Temporary or permanent?

[Jn 12.1-8]

Here we have a story about what happened when Jesus went to visit his friends Lazarus, Martha and Mary.

Now, I have to be honest, I feel a bit sorry for Mary: she always seems to be getting in trouble, she seems a bit ‘flaky’.
    In Luke’s gospel (Lk 10.38-42), she’s in trouble with her sister Martha, who’s doing all the work , for sitting at Jesus’s feet and listening to him talk. Martha wanted Jesus to tell her off for not helping.

This time, it’s Judas who wants Mary to be told off, because she’s wasted a lot of money — and I mean a lot of money.
    She pours a bottle of oil over Jesus’s feet, and it is worth about £25,000. Judas says that poor people could’ve been helped with that money, and he’s right — a year’s worth of money would’ve helped a great number of people — but he’s also wrong.
    He’s wrong partly because he’s telling lies.  He makes it look like he cares about the poor people, but really he cares about himself (John tells us in the gospel that Judas has been stealing money from the disciples joint account).
    Judas is also wrong because he’s not seeing the big picture: he’s seeing a year’s worth of money, while Jesus is seeing what happens in the year after that, and in the year after the year after that, and in the many years after the year after the year after that…

It’s maybe easier to imagine if we think about distance instead of time.
    Picture a tape measure, and imagine that each centimetre represents one year.
    At the start of the tape measure is this visit to Lazarus’ house.
Jesus will die in just a fraction of a millimetre.
37cm — the Romans have destroyed the temple at Jerusalem (it will never be rebuilt).
57cm — John has a vision on the island of Patmos that leads to him writing the book of Revelation.
90cm — Emperor Hadrian builds a wall above Cumbria to keep the Scots out
    By now, pretty much every poor person who was alive when Judas was talking has died. But Mary’s actions are still remembered.
2m 39cm — Emperor Constantine is born (he’s the man that will make Christianity the official religion of the Romans).
7m 75cm — Charlemagne is born (he founds the Holy Roman Empire).
15m 50cm — the Protestant Reformation begins.
    The anointing of Jesus by Mary is still remembered after all this distance, and millions upon millions of poor people have lived, gone hungry and died since Judas’ remarks were made.  How many of them were helped by Bible believing Christians?

    We now stand about 20 metres away from that event that John told us about: Mary is remembered as doing something that Jesus appreciated, and Judas is remembered as a betrayer.

    As children, there are many things that we get told off for — not doing our chores, being lazy and not tidying our room, breaking something valuable or spilling something.
    Perhaps though, before we rush to tell a child off for being ‘naughty’, we should stop to remember what matters. We should perhaps consider the big picture: what is temporary and what will last?
    Jesus, the game-changer, came to tell us what would last, what was important — treasure stored up in heaven.  He told us that two things mattered: love God and love your neighbour.  These two things should be focussed on, and should be done well.
    Everything else is temporary.

Asking the wrong question

My thoughts have been occupied as I've prepared this week's talk, thinking about the consequences of asking the wrong question.
    I'm not so much thinking about those cringeworthy times, such as asking a woman when she's 'due' only to find out that she's not pregnant; or the painful time I asked a particularly glum faced chap "Who's died?" to be told alter that he'd just come back from a funeral (the black clothes should probably have been a hint...)
    No, I'm not thinking about putting your foot in it. I mean those times when you need information, but because of the way you phrase your question you don't get what you need.  For example:

A man has tickets to a concert at Carnegie Hall, but he's lost in the city. Seeing another man carrying a violin case, he assumes he will know, so asks.
  "Excuse me, do you know how to get to Carnegie Hall?"
  "Practice man, practice."

Or consider:

A man is walking in the park and sees a small boy sat on a park bench, with a big dog beside him.
  "Does your dog bite?" He asks.
  "Nope," says the boy.
  On attempting to pet the do, the man is savagely bitten.
  "I thought you said your dog didn't bite,"  complained the man.
  "That's not my dog."

In both cases the answer to the question is correct, but it doesn't give the enquirer what they need to know.

Now, how many time in the Bible does Jesus refuse to give a straight answer?
    He often chooses to answer a question with another question or, as in today's gospel reading (John 18.33-37), to give an answer which seems unhelpful.

Jesus wasn't trying to hide anything, he came to testify to the truth. He was the truth. But perhaps the questions that were asked of him wouldn't give us the answer that people needed to hear.
    Pilate asks several questions and never gets a straight answer. But the answers that he does get tell us much.

