The King, The Prophet, and The Dancing Girl Text: Mark 6:14-29
Introduction: The Inescapable Word
We live in an age that believes it can domesticate the Word of God. Modern man, and particularly the modern state, wants a Christianity that knows its place, a Jesus who stays in the stained glass, and a church that confines its business to the four walls of its building. They want a neutered gospel, one that offers private comfort but never public confrontation. But the Word of God is not a tame lion. It is a consuming fire, and when it is faithfully proclaimed, it gets into everything. It gets into bedrooms, it gets into boardrooms, and it gets into the courts of kings.
This is precisely what we see in our text today. This is not a quaint historical anecdote about a backwoods preacher and a petty tyrant. This is a paradigm. It is a case study in the collision of two kingdoms: the kingdom of God, which operates by truth and righteousness, and the kingdom of man, which runs on lust, pride, and the fear of man. John the Baptist was not a political strategist; he was a prophet. He was not trying to win an election; he was declaring the law of God. And Herod was not just a bad man; he was a man trapped. He was snared by his own sin, entangled by his own promises, and terrified of both the prophet he respected and the courtiers he wanted to impress.
This story is inserted here by Mark for a particular reason. Jesus has just sent out the twelve apostles to preach repentance, cast out demons, and heal the sick. Their ministry is an extension of His, and His ministry is a fulfillment of John's. The fame of Jesus is spreading, and it reaches the ears of a king with a guilty conscience. The power of the gospel is going forth, and the powers of the world are reacting with a mixture of fear, superstition, and violence. What happened to John the Baptist is a preview of what will happen to Jesus, and it is a perpetual warning and encouragement for the Church. When we speak the truth, we must expect a reaction. You cannot poke a viper's nest with a short stick and expect the vipers to applaud your courage.
In this sordid tale of a drunken party, a seductive dance, and a foolish oath, we see the anatomy of compromise, the ugliness of sin, and the high cost of faithfulness. It is a story about a king who had all the power in the world but could not govern himself, and a prophet in chains who was freer than the man who held the keys to his cell.
The Text
And King Herod heard it, for His name had become well known; and people were saying, "John the Baptist has risen from the dead, and that is why these miraculous powers are at work in Him." But others were saying, "He is Elijah." And others were saying, "He is a prophet, like one of the prophets of old." But when Herod heard it, he kept saying, "John, whom I beheaded, has risen!"
For Herod himself had sent and had John arrested and bound in prison on account of Herodias, the wife of his brother Philip, because he had married her. For John had been saying to Herod, "It is not lawful for you to have your brother's wife." Now Herodias was holding a grudge against him and was wanting to put him to death and was not able; for Herod was afraid of John, knowing that he was a righteous and holy man, and he was keeping him safe. And when he heard him, he was very perplexed; but he used to enjoy listening to him. And a strategic day came when Herod on his birthday gave a banquet for his great men and military commanders and the leading men of Galilee; and when the daughter of Herodias herself came in and danced, she pleased Herod and his dinner guests; and the king said to the girl, "Ask me for whatever you want and I will give it to you." And he swore to her, "Whatever you ask of me, I will give it to you; up to half of my kingdom." And she went out and said to her mother, "What shall I ask for?" And she said, "The head of John the Baptist." And immediately she came in a hurry to the king and asked, saying, "I want you to give me at once the head of John the Baptist on a platter." And although the king was very sorry, yet because of his oaths and because of his dinner guests, he did not want to refuse her. And immediately the king sent an executioner and commanded him to bring back his head. And he went and beheaded him in the prison, and brought his head on a platter, and gave it to the girl; and the girl gave it to her mother. And when his disciples heard this, they came and took away his body and laid it in a tomb.
(Mark 6:14-29 LSB)
A Haunted Conscience (vv. 14-16)
We begin with the reaction of a guilty king to the fame of Jesus.
