Royals

Scripture             Mark 6:14-29

Now King Herod heard of [the teaching of Jesus], for Jesus’ name had become known and some were saying, “John the Baptizer has been raised from the dead and that is why these powers work through him.” Yet others said, “It is Elijah,” while others said “It is a prophet, like one of the prophets [of old].” But when Herod heard of it, he said, “John, whom I beheaded, has been raised.”

For Herod himself had sent men who seized John and bound him in prison because of Herodias, the wife of his brother Philip, for Herod had married her. For John had told Herod, “It is not right for you to have your brother’s wife.” Now Herodias had a grudge against him and wanted to kill him. But she could not. This is because Herod feared John, knowing that he was a righteous man and a holy man and he protected him and listened to him, thought greatly perplexed; yet it pleased him to listen to him.

Now an opportune time came on Herod’s birthday when he gave a banquet for his courtiers and commanders and for the leaders of Galilee. And Herod’s daughter Herodias came in and danced, pleasing Herod and his dinner guests. The king said to the girl, “Ask me for whatever you wish, and I will give it to you.” And he swore to her repeatedly, “Whatever you ask me, I will give you, even half my kingdom.” And she went out and said to her mother, “What should I ask?” She replied, “The head of John the baptizer.” Immediately she returned to the king with haste and asked, saying, “I want immediately for you to give me on a platter the head of John the baptizer.” The king was deeply sorry, yet because of his oaths and the guests, he did not want to refuse her. Immediately the king sent a soldier under orders to bring John’s head. And he went and beheaded him in the prison. And he brought the head on a platter and gave it to the girl and the girl gave it to her mother. When John’s disciples heard, they came and took his body, and laid it in a tomb.

Translation by Dr, Wil Gafney, from “A Women’s Lectionary for the Whole Church,” Year W.

Meditation                                                                                      

Ah, the royals. The parties they throw. The revenge they get. “Gold teeth, Grey Goose, trippin' in the bathroom/ Bloodstains, ball gowns, trashin' the hotel room…”[i] They don’t care. We leave the byways of Galilee with Jesus and his disciples and find ourselves at the birthday party of none other than King Herod Antipas. There is a dance. There is a promise. And there are gruesome consequences.

When it comes to scripture, oftentimes, context is everything.

The shocking story we’ve just heard doesn’t exist in a vacuum. Something happened before, and something happens after. To understand the story, and its significance, it helps to look at the context.

Here’s what happened before: As chapter 6 of Mark’s gospel begins, Jesus goes to his hometown, Nazareth. On the Sabbath, he goes to the synagogue and teaches there. At first, it seems as if his teaching is being received well. Mark tells us, the people were astounded to hear the words coming out of his mouth. They say things like, “Where did he get all this?” and “Where did all this wisdom come from?” and “We bet he can do miracles, too.” They are impressed with Jesus, as well they should be. He is amazing. But then things take a turn, and the compliments turn into a kind of uneasy murmuring… “Isn’t this the carpenter?” “Isn’t this Mary’s son?” And they name all his male siblings, as if to say, “How did he come from that bunch?” They even mention his sisters. And then—they take offense at him.

They take offense at the hometown boy who seems to be making his mark on the world. The gospel tells us Jesus was unable to do those miracles the people were looking for after that, just a few healings here and there. And so he left. His parting words: Everyone loves a prophet—except the people in his own hometown, and the people who are related to him, and the people in his house.

It’s an unsettling story. But Jesus is undeterred. His mission continues. He goes on a preaching tour of other towns. Then he sends the twelve out, two by two, to go from town to town, sharing the Good News, and casting out bad spirits. He gives them very particular instructions on what they should take with them, and what they should leave home. Suffice to say: they are taking so little, they will be forced to depend on the kindness of strangers. That’s the strategy. To get to know people. To let their hospitality be a sign of what’s in their hearts. But he also tells the twelve what to do if they are rejected, like he just was: they are to shake the dust off their feet as a testimony against those who wouldn’t listen.

Then, we come to our passage, which tells us, Herod heard about Jesus. Maybe he heard about Jesus’ teaching. Maybe he heard about Jesus’ deeds of power. Maybe he heard the story of Jesus’ hometown not being very impressed, taking offense. Herod heard something about Jesus.

Whatever it was, Herod’s reaction was terror. Why? He tells us himself. “John, whom I beheaded, has been raised.”

And then, it’s almost as if Herod were given the mic. We hear the story, almost from his perspective: How I came to kill John the Baptist.

Herod, according to this story, doesn’t have a problem with John—not really. He knows John is holy. He believes John is righteous. He even likes listening to John, though he doesn’t necessarily understand everything he says. He protects John. But he also fears John. Herod’s wife, Herodias, who was also Herod’s brother Philip’s wife, has a big problem with John. John has made it clear to Herod, that he considers this marriage unlawful (so does Torah, Jewish law). This enrages Herodias. And Herod’s birthday party provides her with the means, motive, and opportunity to have John killed.

