© 2023 Evan D. Garner
Audio of this sermon can be heard here. Video of the service can be seen here.
Should we pay taxes to the government or not? Should conscientious objectors be allowed to shield their tax payments from military spending? Should committed pro-life Christians be able to withhold some or all of their taxes as long as the Defense Department reimburses the travel expenses of servicemembers who go across state lines to get access to an abortion? Should the pro-choice residents of states that have restricted access to reproductive healthcare get a deduction on their taxes because of the lack of services being provided in their state? Should churches whose pastors receive a six- or seven-figure salary be exempt from corporate income taxes and property taxes just like the ones whose clergy have taken a vow of poverty?
When the Pharisees come to Jesus and ask him about paying taxes, the answer isn’t as obvious as we might assume. Like most issues that lie at the collision of politics and religion, it’s complicated. And, like Jesus, how we sort it out requires some careful, faithful thinking.
At the beginning of this gospel lesson, Matthew makes it clear that the religious leaders were out to get Jesus. He tells us that they met together and hatched a plot designed to ensnare him. After heaping upon Jesus the sort of empty flattery that only sets him up to disappoint his audience, they spring their trap: “Is it lawful to pay taxes to the emperor or not,” by which they mean, “Can a Torah-observant, sacred-law-abiding Jew pay taxes to the unholy Roman Empire, or should they refuse as a matter of conscience?”
It was a question that no rabbi wanted to answer, at least not on the record. If Jesus were to say, “Yes, faithful Jews are allowed to pay the tax,” he would alienate those who believed that no earthly kingdom could take the place of God’s reign. In fact, when the tax was first instituted in A.D. 6, another Galilean named Judas led a revolt, which, despite being put down quickly, remained a cause célèbre for Jewish patriots.[1] How could anyone pay tribute to a deified Caesar and remain loyal to God? As Jesus himself had already declared, “No one can serve two masters.”
But, on the other hand, if Jesus were to say, “No, a faithful Jew should not support the empire,” he would give his opponents all the evidence they needed to turn him over to the Roman authorities, who would surely execute him as a yet another failed Jewish rebel. No matter what he said, Jesus couldn’t win—or so they thought.
“Why are you putting me to the test, you hypocrites?” he said to them. “Show me the coin used for the tax.” In an instant, Jesus set for them his own double-trap. For starters, the coin in question was an unholy symbol, which contained the graven image and blasphemous title of the emperor. To have such a coin in one’s pocket was itself an act of deep faithlessness, and to bring it into the sacred courts of the Jerusalem temple was an absolute no-no, kind of like trying to hide a cell phone in your pocket when the national emergency alert goes off. By getting the Pharisees to produce the coin, Jesus had already shown that these so-called religious leaders weren’t all that committed to their religion after all.
But Jesus didn’t stop there. “Whose head is this, and whose title?” he asked, twisting the rhetorical knife a little deeper. And when they acknowledged, probably reluctantly, that they belonged to the emperor, Jesus replied, “Then give to the emperor the things that are the emperor’s and to God the things that are God’s.” Game, set, match. When the religious leaders heard this, they were amazed. He had slipped through their trap and tripped them up in one of his own. It was a clever answer, which clearly bested his opponents, but I don’t know how satisfying it is, at least on the surface. When it comes to navigating the blurry border between belonging to God and belonging to the world, I think we yearn for more than clever.
After all, what kind of answer did Jesus give? In the end, is it lawful to pay the tax or not? If God is the source of all things and the ruler of heaven and earth, what actually belongs to Caesar and what belongs to God? And, if everything does belong to God, as I think we are supposed to believe, then why is the emperor’s graven image still stamped on the coin? Is God really in charge, or is the emperor?
Ultimately, those who would separate the kingdoms of this world from the kingdom of God are trapped by their own desire to avoid the messiness of how God works and where God’s reign is to be found. God doesn’t always show up in neat and clean ways that give us simple answers to hard problems. Sometimes faithfulness isn’t as clear as an up or down vote, and those who say otherwise aren’t being faithful. If we want to belong more fully to God’s kingdom, we shouldn’t try to escape this world or the powers that rule it but lean into the places and channels through which God’s reign is breaking into this life. And, at its core, that is what Jesus’ clever response is inviting us to do.
Give to the emperor the things that are the emperor’s and to God the things that are God’s. That is not an invitation to live a bifurcated life, with allegiances split between heaven and earth, but an invitation to trust that God’s reign is not divorced from the politics of this world but somehow revealed through them. As such, it is possible to use a Roman coin to pay a Roman tax without forgetting that the entire empire is contained within the kingdom of God. Jesus isn’t asking us to confuse the emperor’s ungodly ways with the will of God but to trust that God’s authority cannot be thwarted by the affairs of the state, no matter how irreligious it is. And if that’s true—if we believe that God is still in charge even when our leaders show no sign of godliness—it means that how we participate in earthly affairs has heavenly implications.
The real question we must ask ourselves is what it means to be faithful to the will and ways of God while living in a world in which those ways are often hidden. Jesus shows us that it doesn’t mean burying our head in the sand or hiding our light under a basket but pursuing God’s reign through our public lives. We know that God is at work in this world. We believe that God’s salvation is accomplished not by abandoning this world but by becoming enmeshed in it, through the Word-become-Flesh. God did not take our human nature upon Godself in order to forsake the earth but to transform it. And, if God is at work in this world, saving and redeeming that which God has made, then we, too, are called to lean into that work of transformation.
We are a part of this world, but we belong to the reign that is above—a reign that is not of this world yet one that cannot be confined to the heavens. When we see those moments of God’s power and presence breaking through into this world, giving us a glimpse of what is to come, we must devote ourselves to them fully. Whether it’s paying our taxes or casting our votes or donating to worthwhile causes or marching in the streets, our participation in the kingdoms of this world is not a rejection of God’s reign but an opportunity for that reign to become manifest through our actions.
Give to God the things that are God’s as you give to the emperor the things that are the emperor’s. Don’t expect God to show up in that mythical place that is immune to the influences of this world. Ask God to help you influence the world in ways that allow God’s reign to show up more clearly. We are not faithful to God by withdrawing from the kingdoms of the earth but by allowing God to use us to bring God’s reign to the earth through them. “Thy kingdom come,” we say together. “Thy will be done,” we pray to God. And every time we say those words we offer ourselves into the service of God—not by pulling back but by leaning more deeply and faithfully into the world God has made.
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