A Sermon at St Joe's
23rd Sunday after Pentecost 2008
Matthew 22:15-22
We pay taxes. That’s important to say since the Rev.'s one request when giving me the Gospel reading for this morning was that I not say anything to get us audited by the IRS. But it is also important to say that we pay taxes because paying taxes is one of the practices by which weinterpret the Bible.
And that practice is particularly relevant to today’s Gospel reading. Render to Caesar what is Caesar’s and to God what is God’s. Because we have heard this so much, and because we grow up being trained to champion something called “the separation of church and state”, we are sure we know exactly what this means. So we keep God and Caesar in their appropriate and separate spheres. We go to church on Sunday, give our tithe, and say our prayers at night. Render to God. We fly our flags, pay our taxes, register for the draft, and cast our ballots. Render to Caesar. We try to give to Jesus all of our soul and spiritual life and we trust the state and its economy with taking care of our material needs and our economic and ecological future. We think the government should not get involved in our religion. Render to God. And when the church steps out of its proper bounds and tries to regulate politics or economics or business or our means of gain we call a spade a spade and name it authoritarian, or legalistic, or lacking grace. After all, we have to think out our careers here, our families. Render to Caesar. The state should not impinge on our religious freedom, and the church should not impinge on our secular freedom. After all, it was Saint Augustine who said “Love God and do as you please.”
But. Why do we assume that this way of splitting our lives between God and Caesar is the faithful way of living under Jesus’ command? After all, in the first few centuries the church does not seem to have divided its life in anything like this manner. St John Chrysostom said about this passage that our service to men need not conflict with our service to God, but he meant by this not that one was able to lead a comfortable middle class life as long as we do not neglect the “spiritual”, but that whatever his congregants’ worldly involvement might be it could not detract from the Christian life of prayer, poverty and the cultivation of virtue. If you were rich enough to own a house, Chrysostom told his parishioners, the very least that was required was that you devote one room as the Christ room, for the housing of the local homeless. Moreover, St. Hippolytus, at about the turn of the second century, composed a list of the requirements for entrance to the church in Rome. Those who sought this baptism had their lives completely examined. These probes examined one’s entire lifestyle and especially one’s profession. Those rejected by the church until they gave up their profession included prostitutes, brothel owners, idol makers, and pagan priests, but also theatre actors, athletes and their trainers, soldiers, magicians, city officials and civic administrators.
I am not suggesting these probes as a workable model for the church today, but what these examples do point out is that we all too easily see a distinction between politics and religion, or between the secular and the sacred, which the fathers of the church never knew. We usually assume, again without the support of the fathers, that the things we do in the secular realm are morally neutral, since these are the things we just have to do to get by. But such an easy division is impossible to maintain. Indeed, as Anglican theologian John Milbank has taught us in his book Theology and Social Theory, “once there was no secular.” A “neutral” secular realm had first to be created and enacted over the last three hundred years in order to clear the space for the modern nation state to tread unimpeded. Whatever our evaluation of Milbank’s thesis, at the very least we can say that St. Hippolytus’ church in Rome does not seem to have considered baptizing active soldiers and civic magistrates on the grounds that Jesus said we were to render to Caesar what was rightfully his.
But now the temptation, especially for us Anglicans, once we have seen that there is no way of separating politics from religion, is to assume that, well, Christians will just have to rule the world. Politics and government will just have to be Christianized. But, in the end, this is the same fateful move that the Emperor Constantine made, and so this is the sort of politics that, taken to its logical conclusion can lead to a perversion like the crusades, or at least to the possibility of thinking it possible to go to war in the name of the God of Jesus. And we Episcopalians have a long history of thinking like this. But before we eschew such a charge, we had better think about our voting habits. Each time we cast a ballot because we are just sure that being a Christian demands we vote pro-choice or pro-life, for or against universal health care, for or against this plan for Iraq, for this bailout plan or that, or whatever out pet issue is, we tacitly agree with Constantine that the practices of the church ought to be the law of the land. Rather than ruling the world, God calls the church to live as a community that is an alternative to the world. And the church is able to live this way because it knows that it is not its job to make sure America is on the right side of history.
And this is clear from our Gospel text for this morning. The first thing to notice is that, however Jesus responds to the question, someone is going to be pissed off. The Pharisees might think him a supporter of Roman occupation if he says to pay taxes, but if not the Herodians might think him a subversive revolutionary. The question is posed to find out what sort of agenda this candidate for public acclaim has.
