A story of power
Meanwhile Herod, the ruler of Judea, had heard about Jesus, whose reputation had become widespread. Some people were saying, “John the Baptizer has been raised from the dead, and that is why such miraculous powers are at work in him.” Others said, “He is Elijah;” still others, “He is a prophet, like one of the prophets of old.” When Herod heard of Jesus, he exclaimed, “John, whom I beheaded, has risen from the dead!”
Now it was Herod who had ordered John arrested, chained and imprisoned on account of Herodias, the wife of his brother Philip, whom Herod had married. For John had told Herod, “It is against the Law for you to have your brother’s wife.” As for Herodias, she was furious with John and wanted to kill him but was unable to do so. Herod feared John, knowing him to be good and holy, and kept him in custody. When Herod heard John speak he was very much disturbed; yet he was moved by John’s words.
Herodias had her chance one day when Herod on his birthday held a dinner for the court circle, military officers and leaders of Galilee. When the daughter of Herodias came in and danced, this delighted Herod and the guests so much that he told the young woman, “Ask me anything you like and I will give it to you.” And Herod swore an oath, “I will give you anything you ask, even half of my entire realm!”
She went out and said to her mother, “What should I ask for?” Herodias replied, “The head of John the Baptizer.” The woman hurried back to Herod and made her request: “I want you to give me the head of John the Baptizer on a platter.”
Herod was deeply distressed by this request, but remembering the oath he swore before the guests, he was reluctant to break his oath to her. So Herod immediately sent one of the bodyguards with orders to bring John’s head. The guard beheaded John in prison, then brought the head in on a platter and gave it to the young woman, who gave it to her mother. When John’s disciples heard about this, they came and took the body away and laid it in a tomb.
At first glance, this is a sad story of a prophet’s sloppy execution, but beyond that, it seems to be a story about power.
Who do you think has the most power in this story?
First mentioned is Herod: King of Judea, and if this were a film this would be the moment when the camera angle narrows to just his face, as he catches wind of the buzz Jesus has stirred up with his miracles. What do we know about Herod’s power? As a King, it’s obvious that Herod holds the kind of power where his word is final. Ultimate authority. He also married his brother’s wife and caught public flack from John the Baptist for it—but according to the author of Mark, Herod didn’t hate John’s pushback, maybe he felt it made him more powerful, who knows. But he kept John around because he liked the way he made him think. This Herod apparently is also easily amused and easy to trap in weighty promises when he’s been drinking.
When Herod’s introduced in this passage he’s not feeling powerful, he’s in a state of fear. Panic. Profound paranoia. He keeps hearing about Jesus and he’s absolutely terrified that his flippant execution of John the Baptist months ago has come back to haunt him in a resurrected body. Interesting foreshadowing.
Onto Herodias. Herodias knew her power was to influence the King—in this case, to take advantage of his compromised state. This woman was unabashedly power thirsty. The text tells us that she used to be married to Herod’s brother (another Herod), but historical records give some context that her ex-husband-king didn’t have any land or territory to rule. So when this Herod, Herod Antipas fell in love with her, she gladly took the step up in power as Queen of Judea.
Herodias was the wife of two Herods, the granddaughter of another Herod, and the sister to yet another. She was born into aristocracy, but even that wasn’t enough political power for her. She was also a woman, so she could never make her own way to the top—she had to scheme and manipulate men to get what she wanted. And it seems like she was pretty good at it. Historical records show that years after this story, her brother Herod Agrippa would become the most powerful Herod, and Herodias would encourage her husband to challenge him to his throne. During this quest he would eventually be stripped of power, and they would both die in exile. Behold, the scheming power of the disadvantaged.
Her unnamed daughter also appears to be but a pawn in Herodias’s chess match: Sent out to enchant the king while the queen swoops in for the kill. Herodias can’t stand the power John the Baptist has to cast judgment on her life decisions—after all, her remarriage was not only a familial change, but a career move. Who was he to condemn the only path she could see to what she wanted? He was in her way so she had to kill him, and harnessing her daughter’s power to dance and enthrall her stepfather, while kinda disturbing and gross, was exactly what she needed to have Herod’s ear back as her own. She wouldn’t have to manage his being influenced by this spooky, judgmental religious man anymore.
Though she’s a princess, it seems Herodias’s daughter has no sense of power or agency of her own. She doesn’t know what to ask for when Herod offers her anything in the world. She trusts her mother though, and at her bidding, makes a horrifying request of the prophet’s head on a platter. Personally I’m not surprised at her suggestibility and disempowerment, what, with a narcissistic mother whose puppeteering may never stop until she manipulates a man to take over the world? The princess is learning from her mother how to use her wiles to get her way, how to use her body as her power over powerful men, but never learning to identify what she really wants, or who she wants to be.
The moral of the story? Don’t hate the player, hate the game.