Question 1: Are you the King of the Jews?
    The answer could have been a simple 'yes' or 'no', but that would have caused much confusion because of what Pilate understood by the phrase King of the Jews.
    So, instead Jesus says "Do you ask me this, or did others tell you about me?"
    If we stop and think about that question the answer is obvious: of course someone told Pilate.  As prefect of Judea he had his hands full, he'd never met Jesus before, and he wasn't likely to know much about every potential messiah until they started causing problems.
    Jesus's answer draws attention to the fact that Pilate has got his information second-hand, that he doesn't have the full picture; and Pilate's answer "I am not a Jew am I? Your own nation and the chief priests have handed you over to me," is an admission that others have had to give him the facts.
    He then asks another question: "What have you done?"
    Well, this is a pretty vague question. Does he mean 'what have you done to make the priests hate you?' or 'what have you done as your ministry for the past three years?' Who knows, but Jesus isn't going to answer any part of it.
    Instead he goes back to the first question.
    "My kingdom is not of this world."
    He's almost admitting to being a king, but again his answer says more. He is repeating that Pilate doesn't know what's going on.
    Jesus knows that Pilate is thinking about King Herod when he says 'King of the Jews', but Jesus knows his Tanakh (our Old Testament), and in there is Daniel's vision.

The Ancient One, dressed all in white, sitting on a throne of flames, with a million servants and hundreds of millions of attendants, gives dominion to the messiah to rule over all peoples for all time. Not just the Jewish nation, and not just for 160 years (roughly the reign of the Herodians), but ALL peoples for ALL time.
    Jesus is saying to Pilate: you can rip up the rule book, because you've never seen anything like me.

But wait, because there's a question that we need to ask, and we need to get it right.
    When will Jesus's reign begin?

We might well decide that it is going to begin sometime in the future. After all we pray "Thy kingdom come" pretty much constantly.
    Yet, in Revelation, writes "To him who loves us and freed us from our sins by his blood, and made us to be a kingdom, priests serving his God and Father."
    He made us to be a kingdom, priests serving God.

We are the kingdom, we are those millions of servants and hundreds of millions of attendants, and the more we focus on God, and on serving him and attending to him, the more we make Daniel's vision a reality.

So, when will Christ's kingdom come: both now, and not yet.
    But we aren't to wait idly for his return, we are to do all we can to serve God now.  

Exaggeration

I love exaggerating, I really do. 
    I reckon exaggerating is the best thing in the world ever. 

When you use hyperbole (just a posh word for exaggeration) you get your point across so much more effectively than if you were to speak normally. 

Think about arguments, you don’t want to be accurate in an argument, you want to be way over the top: 
    “You never do any housework, and you’re always late.” 
    They probably do some housework, and they’re almost certain to be on time occasionally, but that’s not how you get your message heard. 

Or think about advertising. How effective would an advert be if it was accurate? 
    “The Big Store is having a fairly substantial sale! Some products have had their prices slightly reduced! Most things must go! 
    That would be rubbish: sales have to be massive; prices have to be slashed and absolutely everything must go. 

When I’m hot, I’m not just hot, I’m roasting, or boiling, or sweating cobs. 
My bag isn’t just heavy, it weighs a tonne. 
And when I’m hungry I could eat a scabby horse. 

But here we find a problem with exaggeration: 
    What if, one day, someone takes me literally? What if, in the midst of my hunger I say “I could a scabby horse”, and someone walking past with a scabby horse offers it to me in sympathy? 
    I’d look pretty ungrateful if I refused, and I’d be pretty unwell if I chose to eat it to avoid offence. 
   No, I’m not supposed to be taken at my word. People are supposed to hear what I say and understand that I mean a less severe version. 

Does that mean that people should ignore what I say?  
    By no means. I may be a bit over the top, but what I’m saying still has a basis in truth. 

The Israelites were forever saying things that they didn’t literally mean, and their complaints were littered with exaggeration. 
    In the book of Exodus, shortly after escaping Egypt via God miraculously parting the Red Sea, they begin to complain. 
    “If only the Lord had killed us back in Egypt. There we sat around pots filled with meat and ate all the bread we wanted. But now you have brought us into this wilderness to starve us all to death” (Exodus 16.3). 

