Mark 6:14-29
“A Peculiar Banquet”

King Herod heard of [the acts of Jesus], for [his] 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.


A Sermon in Four Movements.

1.
Herodias’s daughter collapsed onto a cushion and sighed. She stared down at her dress, a billowy swirl of linen, and tried to lose herself in the patterns dyed in the cloth, the brilliant violet hues that swam before her eyes. She was tired—more tired than a young woman her age should ever have reason to be. Especially the stepdaughter to a king. But it had been a long night.

It was customary for the daughter in the household to dance at certain ceremonial functions. As a member of the royal court, it was especially important for her to conduct herself appropriately, to perform, to do as she was told and not ask questions. She knew her role—to dance, to be charming for the guests of the king, and to get out of the way.

Tonight was different though. Maybe she danced a little better than usual, maybe the king was a little drunker than usual, but after she was done he roared out his approval. “Whatever you want, my dear! Half the kingdom! It’s yours!” His guests raised their glasses and nodded their approval, impressed by his magnanimous gesture.

She ran to her mother, tripping over the hem of her dress in her excited haste. What an opportunity! Her poor mother—widowed at a young age, now married to her late husband’s brother—what choice did a woman have if she wanted to survive? Yes, he was the king. Yes, her mother wanted for nothing. But people talked. Especially that preacher, John, the one they called the Baptizer, the one with the wild eyes and the devoted followers. “A curse on Herod and on his brother’s wife!” he would say, and she saw the shame cast a shadow across her mother’s proud face.

She quickened her steps, because she knew what she had to do. Herod had said—half the kingdom, whatever she wished. She would ask her mother. Whatever her mother wanted—riches, more servants, fine clothes—she would ask for it.

But what her mother asked for—oh, of all the things she could have asked for!—the girl could barely say it even now, even after all she’d seen, and heard…

And taken part in.

That was the worst part. She had delivered the message to Herod. She was responsible. She could have done something. She could have tried to talk her mother out of it, or she could have taken her time getting back to the banquet, giving Herod time to reconsider his offer, or to sleep it off; she could have done something to delay things or even to stop them altogether. She could have tried. Maybe it wouldn’t have changed things in the end, but maybe if she’d done something she wouldn’t have this dizzy feeling in the pit of her stomach.

No. She shook her head at the memory and stood up. She wasn’t responsible. She was just doing what she was told! It wasn’t her idea. Anyway, she was just a kid! What possible difference could she have made? These events were much too big for her.

She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. There. That was better. Just pretend the whole thing never happened. Just go on, doing what she was told and not asking questions.


2.
Herodias folded her arms across her chest and smiled a secret smile. At last, it was done. The taunting, the scolding, the voice of condemnation, silenced in one brutal stroke. And finally she was at peace.

It was Herod’s fault, really. What kind of ruler makes such a ridiculous vow anyway? “Whatever you want, even half the kingdom”?!? How on earth had Herod made it this far as ruler of Judea with such reckless behavior?, she wondered. But Herod wasn’t exactly the brightest jewel in the crown.

Herodias almost laughed out loud, then caught herself. It wasn’t becoming of a queen to cackle at the misfortune of another, but the truth was, revenge was sweet. Her grudge against John ran deep. Who did he think he was, anyway? Tattered clothes, no family to speak of, and yet he went about as some kind of wise prophet, telling everyone what was wrong with their lives. Who needed that? She had done what she’d had to do, marrying her husband’s brother, and she didn’t need some homeless street preacher passing judgment on her for it.

Herodias’s triumphant smile soured just a little bit, thinking about her daughter, how upset she’d been once it was finished. But she couldn’t dwell on that. Let’s face it, she thought, the world’s a nasty, violent place. Always has been, always will be. One might as well make the most of it. The sooner my daughter learns that, the better.

She was almost asleep when an image filled her mind and she startled awake. It was a face… not John’s face, but another man, John’s cousin, the one from Nazareth. He wasn’t quite as shabby but he had more followers. Oh, he was just as bothersome, always preaching some nonsense about the last being first and the first being last. And loving one’s enemies!

