Sermon on October 18, 2020: 20th Sunday after Pentecost
They say that we are living in “divided times,” but there is at least one matter in which almost all Americans agree: that is, the importance of paying our taxes. It’s true: according to an IRS survey of American taxpayers last year, 95% say it is our civic duty to pay our fair share, 87% say that cheating on taxes is unacceptable, and 91% say that cheaters ought to be held accountable. For all our other disagreements when it comes to taxation—whether they should be raised or lowered, and by how much—almost everyone seems to agree that it is lawful to pay our taxes. And not just lawful, but necessary. A crucial way of showing our commitment to the common good, to responsibilities beyond our own private interests.
On its surface, today’s Gospel lesson seems to be about taxation—should taxes be paid to the emperor, or not? Jesus is approached by his opponents, who want to trap him with the perfect “gotcha” question, and they are certain that, this time, they’ve got him. You can almost imagine everyone leaning in to hear what Jesus would say. Would he reject the emperor’s tax, and out himself as a revolutionary? Or would he accept it, and be complicit in the evils of the empire?
On second thought, this is not about taxation at all—at least, not in the sense that we think. The Pharisees and Herodians aren’t asking Jesus whether he thinks that people should pay their fair share, or whether cheating on taxes is O.K., or if cheaters should be held accountable. They are asking him to stick his neck out and take a position—as a friend of the emperor, or as his enemy. It’s a choice with serious, and possibly deadly consequences.
But instead of answering their question, Jesus questions the legitimacy of their answers. He asks for a coin and they bring him one, bearing the image of Caesar, the Roman emperor. And when he looks at it, he gives them an answer, but it leaves them in a state of shock, because they have no idea what he is saying. The older King James translation is especially good at conveying the dramatic force of his answer: “Render therefore unto Caesar the things which are Caesar’s; and unto God the things that are Gods.”
Jesus’ answer leaves his opponents stunned, but they should leave us stunned too. We should not be quick to assume we know what he is saying. The church has often made that mistake. In the American church, we may assume that his words fit perfectly with our various civic doctrines—doctrines like the “separation of church and state,” and the idea that the state represents the “public” while the church is the realm of the “private.” The idea that Caesar and earthly rulers are concerned with things that are “political,” while God is concerned with things that are “spiritual.” The idea that politics and religion are like oil and water: they simply do not mix.
Whatever else Jesus is saying in today’s Gospel, he cannot be saying this. Because this will not leave us amazed; it will only leave us smug and bored, and under the false impression that we can bear both the image of God and the image of the emperor.
All human beings are created in the image of God. And yet we are always being tempted to buy stock in other images: a golden calf, a denarius, a flag, a nationality, a party. As followers of Jesus, our identity cannot be divided. We cannot serve God and wealth; we cannot bear God’s image on Sunday and Caesar’s on Monday through Saturday. As a baptized people, we have been sealed and marked as Christ’s own for ever. Our foreheads were marked with the sign of the cross—an image that we aren’t free to erase. As though we have been tattooed with invisible ink. This image means that we cannot claim to be followers of Jesus while cozying up to worldly power—whether a Roman emperor, or in the American context: “We The People.”
To be a Christian is to live as though all that is in heaven and earth is already God’s, rather than ours—even those things which are stamped with earthly images. To be followers of Jesus is to see ourselves as faithful stewards of God’s bounty, rather than as shrewd possessors of private property. And given that St. Paul’s is focusing on stewardship right now, and undertaking a pledge campaign, this serves as a timely reminder. We will be faithful stewards to the extent that we do not place our trust in Caesar’s denarius. That is a stewardship topic worth struggling through: how can we—as individuals, and as a whole church—how can we show that we trust in the provision of God, and not in the almighty dollar?
Once upon a time, they showed Jesus a coin, and the emperor used it to enrich himself and rob the poor; he put his face on it, thinking that the coin was his. But where is it now? It has completely disappeared; it no longer has any currency. After all, we have heard that God casts down the mighty from their thrones, and lifts up the lowly; fills the hungry with good things, but sends the rich away empty. So faithful stewardship means being caught up in the radical mission of God, rather than throwing in our lot with Caesar.
We are called to bear the image of Christ—to be ikons of Christ. Offering the whole of our selves, our souls and bodies—with all that we are, and all that we have. That is our vocation, in all times and places, no matter who is sitting on Caesar’s throne. So in these “divided times,” in these times of anxiety and polarization—in this election season—how will you show yourself as an icon of Christ, and not an icon of Caesar? How will we as the Church display the image of Jesus, rather than the false image of the empire?
There are no easy answers to these questions. Faithful stewardship is hard. And we can only do it by the grace of God, and with God’s help.
May we never cease to be amazed at the words of Jesus and the life that he imagines, even when his words unsettle our judgment. And may God continue to make us into living icons of Christ, by the power of the Holy Spirit—giving us the grace to be the Body of Christ, and to show forth his glory in all the world.
Amen.