Herod Antipas

PRAYER OF CONSECRATION Wake up, sleeper, rise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you.  Abba, I belong to you. I lift up my heart to you. I set my mind on you. I fix my eyes on you. I offer my body to you as a living sacrifice. Abba, we belong to you.  Praying in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit, amen.  Luke 13:31–35 (NIV) At that time some Pharisees came to Jesus and said to him, “Leave this place and go somewhere else. Herod wants to kill you.” He replied, “Go tell that fox, ‘I will keep on driving out demons and healing people today and tomorrow, and on the third day I will reach my goal.’ In any case, I must press on today and tomorrow and the next day—for surely no prophet can die outside Jerusalem! “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you who kill the prophets and stone those sent to you, how often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, and you were not willing. Look, your house is left to you desolate. I tell you, you will not see me again until you say, ‘Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.’” CONSIDER THIS At this point in his ministry, all sorts of people wanted to kill Jesus. The Pharisees let him know that Herod, the tetrarch of Galilee, had designs in this area as well. This was the same Herod who had beheaded John the Baptist at the behest of Salome. Demonstrating once again that not all Pharisees were opposed to Jesus, a familiar truth by now, these religious leaders cautioned him about the death threat and advised him to flee Galilee. Jesus had already determined to make his way to Jerusalem, seemingly out of the domain of Herod, and so death would not come at the hands of the tetrarch. In replying to the Pharisees, Jesus employed frank and direct language: “Go tell that fox,” an expression that we find only in the Gospel of Luke. Though in the twenty-first century, such language might suggest cunning or cleverness on the part of Herod, in the first century it probably connected shafts of cunning to a larger mine of ineptitude.1 As he headed toward Jerusalem, undeterred by threats of any kind, Jesus gave evidence of the meaning of his current actions as being part of a larger goal or purpose. In other words, Jesus saw with eyes wide open, so to speak, what awaited him in the holy city, the city of David, for he observed: “no prophet can die outside Jerusalem.” What was it about this city, that should have epitomized the precious faith of Israel, that caused it to descend at times into tirades of stoning and bloodshed? And what was it about prophets, in particular, that provoked such a frenzy of violence? A key to both questions can be seen in how prophets are described by others, that is, by the faithful remnant, once their blood is spilled. These heroes of the faith, many of whom become martyrs, remain faithful in a suffering witness to the truth of God even at the cost of their very lives. It is the persistence of prophets—what their detractors often call “stubbornness,” or “aggressiveness,” or even “madness”—in holding forth a painful truth that the community would rather not acknowledge or even hear and that religious people find so exasperating. Jesus knew what was coming. Reflecting upon his relationship to the holy city and all that it represents, Jesus turned surprisingly emotional and spoke in the language of the heart by uttering a lament: “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you who kill the prophets and stone those sent to you, how often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, and you were not willing.” The repetition of the name of the city as well as the disclosure of a passionate longing for a caring, loving relationship—together, these elements suggest deep affection and, in the end, when such longing is frustrated, considerable emotional pain. Rejection and ostracism, as well as cutting off the numerous graces and comforts of the community, enjoyed by so many, are hurtful regardless of who is on the receiving end. As a real flesh-and-blood human being with psychological, emotional, and social needs, Jesus suffered greatly as he was cut off from the affection and care, and at times, even from the goodwill of the community. What so many others enjoyed and what some even took for granted in a rich and engaging communal life would be denied to him. He would be singled out, marked, and isolated. His name and reputation would be disfigured in some circles. And, at last, he would be spurned and rejected. Why was it, then, that someone of the character of Jesus—who went about doing good through healing, teaching, and proclaiming the kingdom of God—why was it that such a person, whose goodness was and remained far deeper than we are able to fathom, would continue to be rejected by a religious leadership that should have known better? A surface examination of the context of first-century Israel, with the kind of religious leadership it had, will hardly reveal the answer. Actually, there’s a mystery here. On a superficial level, the kind most often embraced by the masses of the first century, religiously speaking, things looked fairly good: the Pharisees, Sadducees, and the chief priests basked in the authority and the legitimacy of Moses, and they did, indeed, do much good. In fact, that was very much a part of their social and religious power, and we would be foolish not to recognize it. These leaders stressed the importance of tradition; they encouraged the education of the young; and they held the right views about Rome given its oppressive rule (although some of the Sadducees might not have even cared), even if they didn’t express such views publicly. Like the tenants of the vineyard in the parable that Jesus had already told (Mark 12:1–12), the religious leadership of first-century Israel was indeed tending the vineyard—that’s not the problem here—but they had mistakenly imagined that they were the owners of this vineyard and not the tenants that they actually were. As a consequence, this vineyard had become a kingdom very much of their own making. And so, when the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob sent prophets to them—like John the Baptist, for example, or his very Son, Jesus—the response could only be rejection that might have sounded something like this: “We don’t need you here; we have everything under control. Go away!” In other words, the major elements of the Jewish faith at the time—the Torah, the priestly sacrifices at the temple, as well as the sacred traditions—were all in place, but they were bent to serve not the Holy One of Israel, but the interests of the religious leaders themselves. If their focus had been on the Holy One who transcended them both in power and glory, then they would have accepted Jesus. Again, on the surface, all looked well in this world though so much had already been redefined. Beneath the surface, however, things looked remarkably different. Here was a deception foisted upon the simple and naive among the people of an enormous self-love that would simply not tolerate a rival. Even religion and the sacred can be made to do the bidding of self-absorption or the wants of some favored, self-centered group that is intoxicated with its own power and status. Knowing this situation as it was, with its pretense stripped away, and therefore not simply how it appeared to be, Jesus as a good physician had to issue a stark warning: “Look, your house is left to you desolate.” Those were very strong words and they confirm our reading of the text. And yet desolation, as dark and as thoroughgoing as it is, would not last; it would not be the final word for this people: “I tell you, you will not see me again until you say, ‘Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.’” Blessedness will come; it cannot be stopped. And it will bear the name of Jesus. THE PRAYER Heavenly Father, thank you for the example of your Son, Jesus, who sought your will and served you regardless of the opposition that he faced. Remind me when I feel alone or face opposition that I do not own the vineyard. I serve at your pleasure and for the glory of his name.