Why in the world did he do it? Why did Herod have John the Baptizer killed? In 13 years of preaching, I’ve never preached on this gospel before, and I’ve really been stewing about that question—wondering why in the world it happened the way it did—and wondering what in the world this passage from Mark has to do with our lives today.
According to what we hear in the scripture, Herod had no real reason to kill John. In fact, John seems to hold an attraction for Herod. He’s perplexed by what John says, but he enjoys listening to him. John holds no threat for him, and he’s grieved by Salome’s calling for his death as her reward, so why does he kill him? One of the traditional interpretations is that Herod’s wife, Herodias, tricked him into it, and it does seem like she takes good advantage of an opportunity to rid herself of a man who calls her marriage into question. That perspective fits neatly with our human tendency to blame our wrongdoings on someone else, but a woman of that time—even a royal wife—didn’t have much power to enforce anything. Scripture does give us an explanation that’s hard to hear: Herod chooses to take that action out of his regard for his oaths and for his guests. In other words, he has John killed rather than lose face in front of his dinner guests. It apparently doesn’t occur to him that he has the choice to refuse. He doesn’t notice that he’s placed his oath above the commandment not to murder.
I’ve stewed about this story, asking myself what it has to do with our lives today. Yesterday it all clicked into place for me as I listened to an NPR story. The story was about two families in Wisconsin, the Millers and the MacDonalds. Mrs. Miller and Mrs. MacDonald both gave birth to baby girls in the same hospital on the same day in 1951. When Mrs. Miller came home from the hospital, she weighed her new baby on the baby scale she’d used for her other five children and found that the little one weighed two and a half pounds less than recorded as her birthweight. She put this together with the fact that this baby was blond, while she, her husband and all her other children were dark, and realized that the babies had somehow been switched in the hospital. She told her husband what she’d figured out, and he told her that they would just leave things as they were, as he believed that making any kind of fuss about the switch would somehow bring disgrace on their beloved family physician. Shortly thereafter, Mrs. Miller experienced some health problems, her focus shifted to other things, the days turned into weeks and the subject never really took center stage again.
Years passed. The girls saw themselves as misfits in their families. They both asked their parents if they were adopted. Both were assured that they were born into the families, but questions remained with them and with their siblings, who also perceived the girls as not fitting into their families. The families lived in the same area, and over time, various people pointed out to the girls that they resembled daughters of the other families. Finally, the Millers attended the MacDonalds’ fiftieth wedding anniversary party. For the first time, they met the MacDonald children, including the daughter born on that same day in 1951. Her resemblance to their other daughters left no doubt in their minds. In 1994, as the women approached their 43rd birthday, Mrs. Miller wrote to both daughters, telling them of the mistake that had been made all those years before.
This is what the folks on NPR call a driveway story. I sat there in my car, listening in fascinated horror, trying to imagine how Mrs. Miller could live with that secret for 43 years. I finally came to the realization that her situation was very similar to the position Herod found himself in. I finally came to the realization that her situation was very similar to the positions most of us have found ourselves in. I can imagine Mrs. Miller a month—or a year—or a decade—after the daughters were born, thinking about the possibility of telling what she knew to be the truth, and imagining the questions: How could you wait so long? Why didn’t you tell us as soon as you knew? I can imagine her flinching from the scrutiny that she feared would come—deciding that it was too late to tell the truth—deciding that telling the truth would just cause more trouble. I can imagine Herod—insecure in his position, seeing a decision not to follow through with his oath as a sign of weakness, flinching from the disrespect he feared might come if he showed mercy to this prophet who’s emerged from the wilderness. I can imagine Herod believing that it’s too late to do anything but follow the course ahead of him.
Most of us have not been in situations with such consequences as those Herod or Mrs. Miller found themselves in, and we can be grateful for that. I have no doubt, however, that every single one of us has been in a situation where we’ve considered an action that might balance the scale and said to ourselves, I wish I could do that, but it’s too late. Sometimes it really is too late. Sometimes there is no remedy for actions we’ve taken. Sometimes there’s no way to modify a situation for which we hold some responsibility. When that happens, our only course is to make amends as best we can and to be thankful for God’s forgiveness. There are other times when we decide that the cost of the remedy is higher than we want to pay. Sometimes our fear of retribution or the threat to our pride or our sense of guilt or any of the other feelings we experience as we think about action we know to be right—sometimes these things are barriers that seem insurmountable to us.
And—if we had to face these barriers by ourselves, that might be true. But the Good News is that we don’t have to face anything by ourselves. God’s grace holds us—especially when we do the difficult things—the things that frighten us or threaten us. God’s grace hold us, and when we sprinkle some of that grace around, as Bishop Mary told us last week, good things happen. The world shifts a little—the world tilts a little—the world moves just a bit closer to the reign of God. All we have to do is take the first step. Maybe that step is a letter or a phone call. Maybe it’s a prayer for the well-being of a person with whom you’ve experienced conflict. Maybe it’s talking with Pastor Kate or me about the Sacrament of Reconciliation or the resources of our Center for Reconciliation, right here at St. Mark’s. Only you and God know what that first step might be.
So I invite you today to consider where that step might lead you. I invite you to imagine how you might feel if you could finally put to rest whatever it is that has you thinking “It’s too late.”
Consider the good that might come and reach out for the grace that is always ready to make us stronger—braver—kinder than we imagine we can be. God’s grace is right there—waiting for us—surrounding us. God’s grace is right here.
Thanks be to God!