"And King Herod heard it, for His name had become well known... But when Herod heard it, he kept saying, 'John, whom I beheaded, has risen!'" (Mark 6:14, 16)
The ministry of Jesus and His disciples is making waves. The name of Jesus is on everyone's lips. Notice the speculation. Some think He is Elijah, fulfilling the prophecy of Malachi. Others see Him as one of the great prophets of old. But Herod has a very specific, very personal, and very superstitious fear. For him, Jesus is the ghost of his own crime. "John, whom I beheaded, has risen!"
A guilty conscience is a terrible tormentor. Herod had silenced the prophet, but he could not silence the prophet's words, which now echoed in the halls of his own mind. He had cut off John's head, but he could not kill the truth John spoke. This is the folly of all tyrants. They think that by killing the messenger, they can kill the message. But God's truth is not so easily disposed of. It has a way of rising from the dead.
Herod's fear reveals something crucial about the unregenerate mind. It is a bubbling cauldron of superstition and naturalism. On the one hand, Herod is a secular sophisticate, a political operator in the Roman world. On the other, when confronted with a power he cannot explain, he immediately resorts to a pagan, ghost-story explanation. He does not repent; he is simply haunted. This is what a conscience seared by sin does. It can no longer point the way to grace; it can only conjure phantoms in the dark.
The Prophet's Rebuke and the King's Dilemma (vv. 17-20)
Mark now gives us the backstory, the reason for Herod's guilt.
"For John had been saying to Herod, 'It is not lawful for you to have your brother's wife.' ... for Herod was afraid of John, knowing that he was a righteous and holy man, and he was keeping him safe. And when he heard him, he was very perplexed; but he used to enjoy listening to him." (Mark 6:18, 20 LSB)
Here is the collision. John the Baptist was not arrested for disturbing the peace or for sedition. He was arrested for preaching the law of God concerning marriage. Herod Antipas had divorced his own wife to marry Herodias, who had in turn divorced Herod's brother, Philip. It was a sordid, adulterous, and incestuous mess, a public scandal that flaunted the law of God given in Leviticus. And John, being a prophet of God, called it what it was: unlawful.
This is the business of the prophet. It is not to give political advice or offer therapeutic platitudes. It is to say, "Thus saith the Lord." John did not meddle in politics; he meddled in sin, which is the duty of every faithful preacher. He brought the transcendent law of God to bear on the public conduct of the king. He understood that sexual ethics are not a private matter when the king's sin becomes a public stumbling block. All sin is ultimately public.
And look at Herod's reaction. It is a fascinating portrait of a man divided against himself. On one side, you have Herodias, a woman scorned, nursing a grudge and wanting John dead. She is the picture of unadulterated, venomous hatred for the truth. On the other side is Herod's own strange fascination with John. He fears him, yes, because he knows John is righteous. He knows this man is connected to God in a way he is not. He even protects him from Herodias's schemes. He is "very perplexed" by John's preaching, yet he "used to enjoy listening to him."
This is the man who is almost persuaded. He is intrigued by the truth but unwilling to be mastered by it. He enjoys the sermon but has no intention of obeying it. He likes the man of God but loves his sin more. This is a dangerous, soul-destroying place to be. To be close to the kingdom, to hear the truth, to respect the preacher, and yet to remain in your sin is to be inoculated against the gospel. Herod's heart was a political battlefield, and in the end, the fear of man and the lust for pleasure would win the day.
The Banquet, the Dance, and the Vow (vv. 21-24)
The stage is now set for the tragedy, and the setting is a birthday party.
"And a strategic day came when Herod on his birthday gave a banquet... and when the daughter of Herodias herself came in and danced, she pleased Herod and his dinner guests; and the king said to the girl, 'Ask me for whatever you want and I will give it to you.' And he swore to her, 'Whatever you ask of me, I will give it to you; up to half of my kingdom.'" (Mark 6:21-23 LSB)
Herodias is patient. She waits for a "strategic day." Sin is calculating. And the perfect opportunity comes at Herod's birthday banquet, a gathering of the powerful and influential. This is a room full of fragile male egos, fueled by wine and a desire to impress.
