The Beheading of John: A Warning With Good News

'King Herod heard of Jesus and his disciples, for Jesus’ name had become known. Some were saying, “John the baptizer has been raised from the dead; and for this reason these powers are at work in him.” But others said, “It is Elijah.” And 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 arrested John, bound him, and put him in prison on account of Herodias, his brother Philip’s wife, because Herod had married her. For John had been telling Herod, “It is not lawful for you to have your brother’s wife.” And Herodias had a grudge against him, and wanted to kill him. But she could not, for Herod feared John, knowing that he was a righteous and holy man, and he protected him. When he heard him, he was greatly perplexed; and yet he liked to listen to him. But an opportunity came when Herod on his birthday gave a banquet for his courtiers and officers and for the leaders of Galilee. When his daughter Herodias came in and danced, she pleased Herod and his guests; and the king said to the girl, “Ask me for whatever you wish, and I will give it.” And he solemnly swore to her, “Whatever you ask me, I will give you, even half of my kingdom.” She went out and said to her mother, “What should I ask for?” She replied, “The head of John the baptizer.” Immediately she rushed back to the king and requested, “I want you to give me at once the head of John the Baptist on a platter.” The king was deeply grieved; yet out of regard for his oaths and for the guests, he did not want to refuse her. Immediately the king sent a soldier of the guard with orders to bring John’s head. He went and beheaded him in the prison, brought his head on a platter, and gave it to the girl. Then the girl gave it to her mother. When his disciples heard about it, they came and took his body, and laid it in a tomb.'

--Mark 6: 14-29

I have to admit that whenever this particular Gospel passage comes up on a Sunday morning I feel somewhat deceptive; after all, I proclaim before and after the reading that this is the Gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ, but there's no Jesus in the actual story!  As a matter of fact, this is the only passage of such length in any of the Gospels that does not immediately and directly focus on Jesus. What's more, it's not exactly a passage for which folks are anxious to hear a sermon or one on which most preachers are excited to preach.  Nevertheless, we do have it in our Sunday lectionary, which means there must be some kind of Good News in it.  So where are we to find that Good News?

An Eastern icon of the Beheading of John the Baptizer

Like the prophets of old--Amos, Jeremiah, and others--John the Baptizer was called to preach truth to power.  As those folks had preached to the kings of ancient Israel, John preached repentance to King Herod of Judea--well, technically Herod was a tetrarch, which was a local puppet-king installed by the Roman Empire, but let's ignore that for now.  Herod had married his sister-in-law, which was not ok, and John called him out on it.  As if that weren't enough, Herod also had nearly every political opponent, including male members of his own household, killed so that he could retain a grip on his power.  Odds are John let him have it over that, too.  Eventually John's preaching landed him in prison, but there was something about him that caused Herod, who could've had John killed at any moment, to let him live; in fact, we're told by Mark that Herod enjoyed listening to John's ramblings, even though they sometimes confused him.  Something about Herod wanted to keep John alive, but when the banquet comes where Herod is hob-knobbing with his political base, he makes the error of promising to give his daughter anything she desires.  When she asks for John's head Mark tells us that Herod is deeply grieved, but he does it anyway.  Why? In order to please the crowd.  He knows killing John is wrong, yet he abandons his own morals out of a sense of loyalty to the people gathered at the banquet, in order to maintain his position among his political base.  He knows that if he goes back on his word he will lose their favor, and so his own morality is tossed out the window for his own political gain. That decision haunts him every day, which is why he fears Jesus, thinking he is John raised from the dead.

Herod and his actions are a sort-of foreshadowing of another significant political figure in the Gospels, Pontius Pilate.  Mark places this story where he does to give us a parallel of the conflict that is to come between Jesus and Pilate, which carries with him many of the same defining factors of the conflict between John and Herod.  Like Herod, Pilate holds considerable political power as the Roman Governor of Judea, and just as Herod does not want to kill John, Pilate shows great hesitancy in crucifying Jesus, which is something that all four Gospels agree upon, even though they each have different versions of the story.  It is that hesitancy that eventually would lead Pilate to be regarded as a saint by some early churches, including the Ethiopian Orthodox Church!  But also like Herod, Pilate's own morality is betrayed in the name of personal, political gain.  If he releases Jesus he risks the crowd becoming an angry mob, word will get back to Rome that he can't control the people in his territory, and he'll likely lose his position of power.  To appease his base, Pilate, like Herod, sacrifices his morality.   Of course now things are different, right?  There's not a single public figure who would sacrifice their morals and conscience in the name of personal gain?  Not one!!