The trap is set, but Jesus walks right by. And, like everything in Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus shows us the way that we should follow. His first move is to ask to be shown a denarius, about a day’s wage. But note that Jesus doesn’t have one. He has to ask for one, and his opponents do have one. And at that, Jesus has already turned the debate around. Jesus is a poor beggar who is completely dependent upon the hospitality of others. He has no money or property on which to pay taxes. So he is not particularly interested in this question. But, because of their possessions, the Pharisees and Herodians cannot but have an interest in this question.
But there is a further twist. The coin has an image on it, by their owners admission the image of Tiberius Caesar. The Jews, of course, debated long and hard about the propriety of carrying money that had an image on it. After all, the second commandment says to “make no graven image.” This is the second way that Jesus turns the question around. He was asked a theoretical question about taxation. But he immediately turns attention to the fact that not only his opponents have money while he doesn’t, and so should really be the ones questioned about taxes, but that by the same token they are also idolaters in some people’s eyes. It is no wonder that Matthew tells us that Jesus perceived their hypocrisy.
Finally comes his pronouncement. The first clause, render to Caesar what is Caesar’s, taken by itself, is from Jesus’ social and economic position a sort of personally uncommitted acceptance of others’ paying taxes. Jesus’ followers are eating hand to mouth and so what is it to them if Caesar gets his coins back?
But then Jesus adds a jab, which ends up being the knock out. “…and render to God what is God’s.” You see, over Caesar’s head on the coin were the words “son of the divine Augustus.” The coins claimed that Caesar was the son of a god, giving the present emperor himself a certain claim to be a god. In so distinguishing Caesar from the title “god” Jesus mocks the very coins he permits to be paid.
But, if this were not enough, with this final phrase Jesus has blown the entire exchange wide open. For, in one way, all things are God’s. But on the other hand, it appears that there are some things that God doesn’t want, like idolatrous money. That can go back to its maker. But all of ourselves, as Dorothy Day said, belongs to God and none to Caesar.
What would it be like to render ourselves to God? Well, it would be like living the practices the church. Not a separation of Church and state that relegates the church to a private sphere separate from the rest of life. And not on the other hand a Christian state where the church’s biggest goal is to influence the government to make sure the world is more nearly just and history comes out right. Neither of these two options, but Jesus’ path, and this path is the life of the church. For Jesus’ statement about paying taxes is not disconnected from the political platform he outlines for the church elsewhere in Matthew’s gospel. The society of Jesus campaigns for, by standing among, the poor, the hungry, the persecuted. Its members do not fight against evildoers, in fact, they do not even resist them. When they are struck, they do not retaliate, but turn the other cheek. The church’s political agenda is to give to all freely, especially those who are unworthy of the gift, for to each of these it touches it knows it is touching Jesus in his distressing disguise. The church’s members claim no “rights”, they claim no rights!, since they forgive everything they are owed. The church does not worry about the economy or plan for retirement, since God gives even the flowers and the birds food and clothing.
This is the politics of the church. It is not for the upwardly mobile. It asks us all why we are in such a hurry to be first, when we are told that the first will be last. And indeed that Jesus and his church strive to be downwardly mobile actually what makes possible Jesus’ reply about God and Caesar. Peter Maurin, the co-founder of the Catholic Worker Movement, used to say that “the sermon on the mount will be seen as practical when people start practicing it.” And here our Lord gives a tiny glimpse of the utter practicality of the political party called church. Jesus does not pay taxes because he has nothing on which to pay, and he is able to have nothing because he lives entirely by the hospitality of others. We are each called to follow our radical, but eminently practical, vagabond Lord, striving with all our might, and rejoicing at each little baby step we are given.
Thanks be to God.
Amen.
23rd Sunday after Pentecost 2008
Matthew 22:15-22
We pay taxes. That’s important to say since the Rev.'s one request when giving me the Gospel reading for this morning was that I not say anything to get us audited by the IRS. But it is also important to say that we pay taxes because paying taxes is one of the practices by which weinterpret the Bible.