And again, when they discover the Promised Land is home to very large warriors: 
    “If only we’d died in Egypt, or even here in the wilderness” (Numbers 14.2). 

Then just before today’s reading, they’re complaining again because they are tired of being fed manna every day (guess they’ve forgotten that manna from heaven is itself a miracle). 
    “Who will give us meat to eat? We remember the fish which we used to eat free in Egypt, the cucumbers and the melons and the leeks and the onions and the garlic, but now our appetite is gone. There is nothing at all to look at except this manna.” (Numbers 11.4-6) 

Their bitter complaints cause God to get angry, and his response is pretty unpleasant.  
    “You shall eat, not one day, nor two days, nor five days, nor ten days, nor twenty days, but a whole month, until it comes out of your nostrils and becomes loathsome to you.” (Numbers 11.19-20). 
    The Israelites were sick of having their complaints ignored, but when they were no longer ignored, they were even sicker. 

So there we have the two great dangers of exaggeration — to be ignored or to be taken literally. 

Which brings us to the gospel reading.   
    Jesus says: “If your hand causes you to stumble, cut it off… if your foot causes you to stumble, cut it off… if your eye causes you to stumble, gouge it out” (Mark 9.43-47). 
    Does he literally mean that we should maim ourselves to get into heaven? No, that’s the kind of thing that leads to all those strange sects where people whip themselves or starve themselves. 
    Does he then mean ‘I’ve been saying some pretty weird stuff there so just ignore it and you’ll be fine’?  No, if he said it, it’s important. 

Notice when he said to cut these things off — when they cause you to stumble.   
    If cutting your offending hand off is the exaggeration, the deeper meaning is to look at what else causes us to stumble, and be ready to cut that off. 
    What about the internet?  Used properly it can be brilliant: connecting us to information and one another in an instant.  But if it’s used improperly it can lead to gambling problems, buying things we can’t afford and even adultery (just consider the Ashley Madison website). 
    If the internet causes you to stumble, cut it off. 

But wait, you say, I can’t live without the internet.  
    Jesus would argue that you can. You can live without a hand, so you can live without the internet. 

What about credit cards? They can help to spread payments, to meet a big, unexpected bill. But if they’re used inappropriately they can lead to spiralling debt and anxiety. 
    But I need those credit cards. 
    Jesus would say not. If you can live without a foot, you can live without credit cards. 

What about alcohol? Used responsibly alcohol can get any party started, help people unwind at the end of the day, and refresh a thirst on a hot summer afternoon.  Used irresponsibly alcohol can lead to addiction, relationship breakdown and loss of employment etc. 
    But it’s only one glass, I just need one glass. One is too many and a thousand is never enough (it’s the recovering alcoholic’s credo). 
    And Jesus would point out, you can live without an eye, so you can live without alcohol. 

He may have been exaggerating, but his message is absolutely true. 

Hard sayings — afterthoughts

My last talk, on the hard sayings of Jesus, had a couple of unexpected consequences. 

 The first happened almost immediately after that morning’s service, as one of the congregation (let’s call them ‘S’) took me to one side to express how upset they were at what I had said. The mention of Jeremy Corbyn had caused that person to feel very upset — the thought of him being in charge was the source of much fear and anxiety — and that they had found it difficult to listen to the rest of the talk, and to engage with the whole service. 

 The second consequence came later that week when another member of the congregation (‘F’) had a very confrontational conversation with the vicar about the inappropriateness of allowing party political statements to be made from the pulpit. They then left the church vowing never to return. 

 There are a few of things to unpick in this tangled knot of stuff. 

 Firstly, to acknowledge that it takes a great deal of courage to be honest and open about our feelings, and though ‘S’ and ‘F’ dealt with it very differently, both were under the influence of their emotions. ‘S’ was able to muster up the courage to have a quiet conversation with me and to clear the air, while ‘F’ wasn’t, and they ended up venting their frustration publicly, and with the wrong person (‘F’ has never spoken to me since, and I suspect they won’t in the future). 

 The second thing is to look at what actually took place to cause such upset. It’s very likely that at the mention of a political figure, those people with strong political views are going to connect my words with those views and possibly (as ‘S’ pointed out) tune out of the rest of the message. 

 For me to look at the parallels between Jesus and a present day figure is not to suggest that that figure is in any way like Jesus, nor even for me to endorse them. It’s just a way of helping people see things in a way that’s more accessible. 

