It’s nothing but misery, really. John the Baptist arrested. And then murdered. (He has been poking the bear, and you really can’t expect a representative of the most powerful nation on the planet to just look the other way.) This story – John’s story – was never going to have a happy ending.

Herod may be his own worst enemy – marrying your sister-in-law will get the religious types talking – but John knew that he was playing with fire.

So, John is in prison, and Herod feels safe again. But Herod doesn’t count on the fury of a woman embarrassed, and, well, he is his own worst enemy. Promising the moon and stars – bragging about his ability to say and do whatever he wanted – he gets himself in a real pickle. Promising ‘even half my kingdom’ (is it really your kingdom, Herod?) he finds himself tricked by his wife and daughter into doing the unthinkable. This man of God – a righteous and holy person by Herod’s own admission – will pay with his head because Herod has no impulse control and can’t afford to go ‘back on his word.’

This may be the least biblical sounding passage in the New Testament. Jesus is on the periphery. John’s neck is on the block. God appears to be otherwise engaged. The kingdom doesn’t seem to come closer. The good news is well hidden here.

But it may be that this is the most useful biblical passage in the New Testament for all these same reasons.

Human interactions are complicated by human attitudes and egos and agenda. Powerful people do outrageous things for the sake of preserving their power. God-fearing people do outrageous things because they are made bold by God’s promise of something better.

And when these two worlds collide, as often as not the bad guys prevail. Power is an intoxicating thing. It gives people the means to do and say whatever they want. It seems like the best way to solve a problem – overpower your opponent and you win the day.

We are still faced with ridiculous and dangerous people who would rule over us. Systems of government that serve only their own best interests. The all consuming passion of so many politicians is not to make the world/the country/the region a better place. No the job is to get re-elected. And to do that most are, like Herod, happy to tell you precisely what you want to hear. Also, like Herod, they will keep only the public promises that ensure they hold on to their power.

The voice of reason – the plea for something decent – comes from John, who is locked up for his troubles. His message resonates through the upper levels and terrifies the inner circles. John isn’t asking for the government to be overthrown. He is asking for the government to be humane – accountable – ethical – good. Herod hears all this, but fears it means revolution.

Let’s admit that we have heard people talk like revolution is our only hope. March to the capital – make lots of angry noise. Show disdain for the government, but make sure you use language that makes it sound like you are protecting ‘rights and freedoms.’ Revolution is tempting when the powerful lose their way. Revolution can seem like the only possible response. Give them a dose of their own medicine; certainly it seems like a better course of action than NO ACTION.

But the folks who talk like this don’t have a viable alternative. They would throw the baby out with the bathwater.

John has friends – fierce and loyal friends, who have seen what they have seen. They believe that the world as it must give way to the world that John preached about – a world that John says is going to be best represented by this Jesus fellow. Jesus is starting to gain some traction – even Herod had heard about him – and Jesus was not talking revolution. Jesus was talking redemption.

We are experiencing a global moment. In the last several years the approach to power by those who – in democracies all over the world – are granted the privilege of power by their fellow citizens has been hard to understand. And the citizens (you and I among them) have reacted to the occasional abuse of power and the slide towards absolutism. The all-or-nothing approach to politics is generating bad feelings and a growing sense of hopelessness. We say we want action – we want change – we want (something). But maybe what we need is John and Jesus.

The tale of John’s unfortunate demise has the seeds of the Good News in it. John is determined – in spite of the overwhelming odds against him. John does not encourage his followers to storm the palace or overthrow the government. John brings the facts to a festival of lies. And even when his cause seems lost – even when Herod orders his death – those who have heard and understood John’s message (those who were there to see him point to Jesus and say “here he comes- the one God has promised”) enter the scene quietly and give their teacher a dignified burial. No histrionics. No angry flag-waving or window breaking. With the same gentle determination modelled by John, his friends ask for the body and do what must be done. They offer a continuing example of how the promised reign of peace will prevail.

It’s often been said that you must fight fire with fire. That the only way to get your way is to rise up to the level of your opponent, and then surpass them. Beat them at their own game. History suggests that is not working so well. The trail of desolation left by this strategy begs for another solution – Jesus’ solution.

The way of love and peace; the way of repentance and redemption. The way of loving your enemies and praying for those who persecute you. The problem we have with the way taken by John and Jesus is that the results are mixed. The Herod’s still dot our landscape – laughing all the way to the bank. But the disciples of John and Jesus are still with us as well. Going about the quiet, often frustrating business of bringing dignity to the conversation – standing firm, acting with integrity – looking for redemption, not revolution. If, as theologian Walter Wink suggests, all things – people, institutions (churches too!), ideas and political ideologies – are part of God’s vast creation, and all those same things are flawed and fallen from grace, then all things – even political systems – can be (are being) redeemed. Slowly but surely, little by little. Perhaps the signs of a system ‘falling apart’ are also the beginnings of a system being redeemed. Good news, albeit well hidden, is still there for the celebrating.