Chapter by chapter 15

 15. Yeast of Herod

“Be careful,” Jesus warned them. “Watch out for the yeast . . . of Herod.” Mark 8:15 Emet sighed deeply. “Go ahead and lock the door, Hanan. It’s closing time.” Hanan felt nervous and he couldn’t exactly explain why. Turning the key in the lock, he couldn't shake the look in Uzziel’s eyes from his memory. Generally speaking, he found Uzziel to be somewhat entertaining, but today things felt . . . off. As he stepped back from the door, he asked, “What was that all about, Grand—” But, he discovered that Emet was already standing by the workbench taking the loaves from the basket and putting them back in their original quadrants. “I planned to talk about this one tomorrow, Hanan.” Emet held the loaf from the lower left-hand square in his hand with a somber look. “But I think I should tell you about it now.” Hanan made his way back to the workbench and sat down on a stool near his grandfather. “Sure, Grandpa, but—umm—what’s up with Uzziel?” “That’s what I want to talk with you about.” Noticing the window covering was still open, Emet pulled it shut. “I fear that the Yeast of Herod has found its way into the dough of our dear friend Uzziel,” he said, tapping on the side of his head. Referring to their brains as a lump of dough was always amusing to Hanan. He smiled as he tilted his head and asked, “The Yeast of Herod?” “Yes,” Emet said, still serious, “the Yeast of Herod.” Using the loaf he had in his hand, he tapped the middle of the lower-left quadrant and asked, “What can you tell me about the bread from this square, Hanan?” Hanan focused on the square, momentarily forgetting his concerns about Uzziel. Looking back again at his grandpa, he smirked slightly and teased, “Nothing.” “Nothing?” Emet sighed as he sat next to Hanan. “Have you forgotten everything we’ve talked about today?” “Not at all, Grandpa,” Hanan answered matter-of-factly. “I just meant there’s nothing there.” As he said this, he playfully snatched the loaf from Emet’s hands and used it to tap the southwest quadrant. “The left-hand squares are low on Grace, and the bottom squares are low on Truth. So that means this lower left square doesn’t have much Grace or Truth.” Glancing at Emet, he concluded, “Or maybe none at all.” Emet folded his arms, looked up, and quietly said, “Thank you, Lord.” Then he looked back at Hanan to say, “Well done, Hanan. I was concerned you hadn’t understood anything we’ve discussed today.” Hanan smiled as he tore off a hunk of the bread then paused. “So, are you saying that Uzziel doesn’t have any Grace or Truth in him?” he asked, his smile fading as he remembered Emet’s initial concern. “At times, Hanan,” Emet said as he stood. He faced the bench, moved his hands slowly over the scratched surface, and mused, “One thing about the Yeast of Herod is that it can be a tad political.” Looking toward Hanan, he clarified, “By political, I mean it can lead a person to disregard their principles in pursuit of greater power. That’s not true of all politicians, of course, but it is a common ailment among those who hold public office as well as those who pin their hopes on them.” “I’m not sure I understand,” Hanan admitted. Emet sat again and faced his grandson. “Tell me what you know about Herod.” “Herods, you mean?” Hanan asked. “There were a few of them, right?” Impressed, Emet leaned back, put his hands on his knees, and said, “Indeed there were!” Hanan smiled as he continued. “I know one of the Herods wanted to kill Jesus when he was just a baby.” Emet nodded as Hanan continued, “And another Herod—” “Hold that thought,” Emet interrupted. “Let’s talk about that Herod first.” Hanan shrugged and popped a piece of bread into his mouth as Emet continued. “That Herod was Herod the Great.” Then he added with a wink, “Although I’m not sure great is the best description for him.” “He doesn’t sound great to me.” “Definitely not.” Clearing his throat, Emet continued. “Regardless, Herod the Great didn’t care that baby Jesus was the ultimate source of Grace and Truth—he just wanted Him dead. And he killed many other young ones in his pursuit of killing the young Jesus.” “But why, Grandpa Emet?” “Why?” Emet repeated. “Because another thing