11 September — the Beheading of the Prophet, Forerunner, and Baptist of the Lord, John.
We mark today the solemn commemoration of the beheading of Saint John the Baptist — he who was indeed the foremost among the prophets. This day brings both feast and fast, joy and sorrow. As we praise John the Baptist, we rejoice in the greatness to which the Lord has raised human nature in his person, and yet, in stark contrast, we also gaze, as it were, into a chasm, a gaping pit, into which humanity falls in the figure of the wicked lineage of the Herods.
That name, Herod, appears often on the Gospel pages. It is not merely the name of one man, but of an entire dynasty, a family line. We first encounter Herod Antipater, called Herod the Great — perhaps for his monstrous crimes. Then comes Herod Antipas, the one whose hands were stained with the blood of John the Baptist. Next in this line is Herod Agrippa, or Agrippa the First, who in his pride dared to liken himself to God, only to die suddenly in the people’s sight. And finally, we meet Herod Agrippa the Second — arguably the least malevolent of them all — before whom the holy Apostle Paul made his courageous defence, and who, it is said, sought to shield Paul from his Jewish accusers.
Now, this Herod Antipas was called to Rome to answer for matters of governance. Indeed, Emperor Tiberius had received numerous grievances concerning his high-handed rule and brutal ways. Upon reaching the heart of the Empire, Antipas sought lodging with his kinsman, his cousin Philip, who resided in Rome as a private citizen. Philip welcomed him with open arms and genuine kindness — though Herod, during his years of power, had scarcely given a thought to his own brother's welfare.
Let us remember that Emperor Tiberius was a deeply troubled soul, plagued by suspicion and haunted by fears of plots and attempts on his life. He spent most of his days not in the capital, but on an island, in a palace built like a fortress. So intense was his mistrust that even those closest to him could not feel secure for their lives. His wrath was a consuming fire; his judgements could fall like a hammer, swift and without reprieve. When Philip chose to shelter Herod, he walked a dangerous path indeed, for had Herod faced accusation and the ultimate penalty before the mighty Caesar, that same imperial fury would have descended upon Philip’s entire household. Yet, Herod’s kinsman honoured the ancient, sacred law of hospitality.
The audience with Caesar went favourably for Herod; he argued his case well and walked away in peace. Yet this is how he rewarded his brother’s kindness: he snatched away his youthful wife, Herodias, and spirited her from Rome under cover of darkness. And who accompanied this deceitful pair? None other than Herodias’s own daughter, Salome, who preferred a princess's crown in Galilee to a nameless existence in Rome.
Then came the shameful act: Herod cast out his rightful wife, a woman of noble character, the daughter of King Aretas of Arabia. John the Baptist then lifted his voice in righteous opposition, for the deeds of the king could swiftly spread like a contagion among the people. And so, the blessed John, unafraid, openly censured the ruler. No soft words, no false praise, no menacing warnings could sway this prophet. In response, Herod commanded that John be seized in secret and confined in Machaerus fortress, perched on the Dead Sea’s eastern shore. This very fortress Herod had constructed, anticipating a war with the Arabs, for he knew well that King Aretas would one day avenge his daughter’s dishonour.
Prophet John the Baptist
One day, on Herod’s birthday, the elders from among the people of Israel gathered as guests. Before this company, Salome, Herodias’s daughter, performed her dance. So captivated was the ruler, and so too his inebriated companions, that Herod, in a rash and wine-fuelled moment, made a solemn vow: he would give her anything she desired, up to half his domain. Turning to her mother, the young woman inquired, “What shall I ask from the king?” Herodias, her heart seething with malice, replied with those dreadful words, “The head of John the Baptist.”
Another John, Chrysostom, Archbishop of Constantinople — who himself suffered under the intrigues of the wicked empress Eudoxia — preached on the day of John the Baptist’s beheading: “There is nothing more terrible than the wrath of an evil woman. It is better to deal with dragons than with her.” “Again Herodias dances, again she rages, again she seeks John’s head,” Saint John declared to his people, speaking of his own trials.
Now, Herod was troubled. He was not his father, Antipater, a man whose brutality had soaked Judea in blood. While still a tyrant of unbending cruelty, this Herod possessed a more adaptable, wily, and devious nature — so much so that our Lord Jesus Himself called him “that fox” (Luke 13:32). He dreaded that killing John the Baptist would ignite the fury of the people, perhaps even spark a revolt. Yet, here lay a convenient chance to rid himself of the prophet, claiming that the decision was not his own but the result of circumstances beyond his control. And so it happened. Hiding behind the excuse of needing to honour his royal vow, Herod dispatched a soldier, an executioner, to the dungeon where the greatest among prophets lay chained.
The soldier found John the Baptist kneeling in prayer to God. Though the prophet knew his death was at hand, he remained still. With a swift stroke of the sword, the soldier severed John’s head. Then, presented on a gleaming, ornate platter, it reached the king. He, in turn, handed it to Salome, who then passed it to her mother.