And that practice is particularly relevant to today’s Gospel reading. Render to Caesar what is Caesar’s and to God what is God’s. Because we have heard this so much, and because we grow up being trained to champion something called “the separation of church and state”, we are sure we know exactly what this means. So we keep God and Caesar in their appropriate and separate spheres. We go to church on Sunday, give our tithe, and say our prayers at night. Render to God. We fly our flags, pay our taxes, register for the draft, and cast our ballots. Render to Caesar. We try to give to Jesus all of our soul and spiritual life and we trust the state and its economy with taking care of our material needs and our economic and ecological future. We think the government should not get involved in our religion. Render to God. And when the church steps out of its proper bounds and tries to regulate politics or economics or business or our means of gain we call a spade a spade and name it authoritarian, or legalistic, or lacking grace. After all, we have to think out our careers here, our families. Render to Caesar. The state should not impinge on our religious freedom, and the church should not impinge on our secular freedom. After all, it was Saint Augustine who said “Love God and do as you please.”
But. Why do we assume that this way of splitting our lives between God and Caesar is the faithful way of living under Jesus’ command? After all, in the first few centuries the church does not seem to have divided its life in anything like this manner. St John Chrysostom said about this passage that our service to men need not conflict with our service to God, but he meant by this not that one was able to lead a comfortable middle class life as long as we do not neglect the “spiritual”, but that whatever his congregants’ worldly involvement might be it could not detract from the Christian life of prayer, poverty and the cultivation of virtue. If you were rich enough to own a house, Chrysostom told his parishioners, the very least that was required was that you devote one room as the Christ room, for the housing of the local homeless. Moreover, St. Hippolytus, at about the turn of the second century, composed a list of the requirements for entrance to the church in Rome. Those who sought this baptism had their lives completely examined. These probes examined one’s entire lifestyle and especially one’s profession. Those rejected by the church until they gave up their profession included prostitutes, brothel owners, idol makers, and pagan priests, but also theatre actors, athletes and their trainers, soldiers, magicians, city officials and civic administrators.
I am not suggesting these probes as a workable model for the church today, but what these examples do point out is that we all too easily see a distinction between politics and religion, or between the secular and the sacred, which the fathers of the church never knew. We usually assume, again without the support of the fathers, that the things we do in the secular realm are morally neutral, since these are the things we just have to do to get by. But such an easy division is impossible to maintain. Indeed, as Anglican theologian John Milbank has taught us in his book Theology and Social Theory, “once there was no secular.” A “neutral” secular realm had first to be created and enacted over the last three hundred years in order to clear the space for the modern nation state to tread unimpeded. Whatever our evaluation of Milbank’s thesis, at the very least we can say that St. Hippolytus’ church in Rome does not seem to have considered baptizing active soldiers and civic magistrates on the grounds that Jesus said we were to render to Caesar what was rightfully his.
But now the temptation, especially for us Anglicans, once we have seen that there is no way of separating politics from religion, is to assume that, well, Christians will just have to rule the world. Politics and government will just have to be Christianized. But, in the end, this is the same fateful move that the Emperor Constantine made, and so this is the sort of politics that, taken to its logical conclusion can lead to a perversion like the crusades, or at least to the possibility of thinking it possible to go to war in the name of the God of Jesus. And we Episcopalians have a long history of thinking like this. But before we eschew such a charge, we had better think about our voting habits. Each time we cast a ballot because we are just sure that being a Christian demands we vote pro-choice or pro-life, for or against universal health care, for or against this plan for Iraq, for this bailout plan or that, or whatever out pet issue is, we tacitly agree with Constantine that the practices of the church ought to be the law of the land. Rather than ruling the world, God calls the church to live as a community that is an alternative to the world. And the church is able to live this way because it knows that it is not its job to make sure America is on the right side of history.
And this is clear from our Gospel text for this morning. The first thing to notice is that, however Jesus responds to the question, someone is going to be pissed off. The Pharisees might think him a supporter of Roman occupation if he says to pay taxes, but if not the Herodians might think him a subversive revolutionary. The question is posed to find out what sort of agenda this candidate for public acclaim has.
The trap is set, but Jesus walks right by. And, like everything in Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus shows us the way that we should follow. His first move is to ask to be shown a denarius, about a day’s wage. But note that Jesus doesn’t have one. He has to ask for one, and his opponents do have one. And at that, Jesus has already turned the debate around. Jesus is a poor beggar who is completely dependent upon the hospitality of others. He has no money or property on which to pay taxes. So he is not particularly interested in this question. But, because of their possessions, the Pharisees and Herodians cannot but have an interest in this question.
