Live Like Jesus, Die Like John (Mark #20)

Parents, I should probably have warned you: today’s passage is PG-13. Maybe rated R. I mentioned that to one of our elders before the gathering, and he said, “Rated R for real life.”

So I suppose I have just created some conversation opportunities for you.

Mark 6:14–29

“King Herod heard of it, for Jesus’ name had become known. Some said, ‘John the Baptist has been raised from the dead. That is why these miraculous powers are at work in him.’ But others said, ‘He is Elijah.’ And others said, ‘He is a prophet, like one of the prophets of old.’ But when Herod heard of it, he said, ‘John, whom I beheaded, has been raised.’

“For it was Herod who had sent and seized John and bound him in prison for the sake of Herodias, his brother Philip’s wife, because he had married her. For John had been saying to Herod, ‘It is not lawful for you to have your brother’s wife.’ And Herodias had a grudge against him and wanted to put him to death. But she could not, for Herod feared John, knowing that he was a righteous and holy man, and he kept him safe. When he heard him, he was greatly perplexed, and yet he heard him gladly.

“But an opportunity came when Herod on his birthday gave a banquet for his nobles and military commanders and the leading men of Galilee. For when Herodias’ daughter came in and danced, she pleased Herod and his guests. And the king said to the girl, ‘Ask me for whatever you wish, and I will give it to you.’ And he vowed to her, ‘Whatever you ask me, I will give you, up to half of my kingdom.’

“And she went out and said to her mother, ‘For what should I ask?’ And she said, ‘The head of John the Baptist.’ And she came in immediately with haste to the king and asked, saying, ‘I want you to give me at once the head of John the Baptist on a platter.’ And the king was exceedingly sorry, but because of his oaths and his guests he did not want to break his word to her. And immediately the king sent an executioner with orders to bring John’s head. He went and beheaded him in the prison and brought his head on a platter and gave it to the girl, and the girl gave it to her mother. When his disciples heard of it, they came and took his body and laid it in a tomb.”

How Word Reached the Palace

Last week we saw Jesus send out His twelve disciples two by two into Jewish communities to announce that the kingdom of God was at hand — and to back up that message with miracles. He gave them authority to cast out demons, to heal, to cleanse lepers, even to raise the dead.

We have already seen in Mark how word spread as Jesus traveled. Now imagine six pairs of men fanning out simultaneously. Word travels much faster — all the way to Jerusalem, into the highest offices, and eventually to Herod.

And when Herod hears about Jesus, he thinks he knows exactly who this is: John the Baptist, raised from the dead.

Which Herod Is This?

There are about four different Herods in the Bible — three of them called Herod, and one called Agrippa in Acts.

The one most people know is Herod the Great, who was in power when Jesus was born. By the time we reach Mark 6 he is dead, and this is Herod Antipas.

When Herod the Great died, he did not simply leave everything to one son. He petitioned Caesar Augustus to divide his kingdom among three of them. Israel did not have the right to govern itself independently — they were part of the Roman Empire, and even with a measure of autonomy, a decision like that required Rome’s approval. Caesar honored the will and split the territory.

Notice verse 14 calls him “King Herod.” He was not actually a king. That was an honorary courtesy. A more accurate title would be tetrarch. He had genuine authority over his region, but when he collected taxes, a large portion had to go to Rome. He could not simply do whatever he pleased; he was still under the Caesar.

In modern terms, think of him as a governor — real authority, but with a federal government above him still making decisions that affected him.

But Herod loved thinking of himself as a king. And because he thought he was a king, he acted like one. And a king is above the rules. So if the king wants his brother’s wife, the king takes his brother’s wife.

Which is more than a little awkward. I sometimes wonder what the Herod family reunion was like — Philip walking up and saying, “Oh, hey. That’s my wife you’ve got there.”

Who Did John Think He Was?

Why did John believe he had the right to tell the ruler that what he was doing was unlawful?

In our culture we say that whatever happens between two consenting adults is their own business. So why does John get to say this is wrong? We do not know the whole story. Maybe Philip was abusive and she was fleeing genuine danger. Maybe Philip had an affair first, and in her grief she went to her brother-in-law, who was a friend, and ended up in his arms. Maybe her friends told her, honey, we know you love him, you do you.

We do not know. All we know is that these two wanted to be together. So who is John to speak against it?