Totally kidding. I don’t believe in moralizing Bible stories. But in all seriousness it seems to me that the Power Structures are the setting of this story—and these structures become a sort of disembodied, unnamed character: The Spirit of the Times. Power is the name of the game and to win, you have to want it. You have to be ruthless. This is the world Herodias was born into—but as a second-class participant on account of her female body. This was all she knew. So she was going to prove that she could win even without the privilege given to men. What was she going to do instead, drop everything and follow Jesus? Forgive seventy times seven times? Lay down her life for her friends?
At this point it may be worth highlighting that if we’re reading this as a historical narrative, we would do well to take into account the power dynamics in “who determines how history is told.” The power behind this story about power. Do you think Herodias and her daughter were portrayed accurately? Or their perspectives were even considered in telling this story? There is a long pattern of men in history—especially religious history—of scapegoating women as the true villains in our stories. Blaming women for men’s actions is a tale as old as time, and it is a power play by the men who are threatened by that which they cannot control—namely, the power of the feminine. Even the power of God.
Which leads us to John the Baptizer. He holds a different kind of power. Divine power. The power that reveals injustice in worldly systems. He knows with this power he’s got their attention. He’s used to strong reactions from people—he’s always been a kind of wild man, preparing people for the even more radical message Jesus would teach. John was the one who told everyone to get ready for a huge shift—and he had no problem reminding those who were hesitant about this Big Change that they really had nothing to lose. John preached repentance, saying, “Be honest, the way things are isn’t really working for you, is it? Don’t you long for something better? Don’t you crave justice and peace? Don’t you want to know what you were made for? Don’t you long to really know God?”
Obviously this kind of radicalism makes waves. Herod isn’t sure whether to be interested or threatened, and Herodias was not about to disassemble the systems that have propped her up over everyone else her whole life. John had a power that neither of them could ever imagine—hardly even recognize. John had the power to open their minds and their hearts to the Love that was already pouring out for all the world in the person of Jesus Christ.
Jesus is the backdrop of this story. This execution tale was a dreamy flashback to explain to us from Herod’s perspective why he was so afraid of Jesus. See he may have been open to John’s message, but the burden of guilt after executing him made Herod completely paranoid. He knew he made a mistake. He knew John didn’t deserve to die. Do you remember what the passage says about why he followed through with his stepdaughter’s request? Here’s a recap: it’s his birthday, she dances, he’s delighted (again, gross), he offers her anything she wants, she asks her mother what to ask for, which turns out to be John the Baptist’s head on a platter. Herod’s face falls. All his birthday merriment fades away as he realizes he now has a choice to make: keep his oath and kill this man he respects and enjoys, or fall back on his word and lose the respect of the people at his dinner party. This is a man who is insecure in his power. If he can’t make a decision to protect one innocent life at the cost of his reputation, he doesn’t understand how to use power or why he has it. And as soon as he fumbles? Someone will always be there to pick up the ball. Herodias—the one in this story who knows exactly what she wants and is willing to do anything to make it happen.
Remember how the story started? Jesus is gaining attention. A lot of it. All of this is in reference to Jesus, who by far has the most power of anyone involved. In our readings over the last few weeks, he’s calmed a storm on the sea, healed people in multiple cities, raised a little girl from the dead, and given his disciples the power to do the same.
How do we respond to the power of Jesus? What is your response to an encounter with the Eternal Christ?
Sometimes, like Herod, our guilt is the first thing to rise up when we see the power of what we’re talking about. “Oh I know I don’t take it seriously enough, I’m a terrible Christian, I could be doing so much more…”
Other times we’re more like Herodias. Unphased. Set on our own agenda. Stubbornly willing to do what it takes and completely entrenched in the world’s systems of power that have gotten us this far. I imagine she only cared about Jesus insofar as he was a threat to her own plans.
See in this story we have two people who are very committed to their own power—though in very different ways—and two people who are very committed to the power of God extended to all people. And you know the way it goes: the insecurity of the fearful leads to the silencing of the voice of truth in the people of God.
When we are committed to our own power, we are motivated by fear, guilt, hate, and revenge. Even the goodness in other people reminds us of the failures in our own lives and in our own hearts. In fear, we’re constantly looking around to the world and the people in it to tell us we’re okay.
But when we are committed to God’s power, to the life force that binds us all together, to the peace and union that comes when we consider the needs of others to be more important than our own status or image, then we know true power. I imagine John the Baptist wasn’t afraid to die, and we know Jesus willingly sacrificed himself. Why? How could they do this? What did they know that made them so brave? They knew they were a part of something bigger than themselves. They knew their lives only mattered as a part of the greater love story we all live in. They knew true, unconditional, unfailing love for the whole world, and they surrendered wholly to it.
It’s not easy and the stakes are high, but it is this surrender that saves us. When fear and doubt and manipulation feel are so much easier, this surrender brings us to true life—eternal life. When we trust whatever happens when we fully offer ourselves to Love, when we lay down our own schemes and fears and power, even if it means in one way or another we die, in this trust, in this surrender, we are truly saved.