Just gonna leave this image here of folks whom I am sure would never betray their morals for personal gain.

 OK, we all know that's not true.  Still not just the people in positions of great power, is it?  It's not just the public figures who betray their morals for their own selfish desires.  This Gospel stands out and asks a hard question of each of us:  how often do we do the same thing?  How often do we feel the tug to forego our morals, to set aside what we know is truly meet and right so to do, for the sake of pleasing others, maintaining the status quo, or satisfying a personal desire?

I wonder what it is that compels us to set aside those morals for the sake of gain.  We could say the devil made us do it, but that can be something of a cop out.  It is, however, appropriate to name that temptation for what it is:  sin.  It is sinful behavior for us to lay aside our conscience--that thing that John Henry Newman said was the voice of God within us--for the purpose of satisfying our own selfish and self-centered longings, particularly when they wound others.  But where from inside of ourselves does that sin originate?  For this we turn to the epistle reading from this past Sunday:

'Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in Christ with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places, just as he chose us in Christ before the foundation of the world to be holy and blameless before him in love. He destined us for adoption as his children through Jesus Christ, according to the good pleasure of his will, to the praise of his glorious grace that he freely bestowed on us in the Beloved. In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses, according to the riches of his grace that he lavished on us. With all wisdom and insight he has made known to us the mystery of his will, according to his good pleasure that he set forth in Christ, as a plan for the fullness of time, to gather up all things in him, things in heaven and things on earth. In Christ we have also obtained an inheritance, having been destined according to the purpose of him who accomplishes all things according to his counsel and will, so that we, who were the first to set our hope on Christ, might live for the praise of his glory. In him you also, when you had heard the word of truth, the gospel of your salvation, and had believed in him, were marked with the seal of the promised Holy Spirit; this is the pledge of our inheritance toward redemption as God's own people, to the praise of his glory.'

--Ephesians 1: 3-14

The writer notes how God has given so many blessings to humanity--redemption, forgiveness, wisdom, and faith, to name a few, as well as an inheritance in Jesus Christ that, according to verse 6 in the letter, carries with it the responsibility to praise God's glory in all things and for all things.  That is the central responsibility for Christians, according to this letter.  If we are to praise God in all things and for all things and at all times, then this must mean that humanity is utterly dependent upon God and God alone.  It is God who accomplishes all things in us, which may seem like an assault on our Western notions of independence and autonomy--and would certainly aggravate the powerful men in the picture above-- but that is what it means to share in the inheritance of Christ.  As the Ephesians are being reminded of this fact, we can clearly see that men like Herod and Pilate did not get the memo.  For folks like them, their dependency is not on God but on their statues, on their appearance, on holding on to all the things they fear to lose, especially their power and privilege, and they will do anything to retain their power and privilege, even if it means betraying their own conscience.  Jiminy Crickett said to always let your conscience be your guide, right?  The moments when we forget that we are utterly dependent on God and forget to let our conscience, the voice of God, be our guide, are the moments when that sin takes hold and we manage to convince ourselves that it's perfectly fine to sacrifice our morals for personal desire or gain. When this letter and Gospel passage are put side-by-side, we can clearly see the message, like one of those old anti-drug posters:  if you want to share in the inheritance of Jesus don't be a loser like Herod! 

Just replace the kid in the box with Herod and "take drugs" with "betray their morals" and you've got the point.

Here, then, is the Good News for us today.  In a world filled with Herods, with men and women who betray their conscience and sacrifice their morality on the altar of personal gain, may we have the grace to remember that everything we have, and everything we are, comes from God, and that it is God alone on whom we are dependent, not ourselves, and certainly not our status or appearance.  May we have the grace to listen to our conscience, to let it be our guide when it says, "Hey!  You may not want to do this or say that because it will hurt others and haunt you."  And lastly, may we have the grace to--in the words of that great sage Master Yoda---"let go of everything we fear to lose,"especially our power and privilege.  For when we can let them go and hold fast to that grace we can truly listen to the voice of God and share in the inheritance of Christ. 

