He went off and beheaded [John] in the prison. He brought in the head on a platter and gave it to the girl. The girl in turn gave it to her mother. When his disciples heard about it,
they came and took his body and laid it in a tomb. // Mark 6:27-29
It’s a summer memory that I think might be burned into my brain for all eternity:
I can picture my ten-year-old self, persuaded by friends to ride the Tilt-A-Whirl at the local 4th of July carnival. It was painted sparkling red and blue, with concave seats that spun round with enough centrifugal force to make you feel as though your stomach could, in fact, truly leave your body.
I remember my friends letting go of the center wheel and leaning all the way back into the shelled seats, letting the pull of the ride take control as we spun faster and faster. I also remember my own clenched fists white-knuckling the center wheel, and I remember the uncontrollable swirling of my stomach. Every fiber of my being seemed to be shouting, “Stop the ride, I want to get off!”
Years later, I’ve found that this phrase takes root in my heart whenever I’m feeling overwhelmed in navigating the life that the Lord has chosen for me:
This life demands too much.
I’m not made for this.
Stop the ride, Lord. I want to get off.
When I read today’s Gospel on the Feast of Saint John the Baptist (see Mark 6:17-29), I can’t help but marvel at the intensity of his life, and the simple docility with which he lived it. John paved the way for the Messiah. His steady courage prepared many hearts to hear the words of Jesus. He died a martyr’s death at the hands of a few shallow and vengeful people who hated him. His ride, so to speak, was one for the books.
When I feel overwhelmed, it is Saints like John the Baptist that help me to again fix my vision. Whether our current tumult is related to vocation or family or finances, John’s witness reminds us that we can cast our gaze on the Messiah and ask for enough courage to cling to Him.
Jesus, in our overwhelm, help us to hold tight to You in this ride of life. Amen.
Karen Schultz hails from the Land of 10,000 Lakes, where she is often found in or near one of them. As a doula, lactation educator, and FertilityCare Practitioner, she finds joy in helping women to embrace the gift of their bodies. Downtime is found in quiet adoration chapels, farmers markets and gardens, and listening to bluegrass music. She is the author of Blessed Conversations: Misericordia.
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