 When Jesus said that the kingdom of God was like a mustard seed (Mark 4.30-32), he wasn’t saying that the mustard seed was God, and he wasn’t saying that mustard seeds are the best type of seeds, he was making a comparison based on one trait of mustard seeds (their phenomenal growth). 

 Oh, and to be clear, in comparing Jesus’s parable with my talk, I’m not saying that I’m Jesus, nor is my teaching as good as Jesus’s. 

 The third thing is about worship and my role. I believe that I am called to preach and to teach, but I’m not called to prevent people from worshipping God. If I say something that causes someone to stumble in their walk with God, I will have to be answerable for that come the final judgement. So there is a big responsibility on me to get it right. 

 At the same time, getting it right doesn’t mean that I have to avoid challenging people. Like St. Paul, I’m not trying to win the approval of human beings (Galatians 1.10), and if I have a message on my heart that I believe I’m supposed to share, then share it I must, despite the consequences. 

 Ultimately the irony is not lost on me that this happened when the gospel reading was on Jesus’s teaching causing people great offence, and my teaching on that reading caused great offence. 

 And again, this is not me saying that I’m Jesus.

Hard Sayings

It is considered ill-mannered to discuss religion or politics in polite company. 
Yet this morning I chose to do both. 

In part this is because in the Labour Party leadership race there’s one candidate whose rise in popularity is so interesting, and because there are parallels to the gospel reading for today (John 6.56-69) that really can’t be ignored. 
     I would like to point out that I’m not a member of the Labour Party and it doesn’t matter to me who becomes their next leader. At the same time there’s something unusual happening that’s causing a stir. Jeremy Corbyn is a hard-left politician, which means he’s anti-war, pro-welfare state, and very different to the present Conservative Government and a lot of his fellow Labour MPs. But front runner he is, and he’s making a lot of Labour MPs very uncomfortable. With some already saying that if he wins and becomes leader they will have to leave the Labour Party.     So, what is it that makes him so unpopular? I’m sure you can see the parallels. Here we have Jesus, who the established church are trying to kill, who the public flock to hear, and whose followers are about to bail on him. “When many of his disciples heard it, they said, “This teaching is difficult, who can accept it?”” Now, to be clear, these disciples are not struggling to understand what Jesus is saying, but they are struggling to get to grips with what that actually means for them. They’ve heard him say that they only get eternal life if they eat his flesh and drink his blood, and they don’t like it. That, I believe, is one of the greatest signs of a mature faith: the ability to follow even when we don’t like the message. We can be confident in Jesus, we can have faith in him even if we don’t like what he’s saying, because we know he’s God, we know that he is ultimately for us, and unlike Jeremy Corbyn, he has a plan that will work out and will win more than just an election.  




    As such, his popularity has taken everyone by surprise, and the Labour Party, who recently said that they wouldn’t oppose the Conservatives because that’s who the people voted for, are now uniting to oppose the popular choice for new leader. 
    Why are they so dead set against him, to the point where they will bring out Tony Blair, Gordon Brown and even Neil Kinnock to warn of impending doom?  And if he is so awful a prospect why did anyone nominate him in the first place? 
    Apparently, he was nominated purely so that there would be a range of candidates for the post (the other three: Andy Burnham, Liz Kendall and Yvette Cooper are all quite similar in their political view), this would allow for a wider discussion about the big picture. But no-one expected him to be the front runner in the election. 

    This has prompted Ken Livingston (another left-winger) to ask what they were doing in the Labour Party in the first place. 

    We’ve been told a few things: Jeremy Corbyn is a long-time rebel, who will struggle to unite the party; he’s associated with terrorists and holocaust deniers; he’s so left wing that he will drag the party to the left, no-one will vote Labour at the next election leaving the Conservatives to run rampant for the next decade. 
    I suspect that the real reason is simply that people do not like his personal politics — greater spending on the NHS, the police and the schools; a reduced defence budget; and taxation of the rich at above 40%. 
    These are not the policies of Tony Blair’s Labour Government, but they seem to be making Jeremy Corbyn very popular with ordinary people. 
    People are leaving the Green Party and UKIP to attend his rallies and hear him speak; there are more members of the Labour Party since before Neil Kinnock; and young people are getting excited about politics for the first time since… well, forever really. 
    The establishment hate him, ordinary people flock to hear him, and even his own followers are starting to desert him. 

    And why are they bailing? They don’t like what he’s saying. 


