Pentecost 8 B: Two Stories, Two Truths
Dear Partner in Preaching,
I’ll be honest, when this story comes along once every three years, my first response is to scratch my head in bewilderment. I mean, what is going on? Or, more particularly, what is going on with Mark? Usually the soul of brevity whose favorite word, if not middle name, is “immediately,” Mark luxuriates over this gruesome scene for sixteen whole verses – a veritable novella in relation to the rest of his Gospel! Not only that, but it is the only story Mark tells in which Jesus makes no appearance. And it’s told in flashback, the only time Mark employs this particular literary device. So, I’ll ask again, what is going on?
Most simply, I think that Mark is – and, before going further, I’ll simply admit that I know this is my theme of late! – offering an extended parable. That is, Mark is throwing (bolé) the reign of God Jesus proclaims and exemplifies alongside (para) life in the world absent God’s reign and rule. Interestingly, this story falls about midway in Mark’s narration of Jesus’ ministry before he enters Jerusalem for the culmination of his mission, which seems like a pretty good place to draw this contrast. By doing so, Mark wants to throw in sharp relief, I believe, what life is like with Jesus and within the world he imagines and enacts, and what life is like without him, caught in worldly structures of power and insecurity and exploitation.
But lest this sound – to borrow a word popular among my kids and their friends – overly “judgy” – I’d remind us that parables don’t explicitly judge, they contrast. There is no word of judgment from Jesus here – remember, he doesn’t even appear in this story! – about Herod or his behavior or rule or anything. Indeed, if anyone judges Herod’s murder of John it is Herod himself: “But when Herod heard of it, he said, ‘John, whom I beheaded, has been raised’” (6:16). This is what parables, at their best, do – they don’t such much accuse as they offer a contrast that surprises you, sometimes even traps you, with a conclusion about yourself and the world that prompts a reconsideration of both your assumptions, values, and actions. Recognizing that a narrative contrast is far more effective than a didactic one – as we identify with stories more easily and so tend to let down our guard in their presence – I’ll still risk summarizing the two options Mark presents.
The Reign of God in Jesus has been, essentially, the focus of Mark’s story thus far (and will be again in just moments). It centers on Jesus’ determination to free God’s people from the forces that rob us of abundant life: possession, disease, isolation, discrimination, even death. Jesus comes and, in compassion for the world’s need, respond to all those who ask. Indeed, and as we saw last week, the only ones whom Jesus has any difficulty releasing are those who don’t want to be free because they can’t imagine either that a) they need release or b) he is able to.
While there are lots of ways one could sum up Mark’s take on life in the world as it is, I would suggest this: a life devoid of either judgment or mercy and that falls painfully short of God’s hopes and intentions for all God’s people. Notice that even though Herod is grieved at the prospect of killing John, he never admits guilt or even reluctance, placing his standing among his peers ahead of his sense of justice. The prospect of a life without judgment or guilt may initially seem appealing, until we remember that absent judgment there is also no concern for justice and so power is the only arbiter among various courses of action and, consequently and inevitably, “might makes right.” Further, this is also a world devoid of mercy. In a world dominated by “the survival of the fittest,” to pardon, to relent, to feel compassion or sympathy for others is construed as weakness, and so Herod beheads John to save face rather than admit he made a foolish promise.
Two words of caution, or at least counsel, when following this interpretive line. First, it may be tempting to limit the scope of this passage by viewing Herod as a foil against which to recognize Jesus’ holiness or by reading this story primarily as a foreshadowing of the opposition Jesus will face. Certainly it is both of those things, yet as with most of Mark’s stories, the implications of this scene cannot be easily confined to the pages of Scripture but rather offer us a description of our world – indeed, the world. Herod’s beheading of John seems rather brutal, something we look for on Game of Thrones but are surprised to see in a Gospel (conveniently forgetting, of course, the brutality of the cross!). Yet are Herod’s actions really all that far from the callous manipulations of power we see today, where brutal autocrats are praised for the sake of appearing strong and children are torn from their parents in the name of law and order? This is our world and our story, and perhaps we forget that only because we have become so numbingly accustomed to seeing it play out daily in the headlines.
