Are you sure you want to continue being a disciple of Jesus? Do you really feel safe sitting in these pews? In the ancient world, deciding to become a Christian was a risky undertaking. You just didn’t walk up to the presbyter and present yourself. The earliest Christians wanted to make sure that people really knew what they were getting into when they asked for baptism, so they instituted a lengthy period of instruction and preparation for those intending to be baptized. Even today, adults ideally have some form of instruction before they are baptized, and the Book of Occasional Services even provides a liturgy for admission as a catechumen, i.e., someone preparing for baptism. Even with instruction, after hearing today’s Scripture readings, you still might wonder what you’ve gotten yourself into. I wouldn’t blame you if, right now, you got up out of your pew, fled through the red doors, and went out to become a Zen Buddhist!
You’re still sure you want to follow Jesus? You’re not alarmed by what happened to Amos? It was the eighth century B.C. Amos was a shepherd and a specialist in the care of fig trees. Although he lived in the southern kingdom of Judah, God sent him to the northern kingdom of Israel. God’s message was tough to deliver: God told Amos to warn Israel about the deep disparities in the nation between rich and poor. He further instructed Amos to use the image of a plumb line to make his point. Do you know what a plumb line is? In the ancient world, it was a weighted string or rope against which it could be seen whether a wall was straight or not. God thus commanded Amos to tell the leadership of Israel that Israel’s religious and political institutions did not meet God’s standards, and that consequently the temple, the king, and all the leaders of the kingdom would be destroyed. Of course, the king refused to hear such warnings. Do those in power ever really want to hear the truth? So the king sent his lackey, the priest Amaziah, to warn Amos that his life was in danger, and to command him to quit prophesying, at least in Israel.
Worse yet is the story of John the Baptist. Here we hear eerie echoes of Amos’s fate. We tend to remember John as Jesus’ cousin, whose mother Elizabeth was in the sixth month with him when the angel Gabriel announced the birth of Jesus to Mary. Or we remember that John called himself Jesus’ forerunner and baptized Jesus just before the Spirit drove Jesus into the wilderness. But we tend to forget that John was also a fiery prophet in his own right who suffered for telling those in power things they did not want to hear. The ruler in question here was Herod Antipas, the grandson of Herod the Great, who figures in the story of the Magi. In truth, Herod Antipas was a lackey of Rome, but he had delusions of grandeur. John had publicly denounced him for unlawfully marrying Herodias, the wife of his brother Philip. More important, John’s popularity with ordinary people posed a potential threat to Herod’s ability to control Galilee. Not surprising, through the clever scheming of Herodias, as we have heard, John ended up paying with his life for his proclamation of God’s word and his outspoken condemnation of Antipas and Herodias.
Why are we hearing about the death of John the Baptist now? Why does Mark place his story here in his Gospel, since presumably this is a flashback to an earlier event? Last week’s reading, which immediately preceded this section, depicted Jesus’ sending out of his first missionaries, the first people called by Jesus to extend his message to others. In next week’s reading, which immediately follows this section, we will hear of the return of those first missionaries. Why would Mark sandwich the story of the death of the John the Baptist between these two events?
To answer that question we have to remember that Mark’s Gospel was the first Gospel, and that it was written in about the late ‘60s for a community that was being persecuted by the religious and political leaders. The Gospel writer sandwiched the story of John’s death between the sending and return of the first messengers, first of all, to remind his hearers of Jesus’ death. Indeed, the parallels between the two deaths are striking. Both John and Jesus were killed by those exercising political power. In both cases, the rulers seemed reluctant to carry out the death sentence, but both succumbed to the pressure of the people around them, Herod to his courtiers, and Pilate to the crowd. After their deaths, both John’s and Jesus’ followers were able to give them respectful burials. However, what is far more important is the Gospel writer’s implied reminder to his hearers that the fates of John the Baptist and Jesus might well be their own. In electing to follow Jesus, in choosing to flout social custom and political authority, these new disciples too might pay with their lives.
So where is the good news in this grim reminder? Maybe the good news is that we no longer face persecution and discrimination for allowing the Holy Spirit to draw us into Christ’s Body. Is that because we play it safe and carry out only the easy and obvious ministries, the ones that don’t upset anyone? Are we safe because we refuse to name injustice when we see it, or we sit back and let others speak out for peace, sound immigration policies, gay rights, and equitable access to health care? Do we let others blow the whistle on corruption, sexual predators, and insider trading? Do we let others minister to those in prison?
Actually, there is good news hidden in this story of John’s murder. The good news is tucked into Herod’s question about John. Just as they later identified Jesus, people had said that John was Elijah, and that he was “like one of the prophets of old.” But Herod, knowing that he had had John killed, declared, “John, whom I beheaded, has been raised.” And in Herod’s fearful confession there is a glimmer of hope for Mark’s hearers, for all the oppressed, and for us. For in that confession, Mark reminds us that indeed Jesus was raised, and that because of Jesus’ resurrection all the prophets who have been killed throughout the ages are alive in Jesus. Indeed, in that confession is the gospel writer’s promise that whenever we speak truth to power, whenever we follow Jesus’ call to proclaim the good news to others, whatever our fate, we too can expect to be raised with Jesus. Are we not then called to witness to justice, to “speak truth to power,” in the company of all those who have done so in God’s name?
In March, 1955, members of the board of the American Friends Service Committee published a pamphlet entitled Speak Truth to Power. This nation was deep into the Cold War, and nuclear weaponry was developing in earnest. The writers of the pamphlet were following in the footsteps of their eighteenth century counterparts, who accepted the charge of speaking from the deepest insights of their faith. These twentieth-century Friends felt compelled to speak to those in positions of power against nuclear proliferation and for peace. Without denying the reality of evil and our obligation to confront it, they outlined a non-violent approach to political conflict. More important, they grounded their desire for peace in a “politics of eternity,” knowing full well how risky and contrary to all that is reasonable it is to speak from such a perspective. Clearly, today’s politicians have yet to embrace the position of the AFSC writers. However, the pamphlet quickly became a major statement of Christian pacifism and inspired such figures as Martin Luther King and Mennonite John Howard Yoder. The AFSC continues to work for peace and justice around the world, united by "the unfaltering belief in the essential worth of every human being, non-violence as the way to resolve conflict, and the power of love to overcome oppression, discrimination, and violence."1
Last week, we were reminded that we are sent out by Jesus to be evangelists, to tell others of our relationship with Jesus. This week the writer of the Gospel of Mark has upped the ante: like Amos and the other ancient prophets, like John the Baptist, like Jesus, and like Jesus’ earliest followers, we too are called to “speak truth to power.” We too are called to confront evil, injustice, violence, and hatred. We too are called to work for justice, peace, and love. And we have God’s promise: whatever the risks we are called upon to take, ultimately we are in good company, for we will be in the blessed company of all those who have dared to be heralds of God’s realm. With them, we give thanks for the life and witness of John the Baptist. We pray for all who have been imprisoned for their faith, for all who face persecution or danger, and for all who stand firmly for freedom and justice. Lord, make us to be numbered among them.
1. http://afsc.org/our-work
2. Based on David Adam, Traces of Glory (Harrisburg, PA: 1999), 99.
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