We shoulda listened to this guy!

Transformation, Not Validation

As I write this hundreds of my Episcopal brothers and sisters are in Austin, TX for the 79th General Convention of the Episcopal Church.  They've been there since last Thursday and will be there through this coming week.  The work of the bishops and elected deputies at the convention, which meets every three years, is to make policy on a church-wide scale, celebrate all that God is doing in the Episcopal Church, approve the budget for the next three years, and of course to dialogue--and often times debate--very serious issues relating to both the church and society.  It was at General Convention in 1976 that the ordination of women in the Church was approved, and it was at General Convention in 2015 that the Church approved a service for celebrating marriages among two people of the same gender.  Each time issues like these come up there are folks who speak for and against them.  Each one of those who speak is faithful, and each believes to their core that the voice with which they speak is a prayerful voice, one that is speaking God's truth.  The subject at this year's convention that has caused such a stir has been the vote on whether or not to adopt a new Book of Common Prayer.  While the final decision has not been made as of the posting of this blog, folks on both sides of the issue have been speaking with that same voice of faith, which has been calling them to stand in truth and speak that truth to the powers-that-be of our church.  Some of those speaking do so as if they are picking up the very mantle of truth-speaking laid down by the prophets.

The seal of the General Convention of the Episcopal Church

Speaking truth to power has long been the role of the prophets throughout the Abrahamic faiths.  Isaiah, Jeremiah, Amos, Jonah, Ezekiel, Jesus, and Muhammad all preached God's word to people in positions of great authority.  Some, like Jeremiah, were afraid; some, like Jonah, outright refused the position; some, like Jesus, were killed for what they said; and some, like Muhammad, had their words twisted and used for purposes which they never intended.  Even when people did not believe the prophet, they still could deny neither the fact that a prophet was among them, nor the authority with which he spoke--as God says to Ezekiel:  "Whether they hear or refuse to hear, they shall know that that there has been a prophet among them." (Ezekiel 2: 5) Theirs is the call to speak truth to the people, to call the people to a transformed life, even if their argument is never validated by said people.

It would be sorely unfair and the acme of foolishness to say that anyone today, including preachers, is a prophet like any of the prophets of old, but we who are people of faith are still called to be truth-tellers.  The problem, however, is that in many ways we live in post-truth time.  Y'all know exactly what I'm talking about! You try making a point to someone, maybe in person or in a post to Facebook, to which that person responds, "Actually, the truth is something different."  You come back with, "You're wrong, that's not the truth."  Suddenly, an argument breaks out over the very idea of truth, the very notion that there is a right and wrong.  The natural conclusion, then, is to say, well, we both have our truths and they're both correct, and then you walk away.  Sometimes, yes, more than one thing can be true, but the idea that truth is entirely subjective leads to a complete breakdown of communal life.  What's more, it breeds mistrust and animosity and is what caused many of those in power to refuse to even listen to the words of the prophets of old because they had already decided that their truth was more true than the prophet's truth.  This is what happens to Jesus when he goes home to Nazareth.

'Jesus came to his hometown, and his disciples followed him. On the sabbath he began to teach in the synagogue, and many who heard him were astounded. They said, “Where did this man get all this? What is this wisdom that has been given to him? What deeds of power are being done by his hands! Is not this the carpenter, the son of Mary and brother of James and Joses and Judas and Simon, and are not his sisters here with us?” And they took offense at him. Then Jesus said to them, “Prophets are not without honor, except in their hometown, and among their own kin, and in their own house.” And he could do no deed of power there, except that he laid his hands on a few sick people and cured them. And he was amazed at their unbelief.