    Even Jesus’s closest followers — the twelve — aren’t comfortable. After many other disciples desert him, Jesus asks them if they too want to leave, and what does Peter say? 
    Well he doesn’t say: We don’t want to leave, we are totally okay with your message. No, he actually says “To whom can we go?” 
    Basically, Peter is saying: Even if we wanted to leave, even if we don’t like what you’re saying, we know that you’re the Messiah and there’s no-one else that is worth following. We can’t go back to our old life after meeting you. 
    They know he’s the Messiah, and they will keep following him, even if they don’t like what he’s saying. 

    Consider, as an example, suffering in the world: there are some who will say, I can’t believe in a God who allows suffering. They think that he’s either not powerful enough to stop it, or else not loving enough to care. 
    For them, this is a deal-breaker. 
    Now I agree that it’s unfair that some people in this world should go hungry while others are throwing food away; that there are people who will die today of curable diseases; that there are children who aren’t safe in their own homes. 
    The difference is that it’s not a deal-breaker for me.  I know that there is a God, and I believe he shares our pain and weeps when we weep. 
    I believe he loves us enough to make it so that death is not the end and that while we may suffer now, we will spend an eternity in peace. 

Miracles

All three of today's readings had some kind of miracle in them. In the gospel (John 6.1-21) the miracle is easy to spot, as Jesus feeds five thousand people with a few loaves of bread and some fish; Elijah does something similar in the Old Testament reading (2 Kings 4.42-44); the challenge is to find the miracle in the New Testament reading (Ephesians 3.14-21).

So, anyone interested can go scurrying to their Bible and see if they come up with the same answer as me.  Meanwhile, I have a question for you: do you think that miracles still happen today?
 
For some people, miracles are something that did happen, when Jesus was walking amongst us, but don't anymore; for others there's still room for miracles in some way; and for yet others, miracles never happened.
    Now we have science to explain so many things, so we can look more sceptically at everything Jesus did.  He didn't cast out demons, he just relieved the symptoms of people's depression or their mental illness.  He didn't heal the blind or the lame, he helped them overcome their psychosomatic disorders. He didn't multiply the loaves and fishes to make enough for everyone, he just encouraged people to share.
    Yet, while there are people who dismiss Biblical miracles, there are many of us who are comfortable with modern day miracles taking place. As an example here are some recent newspaper headlines.

From Doncaster Today (24/7/15): "Miracle no-one died after car smashed into Doncaster shop."
From The Mirror (22/7/15): "Alzheimers' miracle drug has saved my life. Trial Brit's joy as dementia slowed by new cure."
From the Boston Standard (23/7/15) "Dad hits out at health chief Jeremy Hunt and backs NHS miracle workers."
    That last story was about baby JJ who was born 16 weeks early weighing just 1lb 9oz; with problems with his stomach, an e coli infection, septicaemia and hypercholemia, it was a miracle that he survived.

Most people are comfortable with the idea of medical miracles as the result of good care and expert help, but how do these compare with the Biblical miracles?
    Well, first of all, let's consider what a miracle actually is...

It comes from the Latin word (don't they all..?) miraculum which means something to be wondered at, something wonderful.
    "Nobody died when that car crashed into the shop in Doncaster? It's a wonder."
    It's a miracle.

Things that are beyond our understanding are still miraculous, things that are new to us, things that we can't explain.
    But as soon as we can explain them, they cease to be miraculous.
    Take magic tricks as an example: kids love all magic tricks, even rubbish ones; most adults love the spectacular tricks, at least until they know how they're done. Then, when we do know how they're done, the wonder is gone.

I remember the first time I heard the Queen of the Night aria from Mozart's opera the Magic Flute. I was stunned by the voice of the singer; I had shivers and the hair on the back of my neck stood on end.

    Now when I hear it, I'm still impressed, but I'm not stopped in my tracks because I'm so used to it. For me, that miracle has lost its power.
    But it is still a miracle: there are many people who haven't heard it yet, who will find it wonderful when they do. No matter how I feel it still takes phenomenal ability and breath control.

Now, magic tricks are never really miracles: the miracle is getting people to believe that magic is real, and a bad magician never does that and never gives us something to be wondered at. But a great magician, like a great opera singer or a great medical professional is a miracle worker, in their own way.

So, Jesus the miracle worker: did he feed all those people that day? Maybe he did, maybe he didn't.
    I prefer to believe he did because he's God so, why not?
    But even if he didn't, something miraculous happened that day.