Besides — we are Iowa nice. We do not walk up to people and tell them they are sinning. That sounds intolerant. Judgmental. We might say it behind their back, but never to their face. So why is John not being Iowa nice? Why does he get in Herod’s face?

Here is what you have to understand. Herod’s family was, ethnically, Idumean — from a region south of Judea, of Arab descent. But they had been in Israel so long that they had converted to Judaism. Herod the Great considered himself a Jew, and Herod Antipas followed his father in that. He was regarded as a Jewish man even though he was not ethnically Jewish. He claimed to follow the God of Israel — which placed him under the Mosaic law.

And Leviticus 18:16 says plainly: you shall not take your brother’s wife.

John the Baptist was a rabbi — we know because he had disciples, and only rabbis had disciples. His teaching was the Mosaic law. So when the ruler of the nation is publicly, flagrantly violating that law, John has every right to say so. And he does.

Herod did not like it. Herod wanted Herodias. So he wanted John silenced, and had him arrested and thrown into prison.

The Strangest Detail in the Story

If Herodias had gotten her way, John would have been executed immediately. But Herod, for all his irritation, respected him.

The text says Herod would bring John in — a kind of private preaching session. They would talk. And Herod was “greatly perplexed,” and yet “he heard him gladly.”

It is like driving past a wreck on the interstate. I should not look. I might see something I can never unsee. And you cannot help looking. Herod is staring at John thinking, I do not like what you are saying, and I cannot look away.

So John had Herod’s respect. He had broken no law. He had committed no crime. And Herod kept him locked in a cell, hauling him out occasionally to listen to him — because Herod wanted Herodias.

The Birthday Party

Then came that night. Notice the guest list: nobles, military commanders, the leading men of Galilee. All the important men in the room.

Which makes it considerably more disturbing that they bring in his stepdaughter to dance, and it “pleased” them.

With the wine flowing and an audience to impress, Herod makes his grand gesture: anything you want, up to half my kingdom.

(As an aside: if you are ever in a kingdom and the king offers you half of it, do not take him up on it. You will inexplicably wind up dead so he can keep all of it.) It is hyperbole. He is showing off.

She runs to her mother and asks what she should request. And this is the moment Herodias has been waiting for. She asks for John’s head.

And it happens.

Who John Was

John was a genuinely unique man. Scripture tells us he was Jesus’ cousin — their mothers, Mary and Elizabeth, were relatives — which would make them roughly second or third cousins. They almost certainly grew up aware of each other, maybe even playing together as children, probably traveling up to Jerusalem for feasts at the same time. Different towns, but they knew each other.

And John chose a radically different path. Where Jesus worked as a carpenter and then stepped into public ministry as a rabbi, John went out into the wilderness. He wore camel hair, which sounds unbearably itchy. He ate locusts and honey. I love honey. I do not anticipate dipping grasshoppers in it.

The man was strange. And people streamed out of Jerusalem into the wilderness to hear him — because he could preach like nobody else. When he opened the law of God as a rabbi, it convicted people. It cut them to the heart. And they wanted to do something about it, so they walked down into the water to be baptized.

God used this wild man to prepare the way for Jesus. Which is why Jesus said that among all those born of women, there was no one greater than John. John was, if you like, the original greatest of all time.

And John’s life ends in a prison cell, beheaded, unceremoniously, to settle a grudge at a party.

And Jesus Knew, and Did Not Stop It

That is the uncomfortable part.

In Luke 7 there is a scene where John is in prison but has not yet been executed. A couple of his disciples visit, and John sends them to Jesus with a question: Are you the one who is to come, or shall we look for another?

Which is jarring, because John knew exactly who Jesus was. Look at his ministry. When Jesus walks by, John announces to the crowd, “Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world.” When Jesus comes to the Jordan to be baptized, John protests — I am not worthy to untie your sandal; you should be baptizing me.

John knew. So why is he now sending men to ask whether Jesus is really the one?

I suspect his circumstances had introduced doubt. Because John knows what Jesus can do. If my cousin is the Son of God, the long-promised Messiah, then surely if anyone can get me out of this cell, it is Him.

Already in Mark we have watched Jesus raise the dead, cast out demons, and silence a storm with a word. John knows Jesus could snap His fingers — the gate unlocks, the guards fall asleep, he walks out, exactly like Peter later does in Acts.

