So, this is some of what I intended to preach this morning…

October 16, 2011

I don’t often get preached at. Around here, I’m usually doing the preaching, and when I’m not, when someone else—Carol, Margaret, or Max, for example—is preaching, they’re not usually preaching with me in mind (except as a critic, perhaps) they are trying to help you understand and hear God’s word. I was at diocesan convention this weekend and in his sermon at the convention Eucharist, the Bishop preached to us, to all of us, clergy and lay people, gathered together to make decisions for the Diocese of Milwaukee.

The theme of the convention and of Bishop’s sermon was abundance, the statement of Jesus in John 10: “I have come that you might have life, and have it abundantly.” We live in a culture of scarcity. We are in tough economic times, but as a church we are also living in an era of scarcity. The Episcopal Church is in decline, but it’s not just us, it’s all of the mainline denominations, and really all of organized Christianity. More people than ever before, around 20% of Americans, say they are not religious. To preach about abundance in a time of scarcity is a difficult thing. And I wanted to ask the bishop about that. I wanted to ask him how we could live abundantly in a world of scarcity, whether it was more than just empty words. He didn’t give me that opportunity—but you can be sure that he and I will have that conversation soon.

Look, things are tough. We’re living paycheck to paycheck, we’re wondering whether our retirement savings will be enough and will see us through for the rest of our lives. We are worried about the future, about the present; about the security of our jobs, or whether we will ever get one again. The idea of scarcity is all around us—in our political debates, in the economic realities that confront us, even in the Occupy Wall Street movement that has taken the world by storm. We look at the present fearfully and as we peer ahead into the future, we only seem to see more scarcity, more things to make us fearful.

Today’s gospel has long been used as a proof text for the relationship between church and state. Render to Caesar what is Caesar, and to God what is God’s. That seems to suggest a rigid and clear distinction between the role of Government and the role of Christian faith, but in fact, if we look at the larger context, the simple distinctions are not quite so clear.

It is important to put this saying in its context. Some Pharisees and Herodians pose the question to Jesus. That in itself is a striking detail. The two groups are mentioned together only one other time in the gospels—in a passage from Mark, but when Matthew reproduces the same passage early in his gospel, he removes the reference to the Herodians. In this case, he keeps them together, clearly for some larger purpose. They were groups that were antagonistic to one another, if not downright enemies. The Herodians backed the policies of the ruling family of Herod, who came to power by building alliances with the Romans. In fact, their power was totally dependent on Rome, and for that reason, many Jews hated them. The Pharisees on the other hand were opposed to Roman rule, but their opposition did not usually run over into outright military resistance.

So when these two groups ask Jesus a question about paying taxes to Rome, they think they are putting Jesus on the horns of a dilemma. Whether he says yes or no, his answer will anger one of them. But, as is usually the case in these dialogues between Jesus and opponents or questioners, Jesus turns the question back on them. First he asked them for a coin. Then he asked them a question, Whose image and title is on the coin? Caesar’s was their reply.

Now, this interchange is interesting as much for what it doesn’t say, as for the conversation. Jesus asks for a coin, and out comes, from one of his opponent’s pockets, a denarius. In the Roman Empire, coins were minted with the image of the emperor. Because of the commandment against images, however, most Jews considered Roman coinage, with the emperor’s image and an inscription alluding to his divinity idolatrous. In fact, special coinage without an image of the empire was minted and used in the Jewish temple precincts, where this conversation took place. So, it would have been embarrassing, to say the least, for one of Jesus’ interrogators to come out with such a coin.

In the context of that interchange, Jesus’ words “Give to Caesar what is Caesar’s, give to God what is God’s” are delightfully ambiguous. What is God’s? What is Caesar’s? Or, to make the parallel with Jesus’ question more clear—if a coin bears the emperor’s image, what, or who, bears the image of God? Of course, it’s us—human beings, created in God’s image. Taken in that sense, Jesus’ words are a challenge not only to his opponents, but more dramatically, to us.

And that is so often the case. When we challenge or confront God, we end up being challenged by God. This is by no means the end of the story of Moses; he would continue to lead God’s people for forty years, through the wilderness. He would bring them at the end of his life to the edge of the promised land, but he did not enter it himself. For Jesus’ opponents, the challenge was profound, to allow Jesus’ question to penetrate their preconceived notions and help them rethink their understanding of what it meant to be faithful to God.

To us Jesus presents the same challenge. With lives consumed by fear, uncertainty and, yes, complacency, we want Jesus to leave us alone. We want Jesus to give us easy answers to difficult questions. We want him to be our security blanket. But Jesus isn’t only a source of comfort and certainty. His words and life challenge us to rethink our priorities and our lives.

We want our commitment to Jesus to be manageable, so when we hear “Give to Caesar what is Caesar’s and to God what is God’s, we think an hour a week is enough for God, a few dollars here or there, because most of what we are, most of what we have is ours and our family’s.

In my sermon last week, I pointed out that being created in God’s image means we are created to be as loving and generous as God is. But here is another piece of it. If we are created in God’s image, like the coin was minted with the image of the emperor, then we are God’s, we belong to God—all of us, every bit of us, and it is our all that God asks of us.

It’s easy for me to say that, but what does it mean? What do you think it means? What does it mean in your daily life to “give to Caesar what is Caesar’s and to God, what is God’s. What are the concrete implications of our faith for our economic lives, our work, our buying and selling? And yes, our giving?

These are not simply rhetorical questions. I would like you to ponder them, talk about them, and share your answers with me.