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A sermon preached in Salisbury Cathedral by Canon Edward Probert, Chancellor on Sunday 12 July 2009
Ephesians 1.3-14; Mark 6.14-29
"CHOSEN TO BE HOLY AND BLAMELESS"
Ephesians 1.3-14; Mark 6.14-29
I don’t think I’ve ever come across a pair of readings from scripture which have less apparent connection than those we have just heard. On the one hand we had the opening of Paul’s letter to the Ephesians, which hardly draws breath as it talks in visionary and exalted terms of the Christian’s place in the cosmic purposes of God. And on the other we had Mark’s account of the circumstances behind the murder of John the Baptist; a very matter-of-fact narrative to which I defy anyone to attach the words ‘cosmic’ or ‘exalted’.
Mark gives this tawdry and depressing episode a surprising amount of space in his book; it is, after all, a digression from his main purpose of telling us the good news about Jesus. Evidently I’m not the first person to think so, because both Matthew and Luke, though writing much longer gospels than Mark, cut this story severely. But Mark, rather than simply tell us that John, who led the movement from which Jesus sprang, had been killed, goes back to give us the whole scene, showing us the internal motivations of the king and queen, the drama in the royal court, and even the details of the way the head is presented.
This is of course great stuff: it has been the basis for plays and operas and excited speculation. It has that mixture of glamour (wealth, power, a frisson of sex) and violence which seems to be very helpful if you want to sell films, books, newspapers, or other entertainments.
Mark gives us all this simply to explain why this king Herod had a guilty conscience when he heard about Jesus. And it’s interesting to hear this story this morning as the light streams through one of the most prominent features inside this cathedral, the great blue east window, which is dedicated to prisoners of conscience. That is exactly what John was: imprisoned by the powers-that-be for saying what he believed to be true. But even in this gospel, the writer finds it easier to tell the story of Herod and his court, Herodias and her daughter, than the story of the Baptist. The weak, the powerless, the poor, the isolated, just aren’t as interesting as the wealthy, who can play out on a broader stage their basic human emotions, such as the lechery, grudges, self-regard, and fear which we see here. In describing at such length how Herod was seduced into unwise action, Mark himself gives us an example of how easy it is to be seduced by glamour, to have our attention diverted from human need and God’s message to the fascinating deeds of the powerful.
Which is why the pairing of this passage with the opening of Ephesians is so salutary. Here Paul claims to know the mystery of God’s will, a plan for the fullness of time, to gather up in Christ all things in heaven and on earth; and to know that part of that will is that he and his readers are predestined for adoption as God’s children. Mark’s narrative might be as earthy as the News of the World, but this letter’s opening is fixed on the eternal purposes of God. It may seem impossibly high-flown speculation on Paul’s part, but it is what we believe. We Christians dare to conceive that God in Christ has called us to, in fact has made us for, an eternal unity with him. And we dare to believe that, beyond even our own destiny, God has a wider purpose to gather together everything he has made. And presumably that includes the Herods and the Herodiases as well as the Johns.
In the mental spaces of this service you might look at that glass; look through its representation of the abuses which we humans so easily slip into and tolerate, to the light of the purposes of God which is beyond.
This odd pairing has special meaning today, as Finn McCormack is baptised. He will live in the same mixed world as we do, as Jesus did, a world where power is abused but is devilishly attractive. He is, like us, called to a vision of God’s being and purpose which is very different.
Through all the courses of his life, whatever he may encounter and in whatever ways he may be seduced from this vision, in this act of faith, his baptism tells us that this is Finn’s destiny, as it is our own – that he might live for the praise of God’s glory.
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Mark gives this tawdry and depressing episode a surprising amount of space in his book; it is, after all, a digression from his main purpose of telling us the good news about Jesus. Evidently I’m not the first person to think so, because both Matthew and Luke, though writing much longer gospels than Mark, cut this story severely. But Mark, rather than simply tell us that John, who led the movement from which Jesus sprang, had been killed, goes back to give us the whole scene, showing us the internal motivations of the king and queen, the drama in the royal court, and even the details of the way the head is presented.
This is of course great stuff: it has been the basis for plays and operas and excited speculation. It has that mixture of glamour (wealth, power, a frisson of sex) and violence which seems to be very helpful if you want to sell films, books, newspapers, or other entertainments.
Mark gives us all this simply to explain why this king Herod had a guilty conscience when he heard about Jesus. And it’s interesting to hear this story this morning as the light streams through one of the most prominent features inside this cathedral, the great blue east window, which is dedicated to prisoners of conscience. That is exactly what John was: imprisoned by the powers-that-be for saying what he believed to be true. But even in this gospel, the writer finds it easier to tell the story of Herod and his court, Herodias and her daughter, than the story of the Baptist. The weak, the powerless, the poor, the isolated, just aren’t as interesting as the wealthy, who can play out on a broader stage their basic human emotions, such as the lechery, grudges, self-regard, and fear which we see here. In describing at such length how Herod was seduced into unwise action, Mark himself gives us an example of how easy it is to be seduced by glamour, to have our attention diverted from human need and God’s message to the fascinating deeds of the powerful.
Which is why the pairing of this passage with the opening of Ephesians is so salutary. Here Paul claims to know the mystery of God’s will, a plan for the fullness of time, to gather up in Christ all things in heaven and on earth; and to know that part of that will is that he and his readers are predestined for adoption as God’s children. Mark’s narrative might be as earthy as the News of the World, but this letter’s opening is fixed on the eternal purposes of God. It may seem impossibly high-flown speculation on Paul’s part, but it is what we believe. We Christians dare to conceive that God in Christ has called us to, in fact has made us for, an eternal unity with him. And we dare to believe that, beyond even our own destiny, God has a wider purpose to gather together everything he has made. And presumably that includes the Herods and the Herodiases as well as the Johns.
In the mental spaces of this service you might look at that glass; look through its representation of the abuses which we humans so easily slip into and tolerate, to the light of the purposes of God which is beyond.
This odd pairing has special meaning today, as Finn McCormack is baptised. He will live in the same mixed world as we do, as Jesus did, a world where power is abused but is devilishly attractive. He is, like us, called to a vision of God’s being and purpose which is very different.
Through all the courses of his life, whatever he may encounter and in whatever ways he may be seduced from this vision, in this act of faith, his baptism tells us that this is Finn’s destiny, as it is our own – that he might live for the praise of God’s glory.