Mark 6:14-29 & 2 Samuel 6:1-5, 12b-19
The story of the death of John the Baptist is a gruesome and theatrical one, a strange blip in the middle of a record of Jesus’s public ministry. Other than Mark’s brief introduction to the tale, which is really just a short list of rumors being spread about Jesus and his followers, neither Jesus or God are mentioned at all in this passage. There is no parable or miracle or sermon. It reads like a royal court drama, decidedly out of place in a chapter of the Gospel that is mostly an account of Jesus’s movements. Like many of our own stories, we have to look a little closer, turn the story around and look at it from a few different angles, to detect God’s movement. As with any story that has survived the test of time, this story has something to teach us, if we take the time to listen.
First, for the sake of this sermon and to avoid confusion, I will use the name that Josephus, a First Century Jewish historian, records for Herodias’s daughter. For whatever reason, Mark chooses to call both the wife of Herod and the stepdaughter of Herod by the same name, Herodias. Josephus, on the other hand, calls the young woman caught in the middle of this drama Salome. Herodias, the wife of Herod, was first married to Herod’s brother until they were divorced and King Herod married her after divorcing his own first wife. This web of marriages and divorces was somewhat typical of politicians in the Roman Empire, but very much frowned upon and outside the norms of Jewish custom. This is where our dear John comes in. John the Baptist, in his characteristically combative style of preaching and his gift for speaking truth to power without regard for the dangers of doing so, condemns the whole affair. It is not lawful, John insists, for Herod to marry his brother’s wife while his brother still lives. It may be legal in the eyes of the Roman state, but in the eyes of God and under the law of Moses, John believes that Herod has made a mistake, and does not hesitate to tell him so. Herodias, displeased with the impact of the prophet on her public image and that of the king, insists that something must be done to silence John. King Herod has him arrested to placate Herodias, and moves on to the important work of throwing himself a birthday party.
At this party, Herod’s new stepdaughter provides the entertainment. Apparently, her dancing and her appearance are pleasing and impressive to all in attendance. Salome dances at the command of her mother, who in turn wields the only power available to her- the carefully manipulated power of her husband. Much has been made over the centuries of Herodias’s actions. Theologians and preachers and playwrights have painted a picture of a sly, vindictive, manipulative woman who is singleminded in her quest to take a life over a petty insult. Artists have painted actual pictures of Herodias and Salome as two sides of a coin, as a conniving dance mom and her complicit daughter. Some artists have imagined Salome as an innocent, a young victim in a game she cannot begin to fathom in a court where her only value is her marriageability and fertility. Others have depicted her as a seductress, the prototype of the femme fatale, a young woman who uses her wiles and her body to forward her own agenda in a world that rarely acknowledges the sexuality or agency of women. With the wishes and gifts of women so rarely found centerstage in the Biblical narrative, it makes sense that we would become preoccupied with these two, using our imaginations and our own experiences to fill in the gaps of their story.
But in doing so, we run the risk of forgetting someone. Herod. The king. The person in this story with the power, the authority, and the means to do almost whatever he wants. We may disapprove of Herodias’s choices, we may judge her motives, but ultimately she did not have the power to behead anyone. We may question and wonder about Salome’s complicity, her consent and the seeming exploitation of her by both her mother and her step father. But it is Herod on the throne. It is Herod who calls up the guards, gives them their orders, and with a few words causes the death of a prophet of the Lord. As a client-king, his power is invested in him by the occupying Empire of Rome, but the lives and deaths of his subjects are his to dictate.
As a Jewish man, Herod is familiar with his people’s stories. He knows the stories of Saul and Samuel, of David and Uriah and Bathsheba, of Esther and Haman. He knows how the kings and leaders of his people found victory when they listened to the prophets of the Lord, and suffered defeat when they ignored their warnings. He knows better than to make promises and oaths without knowing the terms. And he knows that his position affords him the ability to say no, to go back on his word or ask Salome to make a different request, something that doesn’t involve beheading. Herod is the person in this story with the most power, and yet he acts as if he is powerless. He does not wish to kill John, both because he respects him and because he knows it will be a very unpopular move in the eyes of his subjects. He is deeply grieved, he does a lot of handwringing about killing a righteous and holy man, but ultimately he places the opinions of those around him above what is right. He cares more about what the people in the room with him at this raucous party will think than about how God will judge his actions. If the room had been empty, if Salome had asked him privately, perhaps he might have refused. But it is the social pressure, the desire to be seen as powerful and in control, that leads Herod to make a permanent and violent decision. He is more afraid of the opinions of his party guests than of the wrath of God. A politician caring more about public perception than about doing what is right? A tale as old as time.
By contrast, we can look back to King David in our lesson from Second Samuel. David dances, as Salome did, but for a different reason. David, the shepherd boy turned powerful military ruler, throws off the trappings of his position in favor of simple and minimal clothing so that he might dance before the Lord with all his might. He leaps and dances and makes offerings and encourages the playing of instruments and the singing of hymns of praise. He is caught up in an ecstatic state of worship, vulnerable and exposed in his joy in a way that is not particularly kinglike. His behavior draws the ire of some, and he could be dismissed as a fool for such behavior in front of his subjects. But before God, David is willing to look foolish. He is willing to let go for a moment the pomp and circumstance of kingship, setting aside the constructed dignity of monarchy in order to magnify the glory of God, even at the expense of his own glory in the eyes of others. David has his own faults, and it is exactly the moments when he chooses his own will over the ways of God that his fortune turns and his people suffers. King Herod grew up with these stories, and he did not heed their lessons.
King Herod fell to the same temptation that all with power will inevitably face. He knew what was right, he was even drawn to the words of the very prophet who insulted him and threatened his authority and felt compelled to protect him to a point. But he cared more, in the moment of decision, about how the important people in the room would react to his actions than about what was right. He prioritized his image over the voice of the marginalized, the voice of God, and because of that, an innocent man died a violent death. It happens every day, in big and small ways. Like Herod, all people with any degree of power or privilege, whether it be over our own household or over employees or students or constituents or parishioners or the land in our care, will face moments when what we know to be right does not align with the opinions of those around us. As American citizens, as English-speakers, as people with the freedom and the technology to arrive at church or to engage with it online, as people with access to education and employment and in some cases generational wealth, we have more power than we realize. We have more opportunities than we realize. There will always be those who wish us to wield that power in particular ways, and there will always be those watching to see whether we will give in to the pressure. Will we be like John, who told the truth even when it killed him? Will we be like Herod, choosing the court of public opinion over the right judgment of our conscience? Or will we find ourselves in that peanut gallery, passively watching those with power as they do something that cannot be undone? We know which path Jesus chose. Now the choice is ours.
Mother A Writes 