In the Memorial of the Passion of St. John the Baptist, the Gospel draws us into a scene marked by tension, fear, and the fragile ego of a ruler who knows the truth yet cannot bear the cost of living it. We are encouraged to enter the story with our senses awake: to notice the movements of the heart, the interior stirrings, the subtle pressures that shape Herod’s and Herodias’s choices. The beheading of John is not an isolated heinous event, but an archetype of what happens when humanity chooses the path of “the world” rather than God’s path.
Mark tells us he liked listening to John. Something in Herod recognized holiness, truth, and integrity. He knew John was a righteous man. Herod experienced what Ignatius called consolation: a pull toward the good, a desire to protect the prophet. But early stirrings of consolation do not make a disciple. Truth requires nurturing for it to take root and grow within the human heart. It asks for one faithful choice at a time, pushing aside impulses that lead to death instead of life. He ignores the “pricking” of his conscience and surrenders to the deeper loyalties of reputation, social standing, and fear of appearing weak. When the moment of decision arrives, he is swept into desolation, choosing his public image over doing what is right. And in that moment, a prophet dies.
Herodias, too, reveals a spiritual pattern. John fulfills his mission of calling people to righteous living, naming her actions as sinful. Rather than hearing John’s invitation to acknowledge her wrongdoing and seek God’s mercy, she succumbs to resentment and insecurity. Herodias embodies the darker movements of the heart that Ignatius warns against - the spirit that isolates, hardens, and turns us inward. Her desire to retain her status as the king’s wife blinds her to the sacredness of human life. She is willing to do anything to protect her position, even if that means sacrificing another person.
When we contemplate this scene, we may feel appalled at the brutality. John’s death is senseless, cruel, and deeply unjust. Yet the Gospel does not present it as an ancient anomaly. It reveals how human beings behave when fear, pride, and the hunger for influence eclipse God’s voice. Acts of disregard for human life continue today. People still cling to power at any cost. Leaders still silence truth-tellers, protect their reputations through violence and exclusion, and respond with exaggerated indignation when their wrongdoing is exposed, insisting loudly on their innocence to preserve their public image.
Ignatian contemplation asks us to notice where we stand in this story. Are we tempted, like Herod, to protect our image rather than our integrity - choosing what is easy, not what is right? Are we tempted, like Herodias, to defend our position rather than open ourselves to conversion? Or are we called, like John, to speak truth with courage, even when it is costly?
John the Baptist’s passion is not only a martyrdom; it is a reminder that the Kingdom of God confronts the dark emotions of fear and pride held within the human heart. His witness invites us to ask, Which path am I on? It urges us to examine our hearts and seek the grace of courage to follow Christ with integrity even when the world resists.
Gladyce Janky
I joined the School of Pharmacy and Health Profession as a chaplain in 2015, subsequently working in the Law and Graduate Schools and Heider College of Business. I continued working with distance graduate students after moving to Sun City, AZ, in 2021. I transitioned to my current life phase in July 2023, when I retired. I am a graduate of the CSP program with two master’s degrees and hold certificates in the History of the Ignatian Tradition and Spiritual Direction and Directed Retreats.
Writing reflections helps me break open the transformative power of scripture. The message is alive and relevant to me when I put myself into the story. Jesus is not just “back there.” He is here accompanying me. I share what I write with others to invite them to listen to how God is inviting them to greater spiritual freedom.