Then he went about among the villages teaching. He called the twelve and began to send them out two by two, and gave them authority over the unclean spirits. He ordered them to take nothing for their journey except a staff; no bread, no bag, no money in their belts; but to wear sandals and not to put on two tunics. He said to them, “Wherever you enter a house, stay there until you leave the place. If any place will not welcome you and they refuse to hear you, as you leave, shake off the dust that is on your feet as a testimony against them.” So they went out and proclaimed that all should repent. They cast out many demons, and anointed with oil many who were sick and cured them.'

--Mark 6: 1-13

Jesus' going home was not for a quick visit to see his family, or some walk through the nostalgia of his childhood.  He takes his disciples with him and goes to the synagogue to teach, which means he is there standing in the authority that God has given to him, but when he opens his mouth and speaks the religious leaders and other people gathered are unable to hear his truth.  They have already decided that this man, this boy as they know him, cannot possibly be qualified enough to speak God's truth to them.  Who is he to tell them how to live their lives; after all, he's been living most of the past year or so in Capernaum, not Nazareth?  The resistance on the part of Nazarenes bears striking resemblance to that of the people who are quick to denounce the truth-speakers, to tell them that their version of what's true is just as valid.  What, then, is Jesus to do when caught in this kind of situation?  What is any of us to do when we are trapped with someone who refuses to listen to us, or who disrespects us when we have the courage the speak?

The solution that Jesus offers comes in the instructions that he gives to his disciples after the encounter with the folks in his hometown.  He sends the twelve out two-by-two.  I often wonder how those pairs were done--did the disciples choose their partner or did Jesus choose for them, and if so who ended up with Judas?  He sends them together to not only remind them that they are not alone in their ministry, but also in order that they may have support.  Imagine if Peter and Matthew were paired together.  If they go into Peter's hometown and the folks reject him, Matthew will be there for support, and vice versa when they go to Matthew's town.  Moreover, that partner would be there not to simply agree with everything, but perhaps even to challenge the other somewhat.  You wanna tell me the person paired with Judas didn't push against the stuff he was likely saying?  Not only are they to go together--that is, in community--but notice what they are to take--or rather, what they are not to take.  Their travel is to be light--they will only carry a staff and no change of clothes--and they are not to take any worldly possessions that could hinder or hold them back--no money, no bread.  They are, in a very real way, stripped of everything except their partner and the words that God will speak and the works that God will perform through them.  In these instructions from Jesus we may very well find a model for how to navigate this post-truth world of ours.

We have all found ourselves in situations where the other person simply does not want to hear what we have to say, and at worst disrespects us for even trying to say it.  I suspect that all of of us who have found ourselves in those situations have been tempted to trade blows with such a person. But if we keep trading blows, trying to one-up each other and going mad attempting to prove our truth to the other, then the cycle will never end.  What if, instead of trading blows and arguing loudly (or passive-aggressively on Facebook) over whose truth is and THE truth, we look to Jesus and the disciples as our guides.  Jesus doesn't argue with the people in the Nazareth synagogue, even though he could have and would have been right.  Instead, he continues to stand in his own authority,  What if we stood in our baptismal authority to seek, serve, respect and love?  When Jesus sends out the twelve he sends them in pairs, so what if we remembered that we are not alone and sought the insight of a brother or sister who might be able to support or challenge us?  And just as the twelve went on their journey carrying little baggage, what if we could drop the baggage that weighs us down--our fears, our prejudices, our refusal to change or to accept our own faults and failings?  Perhaps by doing so we can make a crack in the hardened heart of the person or persons with whom we are in disagreement.  Or perhaps not.  The result, whether or not our truth is validated, is quite irrelevant.  The point is that by taking up Jesus' example and applying his instructions to the disciples to our own lives our very spirits undergo a transformation, and we become more and more Christ-like ourselves. That is the point!  It's not about proving you are right and the other is wrong, especially in a world in which no one seems to ever be willing to admit they are wrong.  Instead, it is about the inner journey toward a life that is grounded in Jesus, a life that seeks to become more like Jesus.  This is, after all, why we take Communion each week, as St. Augustine put it:  "We eat the Body of Christ in order that we may be the Body of Christ."  That transformation, not the validation of our personal truth, is the point.  For our brothers and sisters at General Convention, who are engaged in some hard conversations, and for all of us who find ourselves in such precarious spots on a daily basis, our goal is transformation, not validation.