But there is a further twist. The coin has an image on it, by their owners admission the image of Tiberius Caesar. The Jews, of course, debated long and hard about the propriety of carrying money that had an image on it. After all, the second commandment says to “make no graven image.” This is the second way that Jesus turns the question around. He was asked a theoretical question about taxation. But he immediately turns attention to the fact that not only his opponents have money while he doesn’t, and so should really be the ones questioned about taxes, but that by the same token they are also idolaters in some people’s eyes. It is no wonder that Matthew tells us that Jesus perceived their hypocrisy.
Finally comes his pronouncement. The first clause, render to Caesar what is Caesar’s, taken by itself, is from Jesus’ social and economic position a sort of personally uncommitted acceptance of others’ paying taxes. Jesus’ followers are eating hand to mouth and so what is it to them if Caesar gets his coins back?
But then Jesus adds a jab, which ends up being the knock out. “…and render to God what is God’s.” You see, over Caesar’s head on the coin were the words “son of the divine Augustus.” The coins claimed that Caesar was the son of a god, giving the present emperor himself a certain claim to be a god. In so distinguishing Caesar from the title “god” Jesus mocks the very coins he permits to be paid.
But, if this were not enough, with this final phrase Jesus has blown the entire exchange wide open. For, in one way, all things are God’s. But on the other hand, it appears that there are some things that God doesn’t want, like idolatrous money. That can go back to its maker. But all of ourselves, as Dorothy Day said, belongs to God and none to Caesar.
What would it be like to render ourselves to God? Well, it would be like living the practices the church. Not a separation of Church and state that relegates the church to a private sphere separate from the rest of life. And not on the other hand a Christian state where the church’s biggest goal is to influence the government to make sure the world is more nearly just and history comes out right. Neither of these two options, but Jesus’ path, and this path is the life of the church. For Jesus’ statement about paying taxes is not disconnected from the political platform he outlines for the church elsewhere in Matthew’s gospel. The society of Jesus campaigns for, by standing among, the poor, the hungry, the persecuted. Its members do not fight against evildoers, in fact, they do not even resist them. When they are struck, they do not retaliate, but turn the other cheek. The church’s political agenda is to give to all freely, especially those who are unworthy of the gift, for to each of these it touches it knows it is touching Jesus in his distressing disguise. The church’s members claim no “rights”, they claim no rights!, since they forgive everything they are owed. The church does not worry about the economy or plan for retirement, since God gives even the flowers and the birds food and clothing.
This is the politics of the church. It is not for the upwardly mobile. It asks us all why we are in such a hurry to be first, when we are told that the first will be last. And indeed that Jesus and his church strive to be downwardly mobile actually what makes possible Jesus’ reply about God and Caesar. Peter Maurin, the co-founder of the Catholic Worker Movement, used to say that “the sermon on the mount will be seen as practical when people start practicing it.” And here our Lord gives a tiny glimpse of the utter practicality of the political party called church. Jesus does not pay taxes because he has nothing on which to pay, and he is able to have nothing because he lives entirely by the hospitality of others. We are each called to follow our radical, but eminently practical, vagabond Lord, striving with all our might, and rejoicing at each little baby step we are given.
Thanks be to God.
Amen.
Colin
1 comment:
Nice sermon. You might have also mentioned Augustine's stand on Just War (mentioned in Stanley's forum a week ago) which did not even include justification of war for self-defense.
Also, more responsible people than the three of us should work out the genealogy of these political assumptions. Without doing so we seem either to revert to antiquarianism (the Father's were right, and then we went wrong), or perhaps even an indefensible Biblicalism. I make this point in response to deLubac's method as contrasted with, say, Yoder's Politics of Jesus, and both contrasted with a simplistic return to the Fathers.
The question, I suppose, is as always one of authority. While you do a reasonably good job of nuancing a sermon (no meager feat), it still begs the question that always haunts any sort of revival: how can we authoritatively say that our current inheritance is tainted?
Thus, if we want to be good Anglo-Catholics, we need to give some account of the development of the tradition from Irenaeus to Constantine and beyond. That account will itself be an interpretation of the tradition (as is deLubac's work), but it is maybe a necessary theological step if the political claims in this sermon (and elsewhere) are to be taken as a serious contender in the theological debate.
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