His arrival wasn't planned.  There was no schedule, he would just turn up, and because he was becoming very well known, people wanted to see the 'signs' he was performing.  When they heard Jesus was nearby, did they stop to bake bread and pack a lunch? Probably not.
    And then Jesus would preach for hours, and the people would stay and listen to him, for hours (that's a miracle in my book, when I get people yawning and checking their watches after ten minutes).
    Some of them might've had food with them already, like the little boy, but we have to remember there was 5,000 men, plus women and children. We're probably talking nearer 20 or 25,000 people.
    About the same number we have here in Workington.

Workington, where there are people who every day have food to spare, and others who have to rely on food banks to survive. Could we get the people of Workington to share out everything equally, so that no-one had too much and no-one too little?
    If we could, why haven't we managed it already? Why are there people throwing waste food in the bin just yards from people who are close to starving?

If the people of Israel in Biblical times are anything like the people of the world today, then Jesus getting everyone to share their food is a miracle, almost as much as multiplying the food he had to satisfy everyone.

Perhaps we've heard the story so often that, like the Queen of the Night, the miracle has lost its power over us, but that doesn't stop it from being a miracle.

So, right back at the beginning I asked what miracle was in Eph 3.14-21.
    It was a trick question, because there are actually two.
    Two miraculum, two things to be wondered at.

"How wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ."

and 

"He may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being."

Jesus loves you and the Spirit empowers you; what greater miracle is there than that?

Herod's vow

If you think about it, Mark 6:14-29 is unusual. The gospels are almost entirely about Jesus, what he did, what he said, but here's a passage that doesn't have him doing or saying anything.  He has sent the disciples out to minister in pairs, and then we shift our attention to Herod and John the Baptist.
    I like to imagine that Jesus took a bit of time off, put his feet up, had a well-earned rest. After all, everyone deserves a rest.

Sniffing butts is exhausting

Even though Jesus isn't directly involved in the story, it's still about him in a way: we see a foreshadowing of what's to happen to Jesus in the report of what happened to his cousin John.
    John is arrested, even though he was innocent; Jesus will be arrested, even though he is innocent. The person with the power to have John killed (Herod) doesn't want to do it; the person who will have the power to execute Jesus (Pilate) won't want to do it.  But Herod's hand is forced by the intrigues of Herodias; just as Pilate's hand will be forced by the intrigues of the Jewish leaders.
    That said, this is still a story about Herod, and it's Herod's actions that I want to look at.
    Essentially, Herod does a very, very silly thing and makes a promise that he can't possibly keep.

To understand the problem, we need to know that although he calls himself King Herod, he really isn't.  His father, Herod the Great, was a king, but the kingdom then gets split into four 'tetrarchies' each ruled over by a member of Herod the Great's family. So this Herod is in charge of only one quarter of the original kingdom, and even then his 'rule' can only carry on as long as the Roman authorities let it.  They are the real power in the region.
    This makes it all the more amazing when we hear Herod offer "up to half my kingdom". Did he mean up to half the tetrarchy? Or was he just talking a load of hot air?
    Either way, the whole thing blows up in his face when Herodias demands the head of John the Baptist.
    It leaves me wondering though, what if she had asked for half the kingdom instead? Would they have argued the difference between a kingdom and a tetrarchy? Would Herod have been willing to share in any case?
    In a way, Herod was probably lucky that all he was asked to do was murder an innocent man and produce his head as some kind of sick trophy.

    Let's consider what his options would have been:

• He could've tried to deny that he made any such offer, but he promised Herodias in front of his guests, so he would have looked pretty stupid trying to deny it.
• He could've admitted that he made the promise but then fail to deliver.  A previous king of Israel did that - Saul (1 Sa 14:36-46). Saul should have sacrificed his son after amking an oath to God, but the people begged him not to, and so he didn't.  It's worth remembering that Saul was not a very good king, and he wasn't very honourable either.
• He could go ahead and do what he promised, much like one of Israel's judges - Jephthah the Gileadite (Jg 11.29-40). Jephthah was honourable, but he ended up having to make a burnt sacrifice of his daughter.

My feeling is that Herod should never have made any kind of vow in the first place, but it was his birthday, and there was feasting, and I think we all know what that means...

Chess: the drinking game of kings

If there's a lesson for us to learn -- don't make promises, especially when there's been 'feasting'