So the next time you find yourself in a situation where you are called to speak the truth, or when you are caught in a conversation with someone who keeps putting you down for speaking the truth, or you're faced with someone who is so completely wrong but incapable of budging from their own truth, use Jesus and the disciples as your model for how to handle it.  Don't trade blows.  Don't disrespect or belittle.  Continue to stand.  Lean on those in your community who can stand with you.  Let go of the baggage that keeps you from standing.  And remember that the transformation of your very self, not the affirmation of your argument, is what God is calling you toward in those moments.  For that is what it means to take up the mantle of the prophets. 

Embracing the Interruptions

'When Jesus had crossed again in the boat to the other side, a great crowd gathered around him; and he was by the sea. Then one of the leaders of the synagogue named Jairus came and, when he saw him, fell at his feet and begged him repeatedly, “My little daughter is at the point of death. Come and lay your hands on her, so that she may be made well, and live.” So he went with him.

And a large crowd followed him and pressed in on him. Now there was a woman who had been suffering from hemorrhages for twelve years. She had endured much under many physicians, and had spent all that she had; and she was no better, but rather grew worse. She had heard about Jesus, and came up behind him in the crowd and touched his cloak, for she said, “If I but touch his clothes, I will be made well.” Immediately her hemorrhage stopped; and she felt in her body that she was healed of her disease. Immediately aware that power had gone forth from him, Jesus turned about in the crowd and said, “Who touched my clothes?” And his disciples said to him, “You see the crowd pressing in on you; how can you say, ‘Who touched me?’” He looked all around to see who had done it. But the woman, knowing what had happened to her, came in fear and trembling, fell down before him, and told him the whole truth. He said to her, “Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace, and be healed of your disease.”

While he was still speaking, some people came from the leader’s house to say, “Your daughter is dead. Why trouble the teacher any further?” But overhearing what they said, Jesus said to the leader of the synagogue, “Do not fear, only believe.” He allowed no one to follow him except Peter, James, and John, the brother of James. When they came to the house of the leader of the synagogue, he saw a commotion, people weeping and wailing loudly. When he had entered, he said to them, “Why do you make a commotion and weep? The child is not dead but sleeping.” And they laughed at him. Then he put them all outside, and took the child’s father and mother and those who were with him, and went in where the child was. He took her by the hand and said to her, “Talitha cum,” which means, “Little girl, get up!” And immediately the girl got up and began to walk about (she was twelve years of age). At this they were overcome with amazement. He strictly ordered them that no one should know this, and told them to give her something to eat.'

--Mark 5: 21-43

Not to be presumptuous, but I’m going to guess that hardly any of you enjoys being interrupted.  Am I right?  I know that I don't!  Interruptions are especially frustrating when we’ve set ourselves up for a task that demands our best effort, such as:  when we’re pouring over our job, have started an important project in our yard, or have finally settled down to read that book someone recommending.  We start to get focused on the task at hand, and then suddenly along comes something or someone that throws a hitch into it.  Once that happens we channel our inner Charlie Brown and then trudge off to begrudgingly attend to the interruption, even though we would very much rather attend to our much more important work.  

We've all been there, Charlie Brown.

That relationship between work and interruptions is something that one of my spiritual heroes, Henri Nouwen addressed.  Father Nouwen was a Dutch priest, philosopher, poet, professor, and social activist.  After 20 years teaching at Notre Dame, Yale, and Harvard, he devoted the remaining 10 years of his life to living and serving among the L’Arche Daybreak Community in Toronto, which was made up of adults with severe physical and emotional disabilities.  As he put it in his book In the Name of Jesus, he moved from the best and brightest at Harvard, those who wanted to rule the world, to men and women who had few or no words and were considered, at best, on the margins of society.  In that and several other works, Father Nouwen talks about the struggles of that move, how so often he just wanted to do the basic ministerial work of teaching and administering the sacraments, but so often he would be interrupted by the needs of someone in the community, such as a man with Tourette's Syndrome interrupting a mass. It got really frustrating at times, but over time Father Nouwen came to see those interruptions as a gift from God. At one point he wrote, “I used to complain about all the interruptions to my work until I realized these interruptions were my work.”  