What was it about that family, always making trouble? Ah well, she decided. He’ll meet his own fate sooner or later. Let him have his “kingdom of God,” she chuckled, I live in the real world, the kingdom of this earth. There’s no room for a man like that, not here. Loving one’s enemies will bring you nothing but certain death.

And she slept—a heavy, dreamless sleep.


3.
That same night, Herod tossed and turned. Only in the darkness of his dreams could he admit it—he hadn’t wanted to do it. But what choice did he have?

He remembered the countless other nights when sleep eluded him; he’d make his way down to the door of the cell where they kept the Baptizer, and stand outside just to listen. The man was always preaching, whether anyone was there to hear or not—an endless torrent of judgment and grace and fire and transformation and hope. The man’s words appalled him, and fascinated him, and bewildered him, and lodged in his mind for days afterward. And as captivating as the man was, it was his humility that struck Herod the most. “I am nothing,” the man would say. “I am only preparing the way for one who will come after me.”

He always wanted to know more about that other man, the one John kept talking about, but the thought of even asking his name made Herod quake.

Now he guessed he’d never know.

He shuddered again to think of the events of that night, when the young girl came rushing back to the banquet, her cheeks flushed with—what? excitement? shame? terror?

When she made her request, he could feel all the eyes on him. He hoped the shock and revulsion did not register on his face. What a ghastly request. And for a short moment, he thought about saying no, about rescinding the oath he’d made. He was a powerful man! Who would dare question him for changing his mind, for withdrawing his generous offer?

But he knew—if he wanted to stay a powerful man, he couldn’t express doubt even for one instant. He had to show resolve! It wouldn’t do for him to waver in front of the other leaders and his own officers. The world was watching, and he couldn’t be perceived as weak. He would see this thing through no matter what. Even if it were a mistake, he would see it through. After all, he was one of the most powerful men in the world.

Except… when the men came, John’s disciples, to take the body away for burial. He saw the devotion written on their faces, how they cradled the broken body with such love. Did anyone love him that way? He saw their bodies sagged with heartbreak, and yet he knew somehow that they would go on, that John’s message would never really die.

At last, he drifted off to sleep—confused. He was the most powerful man in Judea.

Wasn’t he?


4.
The officials at the banquet would gossip among themselves for a long time afterward.

“What a foolish girl! Herod offered her half of his kingdom, and what does she ask for? The head of some wandering peasant!”

Another leaned forward and whispered—“Well, it wasn’t her idea, it was her mother’s idea. She’s been seething over John’s treatment of her for years.”

“Either way, Herod got off easy! What’s one life compared to all of his riches?”

“Herod didn’t look like he was getting off easy, not from where I sat. He seemed almost sick to his stomach when he gave the order—some king! Squeamish over the death of one of his prisoners!”

You know how it is. Something terrible happens and everyone has an opinion.

“Of course it was Herod’s fault! He’s the one who gave the order.”

“Ah, but wait, didn’t the daughter have a role to play, running to her mother like that?”

“No, it’s the mother who has blood on her hands. The whole thing was her idea.”

“Hey, none of them is innocent! But that’s the rich and powerful for you.”

And on and on it went.

One day, after hearing this same discussion unfold in the same way, a guest at the party, an official with some power and influence, said quietly,

It’s really tragic.

The king could have called off the execution.
His wife could have showed some mercy if she’d wanted to.
Even the daughter might have done something.

Any one of them could have put a stop to it. They didn’t.
But neither did I. Neither did any of us.
We stood by while a holy and righteous person suffered.
Would we have been able to stop it? Maybe not. But we could have tried.
We could have spoken out against it. We could have done our part. We could have tried.

After the person finished speaking, it was still for a while. Then someone said, “Aw, forget it. It’s none of our business anyway.”

Eventually the gossiping crowd dispersed, until just the one person remained, saying,

No, it didn’t have to be that way.

It doesn’t have to be that way.