Two Banquets

One after another, plush chariots pulled up to Herod’s opulent palace in the city of Sephorous, dropping off high officials, military commanders and the leading men of Galilee. These people, the powerful, the wealthy, the important have come to see and to be seen. True, they are far less interested in Herod than they are in being seen with him. But the food will be incredible, the wine will be free and something interesting always happens at one of Herod’s parties.

Jesus could see them from the boat, traipsing along the shore, meandering across the hillsides, ambling among the rocks, dozens, hundreds, thousands of them, aimless as shepherdless sheep. These people, the powerless, the poor, the unimportant are coming to see him. True, some of them will be more interested in a miraculous healing than in hearing what he has to say. But they will listen, he will teach and something unexpected always happens with Jesus.

“Give them more food, more wine,” Herod orders his servants. He is a mighty king and both his guests and his reputation require abundance. And what is a party without entertainment? So the music begins and Herod’s own step-daughter dances, filling the room and inebriated imaginations with passion and fury and magic.

“You give them something to eat,” Jesus directs his disciples. He is a concerned shepherd and his flock is hungry and requires assistance. After all, what is compassion without action? But the place is remote and the price of feeding these thousands is beyond the disciples’ means. So the crowds sit and Jesus prays, filling the air and expectant hearts with words of faith and trust and hope.

Herod regrets his vow, but cannot recant. His wife remembers her grudge. The king’s banquet ends in death.

Jesus looks to heaven and lifts his prayer. His Father responds with grace. The Shepherd’s banquet ends in abundance.

I don’t know if Mark intended for us to view chapter six of his gospel as a tale of two banquets, but in my Bible, the column of text that tells of Herod’s birthday banquet (vv. 14 – 29), and the one that details Jesus’ feeding of the 5,000 (vv. 30 – 44), lay side by side. Almost as if Mark wants me to choose. “This one or that one?” he seems to be asking.

Will I live my life like Herod’s banquet, concerned with appearances, impressed with power and obsessed with comfort?

Or will I live my life like Jesus’ banquet, finding the faith to trust his words, hearing his call to care for those around me — “You give them something to eat,” — trusting that if I will love and serve others, there will be enough left over for me, too.

Today, you will share a bit of bread and the cup with millions of Christians around the world. In that moment, with the dry bread on your tongue and the tang of the cup on your lips, imagine that you are there, on a hillside, sitting on the grass, feet away from Jesus as he prays. Let today’s communion be a time of commitment for you, a time to seek and follow his direction. He has done more than make a miracle out of a few loaves of bread and two fish. He has given his life to make a miracle out of yours.