A Sonnet and a Sermon on the Death of John the Baptist [Proper 10B - Mark 6:14-29]

The Rt. Rev. Jeremiah Williamson

Mark 6:14-29

 

A Sonnet and a Sermon on the Death of John the Baptist

All Souls' Memorial Chapel, Keene Valley

 

It seems so terribly out of place here

In the midst of this story of Jesus

The grizzly end of the Baptist’s career

Inserted as a sick anamnesis

 

A memory of casual violence

A bloody tale of invasive trauma

The price John paid for fervent piousness

Was at this king’s party merely drama

 

“This John, whom I beheaded, has been raised.”

The sick royal act still haunted the king

The prophet returned when he was amazed

Until the guilt became his everything

 

A head on a platter would represent

The lengths one will go to not repent

 

This story is, I think, supposed to clash, supposed to abruptly disrupt the narrative.  As it stands in stark contrast to the harp interlude that preceded its reading this morning, so does it stand in stark contrast to the surrounding pericopes in Mark’s Gospel.  It is told as a story of violence in the midst of miraculous healings.  It is told as a story of disgusting defiance against a call to repentance.

 

And it is told in rare detail.  It is vividly detailed in a book sparse of detail.  Mark is the briefest of Gospels; it is an economical account.  And yet the author spares no words on the story of John’s beheading.  In this Gospel the entire Easter story is half the length of this particular story – and probably about as half as descriptive, if that is something that can be quantified. 

 

And it is just inserted.  A jarring interruption of Jesus’ ministry.  It comes after Jesus commissions his disciples.  It comes before the feeding of the 5000.  There it stands like an intrusive weed between lovely flowers.

 

You might remember last Sunday’s Gospel story, the story that immediately precedes today’s in the Gospel of Mark: Jesus sends out his twelve disciples in pairs, two by two, in Biblical parlance.  They were prepared to free the captives and heal the unhealthy.  It was a big mission, an urgent mission.  But they were commanded to take on their important journey very little.  They walked into the big and dangerous world impoverished: they carried nothing but a staff; no bread, no bag, no money.  They had to rely entirely on the generosity of others.  It was a vulnerable way to be. 

 

One that would have been utterly foreign to the guests at the birthday celebration.  Herod’s party was drenched in wealth and privilege. The seats around the elaborate banquet table were reserved for those with possessions and power, for those who had plenty of bread, bags, and money.  For those who did not need to rely…

 

…not on people and not on God.  This story unfolds because John preached repentance – restoration to community and reliance on the mercy of God.  His message was not intended necessarily to be a message of condemnation but really a path to freedom.  But Herod and Herodias chose violence.  And that violence destroyed family and future.  It unleashed a pain that haunted the world, a trauma that ripples into eternity.  Herod saw John in every charismatic preacher for the rest of his life.  John’s disciples and friends carried their grief forever.  I suspect the little girl could never get John’s head out of her head.

 

Herod’s was a most exclusive banquet but just below the surface bubbled a tale of terror.  Folks left full but far emptier. 

 

The story that follows this grizzly Gospel tale, is the story of another banquet.  The second banquet is not in a palace.  The menu is simpler.  The guests: far less impressive.  Folks sat on the ground and it was an all you can eat buffet of bread and fish.  But it was well attended because the price was right and the host was generous.  Five thousand people were fed that day – in body and soul.  And no one paid.  Also, no one was murdered.

 

But that is a Gospel for another week.  This week’s Gospel selection has no happy ending.  The ending of today’s passage is a girl gifting a severed head and a terrible funeral.  Not the highest note to go out on.

 

But a reminder of why Jesus came to this planet.  Heaven and hell mingle in this world.  Human life is a collage of the beautiful and terrible.  While the clangor of Herod’s horrible banquet raged, Jesus and his followers were introducing a stunning alternative: a Kingdom of God in which people and communities are made whole.  In the midst of violence Jesus was bringing healing. 

 

And still is.  The news carries the echo of gun shots and the stench of death, the reminders that we are not well.  The news reminds us that life can be hard and it can hurt and it can knock the wind out of even the most optimistic person.  But there is a Good News that refuses to end the story in death and despair: the Risen Christ still inhabits this world; he refuses to leave us.  And his Kingdom is coming – a Kingdom that promises to displace the nightmares of this world with the dream of God.