And John is still in prison. So maybe He is not who I thought He was.

How Jesus Answers

Luke 7:21: “In that hour he healed many people of diseases and plagues and evil spirits, and on many who were blind he bestowed sight. And he answered them, ‘Go and tell John what you have seen and heard: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, lepers are cleansed, and the deaf hear, the dead are raised up, the poor have good news preached to them. And blessed is the one who is not offended by me.'”

Notice what He does. He performs miracles for about an hour, and then hands John’s disciples a message stitched together out of Isaiah.

Isaiah 35:5–6: “Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped; then shall the lame man leap like a deer, and the tongue of the mute sing for joy.”

Isaiah 29:18: “In that day the deaf shall hear the words of a book, and out of their gloom and darkness the eyes of the blind shall see.”

These are messianic prophecies. Jesus is saying: those passages in Isaiah? I am fulfilling them.

And then He adds one more line — good news proclaimed to the poor — which comes from Isaiah 61:1: “The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me to bring good news to the poor; he has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to those who are bound.“

John, as a rabbi, would know that verse cold.

And look at what Jesus does. He quotes the first half — good news to the poor — and stops. He leaves off liberty to the captives and the opening of the prison.

Where is John? In prison.

And instead of finishing the verse, Jesus says: “Blessed is the one who is not offended by me.”

In other words: John, I know where you are. I know it is not fair. You committed no crime. You did nothing wrong. And I am not getting you out.

And I think Jesus knew exactly what was coming for him.

This Is Hard

I warned you this would be uncomfortable.

We want a God who loves us and, out of that love, pulls us out of captivity and lifts us out of hard circumstances and rescues us. That is the God we want.

And here is Jesus saying, in effect: I know it is hard. I am going to let you stay there.

We do not like this. This is not the God we ordered.

This is precisely why some people leave the Christian faith. They look at something like this and conclude that God is uncaring — He simply does not care what we are in. Or that He is impotent — He cares but lacks the power to rescue us. Or that He is incompetent — He has the power but does not know how to use it. Or that there is no God at all, because if there were, He would be good, He would be powerful, and He would open the cell.

Others keep the faith but quietly redraw the boundaries of their theology to fit this in somewhere, or conveniently ignore it. Or they take it in and then go on living the Christian life having decided, deep down, that this is a God they cannot trust — which infects their worship, their whole approach to Christianity, their whole approach to life.

When we come to a moment like this, everything gets blurry.

Two Lenses

In fourth grade my eyesight fell apart fast. I could not read the chalkboard from the back of the room and had to move to the front. I remember sitting at a football game with my parents unable to read the scoreboard. It was not a total shock — my mom wears glasses — but it went bad quickly.

Then I finally got to the eye doctor, and a week later the glasses came in, and I put them on, and I could see clearly again.

What I want to hand you today are theological glasses — two lenses that let you look straight at something like this and still walk away saying, I can trust God. I can put my hope in Him.

Lens one: the gospel

When we get trapped in our own small prison — a lost job, a financial hole, a relationship falling apart — and that is all we can see, we become terribly shortsighted. And from inside that, God looks cruel. John is stuck in a cell. Why will his own cousin not get him out? And then: why does God not seem to care about me?

But look through the lens of the gospel, at the cross, and you see that God cares deeply for you. Because far more urgent than your earthly circumstance was your spiritual one: you were eternally separated from God because of sin. And God did the greatest thing imaginable — sent His only Son to die in your place — and closed that gap entirely, and enveloped you in His love. He cares for you more deeply than you can conceive.

Look at the cross and you are reminded: He really does care, even when my circumstance is screaming that He does not.

But the gospel does not stop at the cross. It also puts an empty tomb in front of you — and you realize God is powerful. Powerful enough to raise Jesus from the dead. He has power over death itself.

And that should give you hope. It should tell you that this circumstance is not the end.

Lens two: eternity

We get so fixed on the here and now. And when that is all we see, we get frustrated — we start feeling like John, sending messengers to ask, are You really the Messiah? God, are You really good? Are You really there for me? Because I hear people talk about Your goodness and I read about it in Scripture, and right now I do not feel any of it.

But if you follow Jesus, you know the gospel says this world is not the end. There is an eternity ahead of you. And when your eye is on eternity, you realize your circumstance is temporary.