“Herod’s daughter Herodias danced.” That’s what it says in our translation. It’s possible this is a copying error by an ancient scribe; the historian Josephus, writing at the end of the first century, identifies Herod’s and Herodias’ daughter as Salome, and that name has stuck, in the popular imagination.

Salome has taken on a life of her own outside scripture, with countless paintings and other works of art—including a play by Oscar Wilde and an opera by Richard Strauss—depicting the famous “dance of the seven veils”, or Salome holding the platter containing John’s head. Now, there’s nothing in scripture describing the nature of the dance, nothing about veils. More importantly, the word used for “daughter” here means “little girl.” Salome—if that is her name—has been aged a good ten years over the centuries, she has been sexualized, and she has been demonized.

So, now, imagine this scene again, except a child is dancing. She does a good job. The party guests are charmed, and so is her father. He offers her anything she wants—even as much as half his kingdom. (Methinks Herod was in his cups at this point. What an outrageous offer to a child. What an amazingly reckless thing to say.) It also seems to me the fact that she goes to her mother, to ask her what she should ask for, is further evidence of her youth. It makes sense. What doesn’t make sense—what is still, two thousand years later, deeply shocking, is what her mother tells her to ask for—especially, knowing that this is a child.

Advised by her mother, Salome asks her father for John’s head on a platter.

Herod is grieved. The word that Mark uses describing his sorrow is used in only one other place in the New Testament—when Jesus is weeping in the garden of Gethsemane. It is a deep, sincere grief. But it does not stop him from keeping his promise to his daughter.

Oaths, formal promises, especially those made publicly, are not to be broken in Biblical days and times. A careless oath causes more than one tragedy. After he’s won a battle, Jepthah the Judge makes an oath to sacrifice the first creature that comes out of his house. That creature is his daughter, and because he’s made this oath, he must carry it out.

Likewise, Herod keeps his oath. He sends a soldier, and soon the child is handing her mother the platter with John’s head, and all I can think is “trauma.” Deep trauma for this child all because of her reckless father and her vengeful mother.

So. That’s the party. Herod certainly allows his hospitality to be a sign of what’s in his heart. Not precisely “Gold teeth, Grey Goose, trippin' in the bathroom…” but there are certainly bloodstains, and maybe ball gowns, too. Royals. Royalty. Something as wholesome as a birthday party turned bloody, simply because they can. God’s warning to the people, way back in the book of 1st Samuel still holds true. Royals, at least as described in scripture, are takers. Sometimes a noble one comes along. Josiah, the eight-year-old king comes to mind. Early David. But others—they take, and they take, and they take. In this case, they take the life of a holy man because he spoke the truth.

Here’s what happens afterwards: The twelve return from their mission, and tell Jesus all about it. He attempts to take them on a retreat, to an out-of-the-way place where they can get some rest after all their labors. They get into a boat. But the people see them, and recognize them, and figure out where they are going. When they disembark, there is a huge crowd waiting for them.

I wonder what Herod would have done—trying to get away from it all, but there are the people he was getting away from. I imagine him whining at his guard, insisting that they turn around immediately. I could see his guard fending off the people with weapons.

Here’s what Jesus does. He has compassion for the people. They seem to him like sheep without a shepherd, so he does what he knows how to do. He teaches them, many things. He probably tells a bunch of parables. He undoubtedly reminds them about the most important commandments—love God, love neighbor. And then, as the hour grows late, instead of sending them away so that he and the twelve might have the rest they are longing for, he rustles up a meal for the people. All five thousand of them, before counting the women and children.

In another sermon, years ago, I called this story a tale of two parties. I wrote:

How different Jesus and Herod were as hosts, and how different were their parties. Herod was irritated and threatened by John and had him imprisoned; Jesus was pursued when he sought time apart and still was moved to compassion. Herod butchered; Jesus healed. Herod ordered a man’s violent death, the absurd result of chance, a dance and a rashly made oath. Jesus directed his disciples to feed these hungry looking crowds, the result of his always, in every situation, choosing to give life rather than take it away or even ignore it.

A host is the heart and soul of his party. Herod was the heart and soul of fear, violence and an arrogant pride that could not admit that he’d made a horrible mistake. Jesus was the heart and soul of compassion, healing, blessing, sharing, and celebration. The perfect host.

Jesus is our host today. We are going to gather around this table—there aren’t five thousand of us, but there are two or three and then some. Jesus sees us, and the heartaches and body-aches, the troubles we haven’t shared even with our closest friends yet, and the discoveries we are making every day as we walk this path of discipleship. And Jesus has compassion for us, for the times when we have been rejected, for the times when we have searched in vain for healing, for the times when grief or anger have swamped us, overwhelmed us. He sees us. He has compassion for us. As always, he responds by inviting us to pull up a chair (or pew), and he lays the table for the meal that gives us life. 

Thanks be to God. Amen.

[i] Lyrics from “Royals,” by Ella Marija La Yelich O'Connor and Joel Little, © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Peermusic Publishing, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC.