Search this blog

Pages

Showing posts with label Romans 13. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Romans 13. Show all posts

Wednesday, October 25, 2017

Render unto Caesar.. what do we owe our president?



“Then repay to Caesar what belongs to Caesar,
And to God what belongs to God…”
--Matthew 22:15-21

 What does Jesus really mean by this?  What belongs to Caesar?

In the story from Matthew’s gospel there is a coin.  And Jesus asks someone to tell Him whose image is on the coin.  And in the gospel, there is this coin because someone has asked Jesus for tax advice. (Like He was some kind of early H&R Block.) But, the exemption they are looking for is whether it is right to pay any taxes to Caesar.  Caesar, the oppressive Roman ruler who has conquered the Jews and makes them pay tribute and taxes to support his kingdom. Caesar who has become a kind of new Pharaoh for the Jews.  Should they pay the census tax to Caesar? But the question isn’t really being asked because the Herodians and the Pharisees are looking for free fiscal advice. No, it is being asked because they are hoping to trick Jesus into saying something that might get Him in trouble. Because He is troubling them!

Whose image is on the coin? Whose inscription? Jesus asks. And these would-be tricksters reply: Caesar’s. And Jesus says, Then, give to Caesar what belongs to Caesar and give to God what belongs to God.  And when they heard this they went away, amazed (cf. 22:22). 

 What belongs to Caesar? What belongs to God? 

Side note: This is an amazing little story. I read it to my Creative Writing class today as part of our prayer and then talked a moment about how beautifully and concisely it depicts the two characters solely through their dialog (cf. 22:15-20).  One character is the trickster (Herodians/Pharisees) who employs complex and very solicitous language, and the other (Jesus) uses simple and straightforward language in response to their questions.  Very nice example of show-don’t-tell. 

Back to the main question at hand: What belongs to Caesar?  Pope Francis (in a recent Angelus talk) addressed this reading and focused on the question implicitly raised by Jesus’s answer, and that is: who do we belong to?   And I think that is part of what I hear in this reading. But even more I keep hearing the question: what belongs to Caesar?  What do I owe to Caesar?  Or, for instance, what do I owe my government? What do I owe the president of the United States? Which, logically speaking means: what do I owe Donald Trump?  In Paul’s letter to the Romans (13:1) we read:
Every person is to be in subjection to the governing authorities.
For there is no authority except from God, and those
which exist are established by God.
(And there are several other places in the New Testament where we read that the early Christians were told to subject themselves or submit to the authorities of the places where they lived (cf. Titus 3:1, 1 Peter 2:13, also John 19:11, and in the OT: Proverbs 8:15, Daniel 2:21).)  All of this scripture diving and divining supports the idea that we have the president God wills for us, but of course that doesn’t mean we have to like it (consider the story of Saul and the warning given in 1 Samuel 8:10-18).  
But, even if we don’t like the new king (or new president) –even if he seems another Pharaoh, what do we owe him? What belongs to Caesar?

We owe him the gift of being an icon of God, of reflecting God’s love to him. Sure, we pay our taxes, and we follow the laws, but what we really owe Caesar is seen in the example of Jesus who spoke the truth and revealed the love of God even when it meant calling someone a white-washed tomb or a viper, and even when it meant accepting the consequences... What belongs to Caesar? As someone made in the image of God – our love, our prayers, our personal witness to the Love of God, and once a year –even our taxes. Why? Because even Caesar belongs to God.

Sunday, April 30, 2017

…the moment is here: a reflection on Romans 13




“The moment is here for you to stop sleeping and wake up… the night is nearly over, daylight is on the way; so let us throw off everything that belongs to the darkness and equip ourselves for the light… Let your armor be the Lord Jesus Christ, and stop worrying about how your disordered natural inclinations may be fulfilled.”
 --Romans 13: 11-14




In these verses Paul seems to speak to my life directly; middle aged, worried about my appetites and inclinations, sleep-walking through my own dark woods (i.e. mid-life crisis). But Paul assures us that that night nearly over, and daylight is on the way. Consider what that might mean to you personally.  For me, the night seems to describe the darkness that comes during a particularly difficult time: a time when I feel alone, lost, afraid.  And the daylight brings hope, the ability to see clearly what now I can only see in shadows and vague shapes –as if through a glass darkly.  

On one level the darkness, the night imagery, speaks to me of a time when our faith is challenged and we struggle to see signs of God’s presence, God’s guidance, God’s love; perhaps Paul is referring to this existence –this world. A place of spiritual darkness? A place and time wherein we cannot see God clearly, but he reassures us that daylight is coming. And it seems to me that he isn’t referring just to a sunrise tomorrow morning, but the Son rise of God’s fullness and grace.  The light of Christ.

And so, Paul exhorts us to throw off everything that belongs to the darkness, and singles out drunkenness, orgies, licentiousness and jealousy for special mention (cf.13:13). And yet, I think there is much more to this “deeds of darkness” than the easily singled out: sexual immorality (and drunkenness).  In the darkness we find ourselves afraid, anxious, insecure, confused, feeling hopeless, defensive (suspicious of every sound, every shadow that passes); in the darkness we grow tired; exhausted, we huddle together in an enclosed space seeking security –and desperate to escape from life’s troubles, how often do we long to simply fall into sleep?

All this belongs to the night, along with our revels and orgies and drunkenness –we hide them from the light to avoid witness to our shame, our fear, our vulnerability –our weakness.  In the dark, though, it is too easy to get lost. To think you are hidden, because you cannot see. Like a small child who covers his eyes and imagines the world cannot see him, we can begin to imagine our weakness and our sin is hidden –because it is kept in the darkness.  However, Paul says to us: throw off those deeds of darkness and put on the armor of light.  On the pious surface it would be easy to see this as simply: stop doing bad things and be a good Christian!
But, I think there is much more to it, and much less.  I think Paul is also saying: stop hiding yourselves! Put on the armor of light; on the one hand, (the spiritual hand, one might say) act like Christ! Yes! Of course! But on the other hand (on the more basic, more pedestrian day to day hand) put on the armor of light could also mean, don’t hide yourself! Don’t pretend to be something you aren’t.  And let the world accept or reject you because of who you really are! In a sense, there is no real armor except the armor of light.  As long as you have something to hide (something you are ashamed to have revealed) you will be afraid. Afraid it will come to light.  And yet Paul seems to be saying that “the light” is exactly what our darkness needs.

I don’t know that we need to wander the streets wearing scarlet letters, but perhaps the Puritans weren’t completely wrong.  For me, I am more interested in the concept of openness and vulnerability as strengths (as a kind of spiritual or psychological armor) and I am also interested in the sacrament of confession. We definitely need to admit to each other, privately and publicly, our brokenness and our need for Grace.  Wake up, Paul says. If you are a follower of Christ, then you need to start living like one.  But it is also clear that he knows we aren’t just going to just wake up one morning and suddenly be perfect. It seems to me that the message here isn’t about being perfect, but about being awake. Living intentionally and vulnerably.  Putting on the armor of light doesn’t mean we will be free from temptation (or that we won’t stumble into sin) but that we will be truly visible, we will be fully vulnerable, and perhaps that is how we will become light for the world.

Don’t ask yourself if you are ready. The hour is nigh. The moment is here. Stop sleep walking.  Wake up. Put on the light.