Father Henri Nouwen, who died in 1999.

Isn’t that interesting?  Many of us, I suspect, become so focused on accomplishing a task, sometimes even a task to which we believe that God has called us, that we do not see God’s presence in the person or thing that interrupts us.  The interruption could not possibly be a gift from God, could it?  It took Father Nouwen years to learn that, but one person for which it did not take so long was Jesus. 

This past week's Gospel text shows Jesus being interrupted not once, but twice!  Jesus and his disciples land in a Galilean town and are immediately met by Jairus, a leader in the local synagogue, who asks Jesus to help his sick daughter.  Whatever it was Jesus came to do in that town has gotten interrupted.  Still, Jairus is an important person, so we can forgive this interruption, which somehow doesn't feel like a nuisance.  Not so with interruption number two, which sees a woman stop Jesus in the crowd.  See, even Jesus' interruptions get interrupted!  This woman has been suffering from hemorrhages for 12 years—which not only has left her in tremendous debt and physical agony but has also made her perpetually unclean according to the Law.  No doubt those around are thinking that Jesus should just move on, especially; after all, this woman is of no social value, but Jairus is, and his daughter should obviously take priority.  Jesus instead meets the woman and engages with her, and in doing so he not only restores her to physical health but also restores her to the community.  This only happens because he allows himself to be interrupted.  

Notice how Jesus does not treat the woman like an inconvenience, nor does he complain that he doesn’t have time to go and complete the task of healing Jairus’ daughter, even though many in the crowd were complain that she is already dead.  Perhaps it is because Jesus does not treat time as a commodity, as something that can be controlled, like so many folks do; after all, we cannot “waste” our time, can we?  We cannot devote time to something that is unimportant, right?  This is partially due to our western, post-Enlightenment, Protestant work ethic that has formed us to think that there is actually such a thing as a task that is wasteful, and that we should treat our time like our money, carefully.  Jesus, however, is neither western, nor post-Enlightenment, nor Protestant, and thus does not do this.  He does not choose which person is more important—the woman or Jairus’ daughther— and he does not show frustration at either interruption, which pulled him away from the ever-important work of prayer.  Instead he treats both interruptions as opportunities to show God’s love and mercy to not only these people but all those who witnessed the two moments of healing and all of us who have heard the story after it happened.  For Jesus, the interruption was the work.  

A catacomb's fresco depicting Jesus being interrupted by the woman with hemorrhages.

Last week I was faced with a situation in which I was interrupted in the midst of very important work by someone seeking help.  It was Tuesday, and I was in the middle of preparing for our vestry meeting, getting my notes done and setting up for our pre-meeting worship, when a man came by the church needing food and gas.  “I don’t have time for this,” I literally said to myself (and to God) as I walked down the hall to meet him.  But I realized when talking to him that this interruption was the work that God was calling me to in this moment.  So what if I ended up being late for vestry?  So what if other tasks I had planned to complete that day were not finished?  This interruption was my work.

What is the work of the church, brothers and sisters?  According to our Book of Common Prayer, on page 855, which is part of the Catechism or Outline of the Faith, the mission of the Church, that is, the work to which every one of us is called, is "to restore all people to unity with God and each other in Christ", and it goes on to say that we do so "through prayer, worship, the proclamation of the Gospel, and the promotion of justice, peace, and love."  When this is our work, and these are the ways in which we accomplish that work, there is no such thing as an interrption.  What's more, there is no such thing as wasted time, meaningless tasks, or unimportant people.  For this is our work, just as it was Jesus' work. 

So the next time you are faced with some kind of interruption to an important task, I wonder what might happened if you saw that interruption as a gift from God?  What if, instead of resisting the interruption out of frustration, you saw it as an opportunity to live into the very work that God has called you to as part of the Church, the Body of Christ?  What would it look like if instead of having clenched teeth, you had open hands and received the interruption just as you receive Jesus each week at the Holy Eucharist?  This is what we are called to, brothers and sisters.  Because for us, like Jesus, the interruptions are the work.