Peter wrote to believers in a genuinely brutal situation — persecuted for their faith, some of them concluding God did not love them, was not with them, that maybe they had been wrong all along. People were abandoning the faith. So Peter writes to encourage them.

Verse 3: “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! According to his great mercy, he has caused us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead.” — There is the lens of the gospel: the cross and the resurrection.

Verse 4: “to an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading, kept in heaven for you, who by God’s power are being guarded through faith for a salvation ready to be revealed in the last time.” — There is the lens of eternity.

“In this you rejoice, though now for a little while, if necessary, you have been grieved by various trials.”

Notice he does not pretend. He acknowledges that where they are is hard, that they are grieving, that they are hurting. And his answer is: because of this unfading, imperishable inheritance secured through the gospel and waiting in eternity — your circumstance is temporary.

Please Do Not Mishear Me

I am not telling you to sit down and silently suffer through it.

John sent disciples to ask Jesus a hard, doubting question — and notice Jesus does not throw a fit. He does not say, why is John asking Me that? He of all people should know. He receives the question and answers it by revealing His power.

So by all means, go to Him. Ask Him. Plead with Him. God, will You change this? God, I need a job. God, I would love to be married someday. God, I need this financial situation to change. Take it to Him, because He does care for you, He does love you, and He absolutely has the power to change your situation.

But when He does not answer the way you wanted, or in the timing you wanted, it does not mean He has abandoned you. It does not mean He failed you. It does not mean He is not powerful enough. It does not mean He is uncaring.

It may mean He has a better plan than yours.

And even if the circumstance you are in lasts the rest of your life, Peter is saying it is temporary. Just here. Just now. Because you are receiving an eternal inheritance that cannot be taken from you. The glories of heaven are so much greater than the pain of this world. All of this fades and is gone — and you get Jesus. You get the presence of God. You get eternity.

“He Has Chosen Not to Heal Me, but to Hold Me”

Joni Eareckson Tada was a typical seventeen-year-old when she and her family went swimming in the Chesapeake Bay. She dove in, not knowing how shallow the water was, struck her head, and broke her spine between the fourth and fifth vertebrae — paralyzed from the shoulders down.

She spent two years in rehabilitation, and in her autobiography she describes those as the hardest two years of her life. She was furious at God for allowing it. It drove her into depression. She began thinking about ending her life — and could not move her arms to do it. It led her to question the goodness of God, and eventually the existence of God.

But she worked through it. She put on the lens of the gospel and the lens of eternity. She became an author and has written dozens of books. She learned to paint holding a brush in her mouth. And through her paralysis and the faith she placed in God, He gave her a platform that has encouraged an enormous number of people.

In one of her books she wrote: “He has chosen not to heal me, but to hold me. The more intense the pain, the closer his embrace.”

When all we do is look at the things of this world, we see a man like John in a cell for no crime, and we think: that is wrong.

And it is wrong.

And yet the moment John’s head was separated from his body, John stepped into eternity and heard well done, good and faithful servant — and he was embraced.

So if you are in something genuinely hard right now, do not fall for the lie that God does not care about you. Do not fall for the trick that God is powerless to help you. Instead, fall into God’s presence. Look at the gospel. Look through eternity. And see that God loves you and is with you — and that even if the circumstance never changes, you have God, and therefore you have everything, and you will come through this.

Father, give us this kind of faith. This is hard. If anything I have said is out of alignment with Your Scriptures, let it fade from all of us — but what is of You, what is sound, what accords with Your word, let that remain and carry with us.

You want us to live by faith. It is in faith that we find our greatest joy, and in faith that we see You work. So help us see that You have already done the greatest work possible. Let us look at the cross and the empty tomb and know that You care and that You are powerful. And let us look through the lens of eternity and know that even when the circumstance is not changing as fast as we want, You are still with us and still good, and what we will have with You is far greater than the pain we are in.

Help us to know that the people who most appreciate the spring are the ones who came through the harshest winters. So I pray for anyone in an emotional or spiritual winter right now — that they would seek You, cling to You, trust You. You are powerful enough to change their circumstance. You can open those prison doors. You can loose what binds them. And sometimes You have a better plan.

So help us trust You — that if You do not answer exactly as we asked, in the timing we asked, You are still with us and still for us. Build our faith. Amen.