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. (Mark 6.20)
Wild and Crazy
If John the Baptist lived today, where would we put him? By
no stretch of the imagination could we leave him to his own devices—that’s for
sure. John’s a prophet cut from a decidedly old-fashioned mold, the inheritor
of a longstanding tradition of loony quirks like those Isaiah, Jeremiah,
Ezekiel, and so many others employed to get Israel’s attention. We never see
John in a temple or synagogue, politely debating theological nuances with the
religious elite. As far as we know, he never stood in anyone’s pulpit. He’s so
far beyond the pale of traditional faith that even he realizes it. That’s why
he sets up shop miles from Jerusalem, the epicenter of all things holy,
alongside the Jordan’s muddy banks.
If you’re curious about this wild and crazy man, you’ll need
to go looking for him, because he most assuredly isn’t coming to you. He’s not
going to clean up, swap his camel’s hair coat for clerical garb, mind his
manners, or do other “appropriate” things just so he can tip off the Sabbath
crowd that the Savior they’re praying for is due any minute. John is going to
be what God tells him to be. He’s going to say what God tells him to say. And
if his demeanor and message offend your refined tastes, hang back in Jerusalem
with the rest of the fancy set. But know this: you’ll miss the Breaking News
that God is sending via this filthy, cantankerous character. And once you
figure out that the world as you know it is no more, you’ll be so far behind
you may never catch up.
A Kicker and a Screamer
John is everything that respected religious leaders seldom
are—a kicker and a screamer. These are not affects he invents as his “brand.”
They’re evident in him before he’s born. While in his mother’s womb, he kicks
up a ruckus when her cousin, Mary, shows up pregnant with the Christ Child. And
that little prenatal dance of his will set the course for his life. As the first human to recognize Who Jesus is,
God will entrust him with the task of alerting the public.
John declares this big news in a big way, a dangerously unconventional way meant to
shock people back to their senses. He doesn’t ask approval to preach his
prepare-the-way message. He doesn’t author a controversial bestseller that launches
him onto the speaker circuit. He heads off to the middle of nowhere—a place
where he’s entirely dependent on God’s protection and provision—and starts
yelling his head off. “Get ready! Somebody’s coming!” he screams. “It’s the One
you’ve been waiting for and you better prepare yourselves, because He’s gonna
turn the world upside down!” Strangest of all, he reconfigures the Jewish mikvah, a ceremonial bath to purify
someone made unclean by touching a corpse, into what he calls “baptism.” It’s
the centerpiece of John’s ministry, as he baptizes his followers not to cleanse
them from the stench of death, but to prepare
them to receive God’s promise of new life.
So we ask again: if John showed up today, where would we put
him? It’s highly doubtful we’d open our pulpits to him, or offer him a seminary
position, or invite him to join a talk-show panel discussing faith’s role in
society. No, John would end up exactly where he is in the gospels—as far from
us as he can get, a roadside attraction not unlike alligator farms and gigantic
dinosaurs and other weird tourist traps strewn along desert highways.
The problem with prophets like John is that we find their outré behavior fascinating, but we don’t
take kindly to their words. This is the root of the tragedy in Mark 6.15-29.
John’s kicking and screaming in the hinterlands have made him famous.
Everything he says gets back to Jerusalem, where it falls on the ears of the objects
of his tirades. Chief among them is Herod Antipas, the puppet king of Galilee.
Through some very untidy dealings, Herod has married his half-brother’s
ex-wife, Herodias, who is also his niece. As John sees it, this creepy
arrangement epitomizes everything that’s wrong with Israel and stokes his
urgency for the Promised One to appear. None of the gospels quotes John’s
diatribe against Herod, but we can safely imagine it goes something like, “Look
at this mess! This so-called ‘king’ better get his act together, because he’s
in for serious trouble when God’s King gets here and sees what’s going on!”
Once word of this reaches Herod, it’s all downhill for John.
The king arrests the surly prophet, but isn’t sure what to do with him. The
rest, as they say, is history. Herod throws himself a birthday party and asks
his stepdaughter to dance for his guests. (In legend, she’s called “Salome,”
but Mark identifies her as “Herodias,” which means either she’s named for her
mother or Herod’s family is so screwed up the writer can’t keep the players
straight.) Mark does, however, clue us in that Herodias—Herod’s wife—isn’t as
ambivalent about John as her husband seems to be. Before the dancing starts, he
tells us Herodias “had a grudge against him, and wanted to kill him.” (v19)
When the daughter asks her mother what she should request as payment for
entertaining Herod’s guests, Herodias doesn’t flinch. “Ask for the Baptist’s
head on a platter,” she says. Somewhere between blowing out the birthday
candles and turning off the lights, John’s head arrives.
Offending Powers That Be
We’ve heard this story so many times, seen it play out in at
least a half-dozen kitschy movies, that it’s become a cliché—literally. When we push too hard, when
we start kicking and screaming about the travesties of justice and moral
responsibility around us, we’re told to button up or else they (whoever
“they” are) will have our heads on a platter. And Mark appears to bear this
out. But he also tucks away a fascinating detail in the narrative that merits
attention. After noting Herodias’s grudge against the Baptist, he tells us,
“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.” (v20)
We are not called to save our own necks. We’re called to be
righteous and holy, eager to do what God requires of us. John’s calling comes
straight out Isaiah, another prophet who didn’t know when to shut up. “Shout
out, do not hold back! Lift up your voice like a trumpet! Announce to my people
their rebellion, to the house of Jacob their sins.” (Isaiah 58.1) It is a
calling we, as messengers of God’s grace and power, must also honor. The problem
with prophets isn’t that they’re loud and messy. It’s their courage to speak
truth to power. And though we may never land in John’s shoes, declaring what’s
just and holy will perplex people. We may never wind up in jail for offending
powers that be. But we will find ourselves at plenty of birthday parties,
barbecues, and social functions where those who care only about saving their
necks will think we’re out of our heads. So what if they do? God charges each
of us with delivering the Breaking News of the Gospel. It’s our job to keep
kicking and screaming. Get ready! Somebody’s coming and He’s gonna turn the
world upside down!
The biggest problem with prophets today is the vast
majority of them—meaning us—don’t
have the guts to do the job.
The problem with prophets
like John is that we find their outré
behavior fascinating, but we don’t take kindly to their words.
Podcast link: http://straightfriendly.podbean.com/2012/07/14/the-problem-with-prophets/.
Podcast link: http://straightfriendly.podbean.com/2012/07/14/the-problem-with-prophets/.
