Chaplain Mel
Baars
July 15, 2012
Mark 6:14-29
“Going On
Anyway”
Unlawful
arrest. Adultery and incest by marriage. Flagrant misuse of government
resources. A sexualized birthday party. A promise kept resulting in a murder.
The head of a man served on a platter. This description sounds more like
something we might find on HBO, rated “for adult viewing only” rather than a
story plucked right out of our Bible. For as much as we worry about gratuitous
violence or sex permeating the entertainment industry, this morning we don’t
have to look very far to remember that gruesome stories which end in the loss
of innocent life have been, and still are, a reality in our world.
The death of John
the Baptist is not exactly a heartwarming or uplifting story. When I flipped
through the potential texts for this Sunday, my first reaction was to avoid it
altogether. I am in pretty good company. The gospel of Luke omits the story
completely, barely giving John’s death a mention. Matthew’s gospel shrinks it down
to just twelve verses, glossing over some of the more grotesque details. Can
any of us really blame them? John’s death does not appear to be a good news story by any stretch of the
means. There isn’t any apparent hope. The story ends with a beheading, and
barely a gesture toward something more, something holy. Skipping right over it could
be considered a form of self-preservation.
None of us
would ever chose to deal with such a tale, at least not if we didn’t have to.
We have enough difficulty in our lives to have to add any more into the mix. A
few years ago when I was visiting my parents, I remember watching a very sad
movie about a community ravaged by HIV and AIDS. The movie started off on a
painful note and only seemed to grow worse. At one point, my mother decided she
had enough. Leaving her place on the couch, she said to me, “I’m sorry. I just
can’t take it anymore. Real life is sad enough.” With that, she left me in the
living room.
And yet, there
are times when I feel drawn to watching or reading stories such as this one—stories
that are tragic, painful, and devastating but nonetheless, all too real. Because, I know that suffering
happens all around me. I hear it in the quavering voice of young soldier recounting
the ways she was abused by her step-father. I see it in the distant eyes of a patient
who has traveled for days to get medical care at the Egyptian Hospital. We read
about horrible suffering in our intelligence reports and watch it on the news,
about girls schools being targeted by the Taliban or a young son of a village
elder being blinded by extremists as punishment for the village for cooperating
with coalition forces.
Though we may
wish to avoid it, or even attempt to protect ourselves and our loved ones from it,
sooner or later, suffering of some kind will knock on our own door. Because
this is true, dealing with a text such as this one may actually help prepare us
for the shadows which lurk precariously close. Please, don’t get me wrong. I am
not predicting that any of us will face something as drastic as a beheading. Nonetheless,
we are a part of a war characterized
by carnage, trauma, and death. The truth is, some of us who wear this uniform
will not escape it unscathed.
Despite my better
judgment, I chose to preach on our gospel reading for today. Unlike the other
gospels, I think Mark gives the attention he does to John’s death precisely
because of its horror, because Mark knows just how harsh the world can be,
particularly to those who are weak and marginalized. Even in a book called
“good news,” this reality rears its ugly head. If John, a prophet of God, the
baptizer of Jesus, couldn’t avoid this darkness, what makes any of us think
that we are immune? This is the reality that we are also faced with, a world
that is often dark, filled with fallen people who, despite even good
intentions, make choices which disappoint and cause pain.
It is no wonder,
in the verses which precede this story, Jesus prepares his disciples to go into
the world, sending them out two by two. John’s death is further evidence that
they need each other desperately-- that we need each other, too. The world is
not always receptive to God’s message of good news to the poor, sight to the
blind, and justice and peace for all people. Speaking truth to power often
results in backlash. We see this not only in John’s violent death at the hands
of Herod, but also on the cross. Jesus came to restore the world and give new
life, and yet because this freedom for all threatened the power and control of
some, he was killed. We can never forget that at the very heart of the good news is God’s passion and death. As
followers of Jesus, we hold this duality in both of our hands.
As I was
reading and preparing for my sermon, I noticed that quite a few commentators mentioned
that Jesus is mostly absent from this sordid tale of John’s death. At the beginning of the story, we hear that
Jesus’ name had become known throughout the region, but that is the only time
he is mentioned. He isn’t even a part of the party who comes to bury John. In
fact, this is the only scene in Mark’s gospel where Jesus doesn’t make a
personal appearance at all.[1] In a way
though, Jesus’ absence seems somehow appropriate. It is almost as if Mark is
mirroring the very depth of despair that we may feel on the days when it seems
that even God has abandoned us. For just this moment, for these sixteen verses,
Mark forces us to get honest about how bad things can be, about how darkness
can skew our vision so much that we lose sight of God and God’s steadfast
promises. When the powerless suffer from a variety of tyrannies, when leaders
sacrifice those entrusted to them for personal gain, when innocent die
avoidable deaths, we wonder just where God has gone. What about God’s promises?
When will they come true?
I am reminded
of this palpable dissonance just listening to our scripture for this morning.
On one hand, we have Psalm 24 which begins with these beautiful words, “The
earth is the Lord’s and all that is in it, the world, and those who live
in it; for he has founded it on the seas, and established it on the rivers.”
And yet, as much as we profess this to be the truth, as much as we try and
believe it, we encounter situations which fly in the face of this good news.
There are times when life events threaten the very promises that God has made
to us.
But as jarring
as Psalm 24 and Mark 6:14-29 may be to our ears, we can’t have one without the
other. We can’t lose sight of either. I imagine this is why the lectionary committee,
who decided what scripture should be put together, paired these two texts.
Without Psalm 24, we may forget the hope which is ours to hold on to, even when
it gets dark. Without Mark 6:14-29, we may neglect to face the harsh realities
that we are sure to encounter, realities which may test our faith, realities
which may cause us to suffer, realities which may land us, even, at the foot of
the cross. But, each text, both the hopeful and the terrible, informs the
other. Each text is a gift which allows us to negotiate our own peaks and
valleys, no matter where our journey takes us.
The report of
John’s death concludes with this single verse: “When his disciples heard about what
happened, they came and took his body, and laid it in a tomb.” There is no call
to arms, not galvanizing effort to get back at Herod for what he has done, the
pain he has caused, no plan of vengeance. Just these simple acts-- they came
and took his body, and laid it in a tomb. What else could they do? What else...
What else can any of us do, when a marriage falls apart, when we hear those
dreaded words, “I’m sorry, but it’s cancer,” when a son loses his way through
drug or alcohol abuse, when we are betrayed, when life comes undone at the seams
faster than we can hold on to the unraveling threads... What else can we do, but
in the midst of our grief, find a way to go on, to do what has to be done. We
go on, which sometimes feels impossible as it would have for the disciples when
they retrieved what was left of John’s body. In the stark darkness of our
lives, these simple acts are what faithfulness looks like. Picking up the
pieces, having courage to continue living in the wake of unspeakable loss,
keeping our hearts open to the possibility that something good may grow from the
ashes, these are incredibly faithful acts.
I have heard it
said that one of the greatest demonstrations of faith in all the Bible is found
at the very end of the book of Job. Despite all of his losses and suffering and
grief, despite the fact that he knows in the blink of an eye, he may face the
darkness once again, he willingly agrees once more to become a husband and
father. It sounds simple. People do this every day. But, considering all that
Job went through, it would be much safer for him to close his heart permanently.
To say “Yes” to
life and love, to go on, knowing just how fragile life is, just how much it may
end up hurting but going on anyway, this is faithfulness. This is trust. May we
so respond. Amen
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