Second, even admitting the reality of life in this world, I’m not convinced this story calls us to substitute today’s leaders (presumably of the party we don’t support) for Herod with the confidence and verve of the (self-)righteous. Mark’s very point is that, absent the intervention of Jesus, we cannot hope but fall prey to the same illusions regarding power and security that lead us to eschew both justice and mercy in the (mis)belief that the ends justifies the means.
What we are therefore invited to consider, I believe, is throwing before our people the story of Jesus alongside the story of the world and let the parable do its work. We are, that is, invited to be candid about the world in which we live, contrite regarding our participation in it, and committed to living like Jesus in light of God’s promises. All of Jesus’ miracles, keep in mind, make a huge difference in the lives of those who experience them, but none of them fundamentally changes the nature or course of the world; only his cross and resurrection do that. And, as those marked by his cross and called to hope through his resurrection, we can face the challenges of our day with equal measures of courage and confidence, not imagining we will be fully “successful,” but rather that we will make a significant and salutary difference for those around us even as we await God’s final redemption.
So tell the story of Herod this week, Dear Partner, truly and fully, because it is our story, the narrative to which we were born. But then also tell the story of Jesus, just as truly and fully, for it is the narrative God offers and to which we have been reborn, inspired by it to love those around us and to strive for both justice and mercy knowing that no gift offered in love is ever lost. I am grateful for your commitment to this task, as this world has never needed to hear it more. Blessings on your proclamation.
Yours in Christ,
David
Post image: Giovanni Baronzio, The Feast of Herod and the Beheading of the Baptist (c.1330-35).
Our weekly pericope study group (Erie, PA) yesterday noted that the lectionary has handed us preachers a golden opportunity. We can ask, “What would John the Baptist (and Amos)say today?” Both prophets spoke truth to power: Amos from ‘outside the beltway’ to Jerusalem, John to a blatantly immoral king.
Perhaps just asking that question, and citing examples of that which they would address (the emperor and his minions using children as political pawns; overturning the progress made in the last century on the rights of women, minorities, the poor, the sick; etc. – you get the idea) will get people’s attention.
And when they ask, “Where are the Amoses and Johns of today?” we can point them to the baptismal lifestyle which the author of Ephesians glorifies. In a participatory democracy, which neither Amos nor John lived in, we the baptized have the opportunity to be prophetic in our speaking, in our acting, and in our voting.
I always dislike the “truth to power” thing, though. As if only one has truth and one has power. That kind of thinking got us into this mess.
I think David is saying those without mercy and love are the power side of the equation, and those who wield mercy AS their only power are truth?
Can you give us an example of a situation where power and truth are mixed in the way you describe?
Very helpful, David. I continue to hear life-giving judgement and mercy in this quote: “God’s kingdom comes on its own without our prayer, but we ask in this prayer that it may also come to us.” (Luther on 2nd petition of Lord’s Prayer).
Let God speak ‘truth to power’ in me (smack dab to my all-powerful ego), so that I may become more whole in speaking and living out ‘truth to power’ all around me.
As an aside, the whereabouts of St. John’s body and his head are still debated. I’m not sure using this text to go after current leadership – no matter how ignoble many are – would work for a great many who sadly support the current leadership. For me, the implication is there without elaboration. I recall from seminary days that St. John’s disciples were still a force to be reckoned with for generations after, e.g. the veneration of his supposed body and head, and I plan to simply give St. John his credit, that “As he preached he said, “The real action comes next: The star in this drama, to whom I’m a mere stagehand, will change your life. I’m baptizing you here in the river, turning your old life in for a kingdom life. His baptism—a holy baptism by the Holy Spirit—will change you from the inside out.” (The Message)
Thank you for your discursive insights! I think it could also be homiletically useful to point to this being the first and last time we know of that John had to walk his cousin’s talk — John has to MORE than a herald of the new Way of being human, he must become also its AGENT.