Fear

The lessons we read each Sunday are chosen decades ahead of time. Every once in a while, though, they feel just a bit too on point. This is one of those weeks. Fear, scandal, power, political violence. If you came to church this morning to take a break from all those things, the lectionary isn’t on your side.

Today’s Gospel has it all. Political posturing, gruesome violence, powerful men, women finding power where they can, fancy food, and dancing, and rash promises made.

It begins with a family tree that can make your head spin. Herodias, Herod’s wife, was the daughter of one of Herod’s half-brothers and the former wife of another. The girl who danced at Herod’s birthday party was probably actually named Salome, and she was likely Herod’s stepdaughter. And half niece. It’s all very confusing.

And although the Gospel calls Herod a king, that isn’t quite right either. His proper title was Tetrarch. He shared his father’s former territory with two of his brothers. The real power, of course, was in Rome. Herod ruled, such as he did, only with Rome’s permission and cooperation. His position was precarious.

Then John the Baptist enters the scene. John had no talent for keeping his opinions to himself. He called the most powerful religious leaders of his time a brood of vipers. And he condemned Herod’s marriage to Herodias. And so Herod arrested him, and Herod’s wife wanted John dead.

But Herod feared John, and protected him. In one of the more poignantly tragic moments of scripture, we’re told that “when he heard him, he was greatly perplexed; and yet he liked to listen to him.” John intrigued Herod, fascinated him. Try to imagine the scene: the king visiting the wild prophet in prison, listening to him talk. John preached a message of repentance, and it seems that Herod was tempted to listen. But all the things that made him king got in his way.

The pivotal scene takes place at a birthday banquet. The king’s stepdaughter dances for the assembled guests and charms them all. And the king publicly promises to give her whatever she asks for.

A piece of advice: Don’t make that sort of promise to a teenager. It won’t end well.

The girl consults with her mother, and asks for the head of John the Baptist on a platter. The king reluctantly complies. And so we conclude the famous scene with a human head served up on a silver tray at a royal banquet.

Here’s the thing about Herod. We think of him as one of the chief villains of the Bible. He orders the execution of John the Baptist, and in the Gospel of Luke, he plays a key role in the death of Jesus.

But what’s interesting is that Herod never really acts out of malice. He isn’t necessarily evil. What he is is afraid.

In the story we read today, Herod is afraid of going back on his word, but even more afraid of looking weak, of appearing foolish in front of his guests. Later, when Jesus is on trial, Herod’s fear shifts to the mob, the religious authorities, and to Rome.

Herod never dares to do the things he knows to be right. He never risks truly listening to John the Baptist, whom he knows to be a righteous and holy man—John intrigues him, but he can’t bring himself to follow him. He becomes curious about Jesus as a worker of miracles, but never allows himself to see him as the Son of God.

One of the things Jesus says over and over again seems at first glance to be very simple: “Don’t be afraid.”

But Herod’s example might help us realize why maybe it’s not so simple after all. “Don’t be afraid.” Fear not.

In the end, it was fear that killed both John the Baptist and Jesus. Herod’s fear. Jesus died because the Jewish authorities—including Herod—were afraid that he might upset the status quo. And because the Romans were afraid that he might lead a rebellion, that he might undermine their authority. John the Baptist died because Herod feared for his image, and for his power.

“Don’t be afraid.” The words can be comforting. They’re words you might say to a child frightened by a thunderstorm. “Don’t be afraid. Don’t worry. Everything will be ok.”

But I’m not at all sure that that’s how Jesus meant those words. I think Jesus told us not to be afraid at least in part because fear itself is dangerous. Fear can make us abandon our principles. It can make us refuse to see the truth in front of us. Fear can make us do terrible things.

I’m beginning to understand “be not afraid” less as comfort and more as command. Don’t be afraid. Instead, have faith. Don’t be afraid. Instead, follow your conscience—no matter what doing so might cost you.

Think back to a time when someone hurt you, a time when you felt betrayed. I’d be willing to bet that the person who hurt you was afraid of something—afraid of what they might lose, afraid of the truth, afraid of the future.

Fear is at the root of so many lies, so many coverups, so much cruelty.

Think back if you can to a time you hurt someone else. A time you failed to speak up when you should have, maybe. Were you afraid of something?

When you act from a place of fear, you might think you’re keeping yourself safe, but you’re likely to be following in Herod’s footsteps—and not in the footsteps of Jesus.

It’s true that listening to fear might keep your head off a platter—and don’t get me wrong, that’s a good thing—but listening to fear might also turn you into the villain of your own story.

The safe choice isn’t always the faithful choice.

We’re living in troubling and troubled times. I know that. But that doesn’t mean that we need to live in fear. Our community is politically divided. I know that too. But whatever our politics, we’re all trying to follow Jesus, the prince of peace. God calls us to seek God’s peace. God calls us to care for our neighbors. God calls us to look out for the most vulnerable among us.

I keep coming back to the prayer attributed to St. Francis: “Lord, make us instruments of your peace. Where there is hatred, let us sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is discord, union; where there is doubt, faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; where there is sadness, joy. Grant that we may not so much seek to be consoled as to console; to be understood as to understand; to be loved as to love. For it is in giving that we receive; it is in pardoning that we are pardoned; and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.”

May that prayer guide us all in the weeks and months to come. And through all the changes and chances of this life, may we trust in God and may we live without fear.