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.

A fearful invitation

“My friend, how is it that you came in here

without a wedding garment?”  --Matthew 22:12

One of the most troubling of parables is the story of the King and the wedding feast, and the “dis-invited” guest.  This vision of the Kingdom of Heaven is frightening at least on one level. And that is the vision of God --allegorically-- as a hard and vengeful king.  Jesus begins this parable saying:

The kingdom of heaven is like a king who prepared

a wedding banquet for his son. He sent his servants 
to call those he had invited to the banquet, but 
they refused to come. (--Mt. 22: 2-3)

 The king (who seems to clearly stand for God) is preparing a wedding feast for his son (Jesus seems an appropriate reading there).  He invites the guests exhorting them to come, but his invitation is snubbed and his messengers are finally killed. So, the enraged King sends his army to “destroy those murders and burn their town” (cf. Mt 22: 5).  This vengeful or punishing God doesn’t seem like the God who is love (cf. 1 John 4:16). But isn’t that what Jesus is saying? That His father will be enraged if we reject His invitation and abuse (and/or kill) His messengers, and that we better watch out!?  That is perplexing. Troubling. Worth pondering. But I wonder if that is what this parable is really about?  Or is there something else happening here? A different message about the Kingdom of God. A message about how we receive it.

I’ve been thinking about that first vision of the guests who “refused to come,” and that final vision of the guest who gets dis-invited from the banquet.  It seems to me that there is something important going on in this parable dealing with the way we receive God’s invitation. When the guests are first invited they simply don’t go. Perhaps they don’t really listen to the messenger, or perhaps they are distracted by immediate duties or obligations. They just don’t go.  How often are we like that. We probably have an excuse most of the time, but how often do we simply not bother to respond when God calls?  Then the messengers are sent out again to announce that the food has been prepared and the table is set and the frozen margaritas are melting!  But the guests still don’t go. They turn away from the King’s invitation, “one to his field, and another to his business…” (cf. 22: 5) and others take the messengers, abuse them and kill them. I wonder if this isn’t where Christ is calling us to see a vision of the Kingdom of God. Here we see the difficulty of saying YES to God’s call. Some guests are actually busy –going to their fields and their work—and so it might seem reasonable for them to ignore the King’s invitation, or God’s call? How often do we feel too busy to spend time with God? Too busy to go to mass because of weekend obligations or because of some project at work we need to catch up on –maybe inventory or something like that, or maybe it’s the lawn that we’ve been meaning to mow. Wouldn’t it be easier if we didn’t go to church and just stayed home and washed those dishes and folded that laundry and raked those leaves? It’s not that we don’t want to respond to God –it’s just that we are so very busy! 

And that seems to me the crux of this parable. That busy-ness!  After a while of God calling us and us being too busy to respond, we may get a little resentful. We may get tired of feeling like God has us on speed dial! Just like some of those guests in the parable, we may begin to feel an urge to kill the next messenger God sends our way.  The Kingdom of God is like this King who is throwing this party that he really really really wants you to attend... think about how annoying that might seem, if all you wanted to do was stay home, finish the laundry and binge watch Stranger Things. It’s not that the Kingdom of Heaven is like that king or like that wedding feast… the Kingdom of Heaven is like that call! It’s going to interrupt your regular daily duties and desires and hopes and plans and it is going to demand a response.

And when it comes to the response, I think we see something about that in the final image of that guest who has no response when the king asks him: “Friend, how did you get in here without a wedding robe?” (cf. 22: 12) And when the man has no answer, he is bound and thrown out into the darkness “where there is wailing and gnashing of teeth” (cf. 22:13).  I have always been struck by how unfair that feels. The man may have been caught off guard by the king’s question. And, anyway, the guy was forced to come to the party by the king’s servants. Why should he be punished? He didn’t want to go to this stupid old party anyway??  And that is where I think I find the lesson of this man.  What might the wedding garment symbolize? Of course, baptism or the grace of God… something like that. And so the fact that the man isn’t wearing a wedding garment, means he doesn’t really want to be at this party. And God, a God of Love, isn’t about to force anyone to stay at his party if they don’t want to be there.  So he has the guest bound and tossed out into the darkness. It seems to me that this is a very important part of the parable. The king doesn’t kill the guest. He sends him back out into the darkness where there is wailing and gnashing of teeth.  It’s almost like the king is saying, you don’t want to be at the party, then I won’t force you to stay. Go back where you came from: bound by sin, go back out into the darkness of a life of toil and suffering.  Because if we aren’t ready to say yes to God, to hear His call and respond with joy, then we aren’t ready to be in His presence.  And so –in some way—we are still bound to sin, and we are still walking in the darkness.  But that doesn’t mean we are lost. God is still calling. God is still inviting.  The next time he calls you, I challenge you to put those dishes down, drop that laundry, shut off that mower, forget about work and distractions and Stranger Things, and try saying this: Speak Lord, your servant is listening.

