In the last Bringing the Book Alive, Bryony told the story of Jesus’ arrest – as recorded in Luke 22:54–58 – through the eyes of the servant girl. In this next, extended article, the role of Herod and his involvement in the events leading up to Christ’s crucifixion are told by Herod’s step-daughter, Salome.
by Bryony Wood
They buried him today... The teacher’s friends came and took his body away and laid it in a tomb.
And he’s dead because I allowed it. I allowed Herod’s hatred and pathetic cowardice to keep me silent when I should have spoken up and saved him. This day is surely the blackest day in history....
But wait... if I start my story from the beginning, then you might understand why it matters to me so much.
I am Salome; my stepfather is Herod Antipas, ruler of Galilee and Perea. My mother is Herodias and she recently married Herod. But when you find out what happened; what I did, you’ll come to despise me, I know it...
A couple of years ago there was a man called John. He was often nicknamed ‘John the Baptist’. Some said he was a holy man from God. He had scary, wild eyes and long fingers which pointed out the sins of the people. Surprisingly, though, he gathered quite a band of followers, despite his message often being harsh. He didn’t seem to care how many enemies he made along the way. Many despised him, said he was mad, possessed by the devil. According to rumour, he was a Nazirite who lived in the desert, eating only locusts and wild honey.
He was often down by the River Jordan, urging people to repent and baptising those who wanted forgiveness. What was wrong with going to the temple I’d thought? That’s what their priests are for – to sacrifice an animal for their sins. That’s how Jews dealt with sin – no big deal. But for John? No, that really wasn’t enough, it seemed.
He said he was ‘just the messenger’, the one crying in the wilderness, ‘preparing the way for the Lord’. The long awaited Messiah was apparently about to arrive. And unless people cleaned up their lives, he warned, they would not be ready... It was provocative stuff. Real fire and brimstone preaching. But amazingly, people seemed to lap it up and crowds flocked to hear him.
Herod, of course, was fascinated. He’d always been drawn to power; and this John certainly spoke with power – and Herod couldn’t resist. One day he went down to the Jordan to hear John. But instead of honouring Herod, all John did was give him a mouthful of abuse and judgement. That of course didn’t go down well with Herod or my mother. It was a complete humiliation. John was publicly accusing them of living in sin, of being in an adulterous marriage; no one had ever dared challenge them before!
Whoever this John was, whatever power he had, he certainly wasn’t scared of speaking his mind. I thought at the time that he was stupid – but now I see differently. Sometimes we should not just stand by and keep quiet.
Answerable only to himself
But my mother hated him with a passion. She and Herod had married even though they knew it was really against Jewish law. But they didn’t care. Herod considered himself a king, so he could do as he liked. And of course my mother was happy to ditch my father, Philip, who was actually Herod’s brother, and make her tactical move up the social scale to become ‘queen’ of Galilee. She’d always taken her chances wherever she could. What could I say? I was just a girl, old enough to be useful to her schemes; but young enough not to understand them and made to do as I was told.
The more she hated John, the more Herod seemed to fear him. Eventually there came a day when it seemed Herod had no choice but to arrest this so-called prophet and lock him away. Perhaps to silence the accusations – or maybe to protect John from my mother’s wrath? But John was publicly silenced and left to rot in the dungeon of the army fortress near our palace.
But it was weird – as soon as John was off the scene, another preacher man seemed to appear out of the desert. This man did stuff that made John look like an amateur! Stories spread of how he had allowed John to baptise him. Stories of how this man, a carpenter from Nazareth, healed sick people, rebuked demons, even raised a girl from the dead! Herod was even more fascinated and wanted to meet this man Jesus.
But then, it was Herod’s birthday – and my mother had planned a banquet. She wanted to show off her talent for hospitality and to prove publicly their marriage was accepted by the leaders of the land. And to finally put to rest those loud judgements from the Baptiser – John. She invited everyone she thought might be useful, all who would bring wealth and respectability to the palace. It was all well planned and there would be many days of feasting to honour her husband. And I was to dance for the king. It was his ‘special birthday present’, my mother suggested.
She thought it a clever idea, but now with the benefit of hindsight, it was one of the most stupid plans she’d ever involved me in. She dressed me in the finest, sheerest fabrics and sent me into the banquet to use my feminine charms and manipulate him and beguile him by pandering to his lust.
Many were not impressed that a princess should dance in public to an audience of men. But I did as mother asked. I’d watched the slave girls dancing, and seen the way they whirled and twirled, as the men leered, licking their lips, almost panting with expectation. I wanted that reaction too, to prove I was no longer a little girl, but a grown woman, old enough for a good marriage. And it worked. I danced for Herod, and I got the reaction I wanted. His little piggy eyes glinted as he watched me, almost drooling, as he reclined in his fat, ugly, splendour.