The beheading of St John the Baptist
Tradition tells that Herodias took a needle and stabbed the mouth of John the Baptist — those very lips that had denounced her sin. Yet, even from the stillness of death, she seemed to hear from the prophet those same dreadful words of censure. She commanded that the Forerunner's head be cast into the palace refuse pit, whilst his body was retrieved by his disciples, who secretly bore it away to the city of Sebaste.
Brothers and sisters! The Gospel speaks to us now, each and every one. It acts like a searching mirror, reflecting and laying bare all the secret corners of our innermost being. The execution of John the Baptist is not merely a fact from two thousand years ago in Palestine; in a spiritual sense, this very drama frequently unfolds within the depths of our own souls.
Salome stands as the image of sin itself, the dancing maiden — the alluring visions of unholy desires paraded before our eyes. Our mind is the king; it must rule over the passions. But when that king becomes intoxicated by those very passions, he descends into a slave’s bondage to sin, and our thinking grows cunning in its pursuit of what our mind craves.
The execution of St John the Baptist
John the Baptist represents our conscience, that inner voice which cries out boldly against our wrongdoing. Too often, we grow to despise this inner voice. We long to be rid of it; we wish for it to stop tormenting and accusing us. By stifling conscience, we effectively excuse ourselves — much like casting John into prison.
My beloved! The figure of Herodias is a dark, demonic force, one that lures us towards transgression. And so often, we face this stark choice: God’s grace or sin. When we choose the latter, when we opt for wrongdoing, do we not, in that very moment, join the company of those who silenced John the Baptist?
Herod sends the executioner to John, telling himself that to do otherwise would bring disgrace upon him in the eyes of the people. And who were these people? They were his drunken guests who despised both Herod himself and his whole house. Herod, though he scorned their company, nevertheless remained captive to their opinion. And how often do we, too, cling to the approval of unworthy people? How frequently, bowing to the laws, customs, and opinions of this world, do we find ourselves committing dishonourable acts? For example, when God’s holy name is blasphemed in our hearing, and we remain silent; when sacrilege is committed before our eyes, and we smile along — are we not then just like Herod, who became a slave to his dinner party?
Notice where evil began: an ordinary feast in Herod’s palace. Yet it ended in a dreadful crime, in murder itself. So it often is with sin; it starts with small, insignificant things. In the Book of Job, the demon is called an ‘ant-lion’. At first, it creeps into our hearts and thoughts as subtly as an ant. But then it swells and grows, becoming a huge roaring beast.
In one collection of the Fathers, we hear about a man whom a demon once approached with this bargain: “I shall leave you in peace,” he declared, “I will never plague you again, but only if you commit one of three sins of your choosing: either kill someone, or fall into adultery, or drink yourself into a stupor.” The man thought to himself, “Surely, getting drunk with wine is a small transgression,” and so he agreed. And what happened? Once intoxicated, he, who had kept himself pure until then, committed fornication. Then, gripped by the fear that his terrible deed would be discovered, he murdered the unfortunate victim of his lust and buried her in some secret place, thus denying her even a Christian burial.
The head of St John the Baptist
My precious brothers and sisters! Today, we remember one of the very greatest saints, second only to the Most Holy Virgin Mary. John the Baptist unites in himself the mighty works and glorious honours of the prophets, for indeed, he is the final prophet of old. He foretold the imminent arrival of the Saviour of the world. He is, too, the first of the apostles, for he directed everyone towards Christ, who had already come among us. He prefigures our bishops, for he administered baptism, that first of Christian mysteries. He is a confessor, for he was jailed for upholding what is right; and he is a martyr, because he accepted death for exposing royal wickedness — for whoever dies defending purity against sin ranks alongside those who shed blood for the faith in Christ our Saviour. Righteous he remained, preserving both body and soul unstained whilst dwelling amongst sinful humanity. Above all, he preached what matters most for our salvation: repentance.
Today, in the Gospel reading, you listened as our Lord declared the foremost and greatest commandment: “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind” (Matthew 22:37). And the second, which is like it: “You shall love your neighbour as yourself” (Matthew 22:39).
You might think it should be as instinctive for us to love God as it is for a child to love their own mother and father — perhaps even more so. Yet, why is it that this love for God so often escapes us? The Holy Gospel gives us the answer: “And because lawlessness will abound, the love of many will grow cold” (Matthew 24:12).
Yes, beloved, our sins cause our love for God to wither and fade. When stones and debris choke a spring, no fresh, life-giving water flows forth. In just the same way, unless we first cleanse our hearts, we simply cannot taste that true spiritual delight or draw near to God. The one way that leads to love is repentance.
The holy fathers tell us: “Christ is love made flesh. John is the image of repentance.” Every service in our Church — even during the Holy Pascha itself — weaves repentance through joy and gladness. And just as John the Baptist directs us to Christ, the Saviour of all people, so too does this earnest turning from our old ways guide us back to love.
Source: Archimandrite Raphael (Karelin). The Christian's Path. Sermons and Talks. — Moscow: Publishing House of the Moscow Metochion of the Holy Trinity Sergius Lavra, 2005.
