia or simply contextual history. Mark doesn’t do that. Mark’s writing to people who want power or are being pressured to honor an oath—when Jesus says to not swear oaths at all! He’s writing to people like us.
People who want to follow Jesus and sometimes get distracted by all the stuff. And all of the expectations.
Because we do this all the time. We even do this with our church! With our tradition! We get caught up in our fears and our vision gets so clouded. We think we’re protecting it from change but we’re not.
We’re people whose priority is easily clouded.
A priority to love.
Of all the things: an oath to give his daughter whatever she wants? Fear of what the guests might think if he doesn’t kill somebody? That’s not love. Maybe Herod just needs to see a production of King Lear!
But if we learn from Herod, what could’ve been, we can find it again. He liked listening to John. If we follow him back to hear his ridiculous justifications for doing something so terrible, then we might hear how lost he was.
Then go further back to the beginning and hear it again.
“John the baptizer appeared in the wilderness, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.”
This is what he was listening to. Herod was being pulled to love, to a way of repentance and mercy. He could hear it, but he could almost see it.
And so in our listening we might be moved to believe, too. And then it becomes so much clearer. It doesn’t matter what they think. At the center is the Word. And he reminds us: Love God. And loving your neighbor is loving God.
Even now it’s not too late to love.