Into this scene comes the daughter of Herodias, Salome. She "came in and danced." We should not picture a respectable ballet. This was a sensual, provocative performance designed to titillate a room full of half-drunk men. It was the strategic deployment of feminine sexual power for wicked ends. And it worked. Herod and his guests were "pleased."
In his drunken, lustful stupor, Herod makes a rash and grandiose oath. "Ask me for whatever you want... up to half of my kingdom." This is the kind of boastful promise a man makes when he is more concerned with his own image than with wisdom or righteousness. He is performing for his guests. His pride is now on the line. He has sworn an oath before all the important people. And Herodias, the puppet master, has him right where she wants him. The girl, coached by her mother, knows exactly what to ask for. Not for jewels, not for land, but for "The head of John the Baptist."
The Price of Pride (vv. 25-29)
The trap is sprung, and the king must now pay the price.
"And although the king was very sorry, yet because of his oaths and because of his dinner guests, he did not want to refuse her." (Mark 6:26 LSB)
Here is the pathetic heart of the matter. The king was "very sorry." His conscience, that thing he had been trying to suppress, pricked him one last time. He knew this was wrong. He knew John was a righteous man. He did not want to do it. But two things compelled him: his oath and his guests. The fear of man is a snare, and Herod was caught fast.
He was more afraid of looking weak in front of his friends than he was of offending the living God. He was more committed to a foolish, drunken promise than to justice and righteousness. Let's be clear: a sinful oath is an oath that should be broken. Herod's folly was not in making the vow, but in keeping it. His greater sin was his refusal to repent of his pride. He could have said, "I spoke foolishly, in my wine. This request is wicked, and I will not grant it." He would have lost face, but he might have saved his soul. Instead, he chose to murder an innocent man to protect his reputation among sinners.
And so the gruesome deed is done. A soldier is sent, a head is delivered on a platter, a trophy for a wicked woman. The prophet is dead. But his disciples come, they take his body, and they lay it in a tomb. This is an act of love and loyalty, and it is a foreshadowing of another body that would be taken down from a cross and laid in a tomb, only to be raised in glory. John's story ends in a tomb, but the story of the one he pointed to does not.
Conclusion: Whose Applause Do You Want?
This is a dark story, but it is filled with light for us. It forces us to ask a fundamental question: who are we trying to please? Every day, we are faced with choices, small and large, that pit the fear of God against the fear of man.
Herod wanted the applause of his dinner guests. He wanted to maintain his image, his power, his illicit relationship. The price of that applause was the head of a prophet and the damnation of his own soul. He gained the whole world of his petty court and lost everything that mattered.
John the Baptist sought the approval of God alone. He spoke the truth, without compromise, without calculating the political cost. The price of his faithfulness was his freedom and ultimately his life. He lost his head, but he gained a martyr's crown. As Jesus would later say, "For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake and the gospel's will save it" (Mark 8:35).
We are surrounded by a culture that, like Herod's court, is drunk on its own lusts and prides. It invites us to dance to its tune, to applaud its perversions, and to be silent about the law of God. It pressures us to make foolish compromises to keep our seat at the table, to avoid looking foolish or hateful in the eyes of the "leading men" of our age.
The spirit of Herodias is alive and well, demanding that the prophetic voice of the church be silenced, particularly when it speaks to matters of sexual morality and marriage. And the spirit of Herod is alive and well in the hearts of weak and compromised Christians, who are "very sorry" about the direction of the culture but are ultimately more afraid of the dinner guests than they are of God.
The call for us is to be John the Baptist. To know that righteousness and holiness are real. To speak the truth of God's law, whether it is popular or not. To understand that it is not our job to be strategic, but to be faithful. And if that faithfulness lands us in prison, or costs us our reputation, or even our lives, we must count it all joy. For our King was not defeated by the tomb, and the truth we proclaim cannot be silenced by the executioner's sword. The head of the prophet may end up on a platter, but the Word of God goes on forever.