A kind of confession, a kind of revelation

 (this is a scene from a story I am working on)

“I know. I know, my boy.  So it seems. Hopeless.  But think of this. When Abraham was about to lose everything, God sent an angel to comfort him and stop his hand. When Moses was cast into the desert, a burning bush appeared to him and when Job was utterly lost and without hope –even from his friends—what happened?”

“What?”

“God answered him.  Not in words, not in reasons, but by revelation. God revealed Himself to Job. That was His answer. Job was a good man who suffered unjustly –we would say—suffered not because he had done anything wrong, but simply because bad things happened to him.  And what was the result, my dear?”

“Yes.”

“What was the result?”

“Yes.” Henry felt his chest begin to tremble. The sense of emotion and anxiety and dread and a sudden euphoric joy overwhelmed him. His voice broke as he repeated, “Yes.”

“Oh dear. Yes. You’re right. It was something beyond. A vision of God’s splendor. You’ve heard people speak of the transcendent, haven’t you?  Yes. Dear me. I know you have. You’re not a fool. I know that.  But, do you understand? God didn’t answer Job in human terms. Not in the way that Job and his friend were thinking of an answer. No. They were all good men, so to speak. Don’t you imagine? They all had good intentions. But God said to Job: Gird up your loins, and then as… well, by way of… yes, well, then He… what does God do? He… well, He challenges Job. But, you understand. Don’t you, my dear? You understand God wasn’t being mean. He wasn’t belittling Job.  No. No. Dear me. God doesn’t work that way. He was simply, and transcendently –yes. Yes. Very transcendentally… revealing Himself in all His splendor… all His glory.  Think about those images: the storehouse of the snow, the pedestals of the earth, the great and terrible behemoth –Who can put a hook in his nose?—and the birthing of the gentle mountain goat… the womb of the seas, telling the water it may come this far and no more… Do you understand? It’s all so amazing and wonderful. It’s all so awesome in the actual sense of that word. Not like the kids would say: an awesome movie! You know? But awesome in the sense of, well… awe inspiring. Truly awe inspiring. And what happens? What does Job do?”

“He places his hand over his mouth…”

“Yes. Yes. That’s right and he says though I spoke before I will not speak again. He is truly and utterly…”

“Yes…” Henry whispered.

“Yes. Yes. That’s it.  People often think this is because Job realized he shouldn’t challenge God. He shouldn’t ask God to defend Himself.  But that’s all wrong. People often mistakenly say that the answer Job gets is that things are too big for people, even someone as great as Job, to understand. As if God were chastising Job and putting him in his place.  As if God were saying to Job: what right have you to question me?  But Job isn’t a book about an inscrutable God and His unfathomable ways.  It is a book about suffering –though ultimately, you see, not about misery—No. No.  It’s about the power of suffering. The –what does Peter call it? …the refiner’s fire. Job endures the refiner’s fire. Unjust sufferings, seemingly endless miseries, and never learns why… and yet in the end what happens?”

Henry simply stared, unable to speak.

“He gets a glimpse of the truth; of God’s glory.  Don’t you see?”

“Yes.” He whispered.

“Is it possible? Is it possible, my dear friend, that God reveals Himself through His cross? Through the cross we come to understand God. Through our own part in that cross we come to understand Him; not intellectually. I don’t mean that. But to –in a way—taste a moment of His –what? Glory? I think taste might be a better word because we don’t really think of understanding a cheeseburger, but when we taste it we know what it is and we even know something of its splendor. If it’s a good one, of course. I have to say I do like a good cheeseburger. Yes. Ruby Red. Oh, the peanuts. Yes. Oh dear. Oh dear. I miss Ruby Reds.”

Henry chuckled. “Yes, Father. Me too.”

“I just… oh dear, me.  But. Do you understand what I am trying to say? I am trying to say that perhaps the story of Job isn’t about the suffering itself but about the experience; and in the end --do you see?—it’s about what comes of it.  Is it possible, dear dear Henry. I know I’m not supposed to know who you are, but you know I do. I’m sorry.  I do.  Is it possible that what you are going through, and of course it is a kind of crucible, I know that. I know. Yes. I know.  Oh dear… But is it possible that God is trying to reveal Himself to you? through this? Through your wife’s suffering. Through your job? Through your struggle? Even and maybe especially through your brother. Oh, dear Henry. You are Job.  If ever I knew one, you...  I pray for you often. Daily. I do. But, am I just like one of Job’s friends? Am I just a foolish old priest making pompous statements about things I don’t understand? Oh, Henry. I don’t know. I don’t know anything. Don’t listen to me. What do I know about wives and sufferings. I was an only child and now I’m an old priest. And you, you my son… I think you are a saint. In the making, at least. Oh dear. Dear. Dear, me. I’m sorry. Sometimes I just say things. I don’t know why.  Do you pray to Joseph? Pray to Saint Joseph. If anyone will understand your troubles, it will be him. Pray to him now. As your act of contrition. Please. Let us do this together. Both of us.”