Your wish – is my command
He clapped and cheered as I finally fell at his feet at the end of my dance. ‘Magnificent! Whatever you want my princess,’ he yelled. ‘Anything! Up to half my kingdom!’ Stupid man, I thought, I can ask for anything and he cannot lose face in front of all these guests. Now what do I want most... a handsome prince for a husband? Jewels and gold? It was a heady moment of pure victory. I ran outside to find my mother and found her feasting in the ante-room with the other women. I asked her, ‘What should I ask Herod for?’
But the victory became hers. ‘Ask for the head of the prisoner John the Baptist’ she whispered to me with not even a moment’s hesitation.
So I did. Simple as that. A man’s life taken for no reason but to satisfy the whim of a woman who hated him. Herod had no choice but to order John’s execution. But I saw his smile falter and freeze on his proud face as he sent his guards to the dungeons.
Everyone cheered as I carried in the platter. I couldn’t bear to look at the bloodied head, knowing it had been my actions and words that had caused this blood to be shed. The victory had become empty and hollow. I felt sick to my stomach... that night I knew I had done something so very wrong.
And I’ve lived with that guilt ever since. Until today.
Today, the man they called Jesus was dragged to our palace in some mockery of a trial. The chief priests accused him of being a blasphemer and had arrested Jesus and taken him to Pontius Pilate to be condemned. But when Pilate had realised Jesus was from Galilee, he’d sent him over to Herod for judgement – this was his territory.
So the man some called ‘the teacher’ stood in front of my stepfather, accused of a hateful crime. But something inside me, some deep instinct, told me this man was wholly innocent.
A man whom half the city loathed – while the other half loved him. Some people even thought he was John the Baptist raised from the dead! Herod could hardly contain his excitement; he was being asked to judge the man John had once prophesied would be the judge of all mankind. But did I also catch in him a glimmer of awe, fear even, as he questioned Jesus?
Herod had been itching to meet him and see him perform one of his ‘supposed miracles’. But all I saw was someone beaten and bloodied, standing in silent dignity. Was this really the one John had spoken of with such fervency? The one John had called the Messiah? The one whom John had died for?
Today Herod repeated what he’d done before John was killed. Today, he gave in to the manipulations of those of whom he was afraid. He gave in to his lust for popularity and power, and allowed Jesus to be mocked and abused. Finally he abdicated his responsibility and sent Jesus straight back to Pontius Pilate for sentencing.
Scared, ashamed and guilt-ridden
I was disgusted; there was something so good about this Jesus that made me realise how dirty I was. How much I needed the peace that shone from him. Something about him just didn’t make sense, something beyond mere humanity. I should have had the courage and spoken up to defend him, but I too, like Herod, was a coward.
Then, as Herod and his soldiers mocked him, bombarding him with questions, ‘who are you’, ‘where do you come from,’ ‘prove to me you are the Messiah’ ... Jesus looked up and saw me. I had peeked out from my hiding place behind a pillar. I was too scared to come out, ashamed to be associated with this cruelty. But there was something about how he looked at me – as if he knew my shame and guilt.
As if he even knew what I’d done to John, how I’d been responsible for his beheading. Something told me he understood? It sounds strange but it was almost as if he took the blame for my actions? And despite having a swollen face and cut lips from the soldiers’ beatings, he gave me a lopsided half-smile that showed more love than I’d felt in all my life.
He seemed to know what was happening. It was as if Jesus knew what kind of person Herod was, and what evil plotting had been done to bring him to this stupid trial. And he was allowing it... But he had the power here, not Herod nor the priests or even Pilate, Jesus did.
John had spent his life speaking of ‘The Messiah’ and our need to find and follow God, even knowing it might lead to his imprisonment and death. John was so utterly convinced his message was worth it, that Jesus was the son of God, he’d not kept quiet. And looking at Jesus this morning, I knew John was right – this Jesus must be worth everything I can give too....
But now, as I recall these events on this Friday night, Jews across Jerusalem are revelling in their Passover celebrations, remembering how God had rescued them from bondage and slavery. But most seem oblivious that today is not a day for celebrating. A man, an unrecognised saviour, was killed today.
He was not beheaded like John. They crucified him like a common criminal in the place called Golgotha. Some people went to watch, but I couldn’t. Seeing Jesus before Herod this morning was enough to change my life. Nothing can be the same again.
A costly choice
John the Baptist had a choice, he chose to speak about the righteousness of God, and how Jesus was the Christ the Jews had been waiting for. He made a choice that cost him his life.
And now I’ve seen Jesus too, met him, felt his love... been forgiven by him, I have a choice. Will I continue as before? Or can I be brave enough to change and respond to that love? Will I be bold enough to tell others about what I’ve seen? To step out from behind the safety of my pillar?
They buried him today. Took his body away and laid it in a tomb...who knows what will happen now....?
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