about the Yeast of Herod is that it must win, Hanan—at any cost. It’s about preserving a way of life—even if that way of life is wrong. Grace and Truth—or at least Herod’s version of Grace and Truth—were simply tools he used, or didn’t use, according to his own preference in the moment.” Emet scanned Hanan’s face to see if he understood and then asked, “What other Herods do you know about?” Swallowing a piece of bread, Hanan thought for a moment. “There was the Herod that killed John the Baptist.” “Herod Antipas, yes,” Emet confirmed. “But, before he killed him, Herod first put John in prison. Do you remember why?” “Umm, yeah.” Hanan searched his memory for how the story went. “If I remember correctly, I believe John told Herod that he—and by he, I mean Herod—that he shouldn’t have his own brother’s wife.” “In other words, John confronted Herod with the Truth.” Hanan looked his Grandpa in the eye. “Yeah, I guess so. And Herod didn’t like it.” “Not at all,” Emet said. “However, when I’m in the wrong, I don’t particularly enjoy being confronted by the Truth either!” Hanan smiled. “Yeah, me neither.” “But we need it, don’t we?” Emet said. “‘As iron sharpens iron—’” “—so one man sharpens another,” said Hanan, finishing the ancient Proverb. “So, what happened next?” Emet prodded. “Well, one time,” Hanan began, “Herod enjoyed watching his niece dance—which feels a bit creepy to me, honestly—because I get the feeling that it wasn’t a kid-friendly dance.” “Agreed,” Emet commented. “But when a man subscribes to his own Truth and has no regard for the Truth, there’s no limit to his deviance.” “It gets worse, Grandpa,” continued Hanan. “After seeing her dance, Herod said she could have whatever she wanted.” “You’re right,” agreed Emet. “So, what did the girl ask for?” Hanan grew quiet. A look of disgust and disbelief swept over his face as he answered, “She asked for the head of John the Baptist—on a platter.” “Sadly, yes.” Emet sighed deeply. “Yes, she did.” “So, even though Herod had the power to extend Grace,” Hanan began, “and even though Herod could have released John and spared his life . . . he had John beheaded instead.” Emet looked at the floor for a few moments in silence. When he lifted his head, he asked, “Are you noticing a pattern with these Herods, son?” “Yeah,” Hanan replied quickly. “They like to kill people,” he said in a frustrated tone. Emet pursed his lips and nodded. “This is the Yeast of Herod. It wants to be considered True even if it isn’t. And it wants to be given Grace, though it never extends it. If you agree with a Herod, they’ll let you be. But if you disagree with a Herod, he’ll have you canceled, silenced, or shunned. Essentially, Hanan,” Emet paused, searching for the right words, “the Yeast of Herod has zero-tolerance for God’s Grace and Truth, yet it likes to think that it is somehow full of both.” Hanan paused his chewing, looked down at the loaf in his hands, and asked, “So, what kind of bread does the Yeast of Herod make?” “What did I tell you about speaking with your mouth full?” Emet teased. Hanan blushed, swallowed the bite, and then held the loaf out to Emet. “Whatever you call it, I’m guessing I need Jesus to steal my bread.” “He’ll receive it from you if you surrender it, yes,” Emet said with a smile as he gently received the loaf from Hanan and set it back in the lower left quadrant. He looked Hanan in the eye as he patted the loaf. “I call this the Bread of Lawlessness.” With a playful glance, he asked, “So, how does it taste?” “The Bread of Lawlessness?” Hanan looked at the loaf, studied it for a moment, then offered, “Well, it does taste amazing.” Looking Emet in the eyes, he continued, “But if it doesn’t have any empowering Grace or transforming Truth—then it obviously doesn’t have any Jesus.” Pausing for a moment, he added, “And that sounds awful, Grandpa.” “Awful, indeed,” Emet said as he stood and leaned back against the workbench. “Yet people have been eating this bread since the beginning of time.” “They have?” “They sure have, which makes me think of something,” Emet said, crossing his arms. “Do you remember the story of a fellow named Amnon? Because he liked the Bread of Lawlessness more than just about anyone.