Whenever we read the Bible, it’s not too hard to create our own list of heroes and villains, saints and sinners. But if there’s one thing that the Bible teaches us about human beings is that we are rarely only one or the other. Almost every hero or saint has flaws and weaknesses, every villain or sinner the possibility of redemption.
So I admit that I have some sympathy for Herod Antipas. He’s definitely a villain, but his was a family that, as the saying goes, put ‘fun’ in ‘dysfunctional’. His father killed Herod’s older brothers, wrote a will giving most of his territory to Herod, then, during his final illness, changed the will to give Herod a smaller inheritance. If this wasn’t bad enough, Herod Antipas didn’t quite measure up in the Roman imperial system that determined a person’s prestige in terms of authority, power and dignity.
Romans took authority very seriously. Authority meant the right to give orders, to make decisions and to enforce obedience. The source of one’s authority was found in the political structures and offices of the state. Poor Herod Antipas owed his authority to the good will of the Roman emperor and other regional officials more than to his status as a son of Herod the Great. So, on a scale of 1 to 10, Herod Antipas was a 5 at best.
Romans also had considerable respect for power. A powerful person possessed the resources to impose their will upon others. If one had money, land and armed supporters, then they could easily coerce others, even those who might possess legitimate authority. Now Herod Antipas was far from being impoverished, but his power was always kept in check by the fact that his territory was surrounded by thousands of Roman troops. Even his boundaries were set by Roman officials. The one little war he fought he lost to his sister, not a good thing by Roman standards. So, let’s give him a 3 out of 10 on the power scale.
But the most important quality in the Roman imperial society was dignity, the quality of being worthy of honour or respect. Dignity might be a product of one’s exercise of authority and possession of power, but even Romans had to admit that there were enslaved and oppressed people whose dignity could not be denied. Poor Herod Antipas was despised by his own people as a collaborator who was living in an incestuous relationship with his brother’s wife. In the eyes of Rome and of his neighbours, Herod Antipas was just another petty regional ruler whose primary value was to administer lands that served as a buffer between Rome and the other empires to the east. He wasn’t even a king – he was a tetrarch, ‘the ruler of a fourth’. So, perhaps we could give him 1 out of 10.
Herod could do the math as well I. He knew that he was a very small fish in a very large pond. 9 points out of 30 doesn’t inspire awe.
So there’s a lot behind one single verse in today’s gospel: “. . . for Herod feared John, knowing that [John] was a righteous and holy man, and [Herod] protected him. When [Herod] heard [John], he was greatly perplexed; and yet he liked to listen to him.” (Mark 6.20) Even though John was a fierce critic of Herod, his prophetic words touched that place in Herod’s soul that longed to be more than just a vassal of Rome, that part of Herod’s soul that sought to be a faithful Jew, to be a good man.
But Herod was too entangled in the cultural and social spider’s web of his time. Like any insect caught in such a web, Herod was drained and his moment of redemption passed. In only a few years after John’s murder, Herod and his wife will be betrayed by another of his brothers and will end their lives in exile in Spain disappearing from history around the year 39.
I recently came across a quotation from Walter Brueggemann, biblical scholar, theologian and preacher, that describes the prophetic role we have to play in today’s world so that saints and sinners, heroes and villains, might be led to that dignity Herod Antipas let slip away when he murdered John the Baptist.
Our first prophetic task, Brueggemann says, is ‘to tell the truth in a society that lives in illusion’. We all know that there are many people in our neighbourhoods, in our communities, in our country and in our world who cannot see the real challenges we are facing in building a world for our grandchildren. We suffer from the illusion that ours is a free and open society with equal opportunity for all. In our baptismal commitment we promise to respect the dignity of every human being, but we know that obstacles continue to be raised that prevent many groups of people within our society from being fully respected. This illusion and many others like it need to hear the same voice that John used to try to bring Herod Antipas into the truth.
We also have the prophetic task to grieve in a society that practices denial. The worst injustices visited upon aboriginal peoples and other peoples in Canada are part of our past. Their ripple effect disturbs our present and disrupts our sense of progress. Grieving is more than lowering flags to half-mast and promises for change. Grieving is allowing the full force of our shared past and its wrongs to shake us, to bring us to our knees in penitent prayer and to compel us to demand action from those who exercise authority and who have power.
But perhaps most importantly, we have the prophetic task to express hope in a society that lives in despair. In some parts of the world that despair is a quiet acceptance of the status quo, while in other parts of our world that despair is genuine hopelessness in the face of unending sorrow and oppression. Change is not possible without hope. John called ‘. . . for people to be baptized to show that they were changing their hearts and lives and wanted God to forgive their sins’ (Mark 1.4 CEB) because the kingdom of God was drawing near. Our message to our friends, families and neighbours is that within each and every one of us is the authority and power to change the world, piece by piece, neighbourhood by neighbourhood, heart by heart. When God raised Jesus from the dead, God showed us that we are not meant for condemnation but for abundant life with each other, with God and within our very selves.
What Herod Antipas failed to realize is what generations of villains have failed to learn. You may chop off the head of a prophet who disturbs you by appealing to your ‘better angels’ and think you’ve silenced that uncomfortable voice. But God has a habit of raising up more prophets who will continue to seek to restore your dignity and the dignity of every one of God’s creatures. We will speak the truth so that illusions are shattered. We will grieve so that denials sound as empty as they are. We will express hope so that despair gives way to a shared vision of a renewed humanity. For the kingdom of God is at hand – indeed, it is already here for those who have the eyes to see, the ears to hear it, the hearts to love it and the hands to shape it.
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