Heads Up - 2 Samuel 6:1-5, 12b-19; Psalm 24; Mark 6:14-29
The lectionary theme for today, Year B, Proper 10, is heads: we’re either lifting them up or cutting them off. As a theological theme, the idea of the head is multifaceted, if a little obvious. But I love a challenge, so here we go. Our heads are home to our brains as well as four out of our five senses, so they are arguably the most important part of our bodies. In fact, in the English language, the head often serves as a euphemism for the whole person. If someone is responsible and uses good judgement, we say they have a good head on their shoulders. Someone who is angry and belligerent has lost their head. The head of an organization is its leader and most valuable member. When tallying the number of bodies in a room, we take a headcount.
In the 5th century BC, Hippocrates, the father of medicine to whom we owe the Hippocratic oath, determined that our heads house not only our minds, but our very souls. This theory, which was also supported by Plato, is called cephalocentrism. This is just one example of the way that, throughout history, humans have sought to understand the complex inner workings of our noggins, but it’s hard to make heads or tails of them. I promise that’s the only pun you’ll have to suffer through.
In Mark’s Gospel today, we get a detailed and dramatic account of the beheading of John the Baptist. In what I would call an Ancient Near East Twitter feud, Herodias, wife of Herod, wanted revenge against John after he publicly shamed her unlawful marriage. She was a crafty woman, and managed to trick both her daughter and her husband into doing her dirty work for her. When Herod made a very public spectacle of promising his charming stepdaughter whatever she wanted, Herodias convinced her to ask for John’s head on a platter, knowing that even though Herod revered John, he would not back down from a public commitment.
Herodias had other options. She could have been satisfied with a report of John’s death. She also could demanded his whole body be displayed for all to see. But she chose only his head, the most important part of him, the symbol of his whole life and personhood and everything he stood for. She predicted a powerful impact, and she was right.
Considering all these quips and anecdotes about heads, I am intrigued by our Psalmist’s refrain, “lift up your heads, O gates.” When read together, our Old Testament lesson from 2 Samuel and our Psalm provide one of the most beautiful images of religious life in Ancient Israel. This portion of the Samuel narrative describes the ceremony of bringing the Ark of the Covenant to Bethlehem. The Ark held the tablets on which Moses inscribed the Ten Commandments, and it was the community’s most important symbol of their life with God. The liturgy of the Ark arriving in Bethlehem was part of the larger celebration of David’s ascension to the throne.
It was both a long-awaited liturgy and also a familiar one. It was both emotional and instinctive. It was joyful and extravagant. And the words of the liturgy, the song of praise repeated by the people as they processed is right here in Psalm 24. “Lift up your heads, O gates; Lift them high, O everlasting doors; and the King of glory shall come in. Who is the King of glory? The Lord of hosts, he is the King of glory.”
The Israelites saw David’s kingship as a sign that God was indeed with them, and so this liturgy is not just about welcoming David to the throne, it’s about making space for God to dwell among the people. And if the head is the symbolic home of the soul and representative of the rest of our bodies, “lift up your heads, O gates,” is a poetic way of saying, open the way for God’s entrance into your lives.
While this Psalm is perhaps not the most familiar portion of scripture to us, and although we do not have a priceless relic to gather around for worship, I believe we know precisely what it’s like to participate in a liturgy like this. Just a few months ago, we gathered for Easter after being apart for over a year. It was long-awaited but delightfully familiar. It was both emotional and instinctive. It was joyful and extravagant, and filled with well-known refrains like “Jesus Christ is risen today,” and “welcome, happy morning.” And we cherished our extraordinary stained glass windows and magnificent furnishings and unparalleled acoustic, all symbols to us that God is indeed with us in this place. We lifted our literal and metaphorical heads high and the King of glory came in.
Despite everything we have learned about the human head since the time of Hippocrates, I must confess I am quite guilty of cephalocentrism. I tend to prioritize my mind over my body and my spirit both in my everyday life and in my relationship with God. I assume that my thoughts are the most important part of me, just like Herodias assumed that John the Baptist’s head was the most important part of him, not realizing that his faith, his proclamation, and his witness would live on in ways more powerful than she could possibly imagine.
Sometimes, it’s the literal instructions in scripture that I need to hear most, things like, “love your neighbor as yourself.” But sometimes, it’s the symbolism, the poetry. “Lift up your heads, O gates.” David was only enthroned once, and we only celebrate Easter Sunday once a year, but there is nothing stopping us from opening up our whole person and making space for God to dwell among us all the time. What would it look like if I got out of my own head and made space for God not only in my thoughts or private prayers, but in my body, my words, my actions, and my relationships? What might it look like if we made space for God to dwell among us, not just in the privacy of our hearts? I suspect it would look a lot like Easter Sunday, 2021 at Christ Church.
It is my prayer this week that we can take a cue from the lectionary and consider all the parts of ourselves that our heads can represent. Perhaps even get out of our own heads little bit - though hopefully they’ll stay attached to our bodies, unlike John’s. Our liturgies, just like the liturgies in the Ancient Near East, show us how to use our hearts and bodies and spirits, as well as our minds, to make space for God’s presence. Let us lift our heads high and open up our whole selves to receive the King of glory. Amen.