Holy Week Meditations: Jesus Under Question. Render Unto Caesar? (2/3)

Luke 20:20-26

It’s hard if you are of a certain age reading this story not to remember the time when Margaret Thatcher patronisingly said that Jesus ‘got it about right’ with his teaching to render unto Caesar. In one Christian magazine at the time, a writer compared her attitude to that of Field Marshal Montgomery, who one day was appointed to read the Old Testament lesson at Matins in a parish church. Montgomery began, ‘And the Lord said unto Moses – and in my opinion quite rightly …’

What a dangerous thing it is to put ourselves in judgment over Scripture. And it is not even more dangerous that the temple authorities in our story put themselves in authority over the One to whom the Scriptures witness, Jesus Christ himself?

What is at stake?

We left those leaders down on the canvas yesterday after Jesus outwitted them on the question of authority. But they have not been knocked out. They are going to get up and continue the fight. Indeed they must, if they are to preserve their position, their power, and the institution that gives all that to them. Like Arnie, they’ll be back.

And they are back here, albeit at arms’ length. They do not show their own faces immediately but instead send spies. That in itself is sinister enough. They are practising surveillance of their enemy. Think today of governments that plant spies in churches – China, for example. 

Naturally, Jesus is not fooled by this tactic of confronting him from the shadows. He knows who his questioners represent. He knows what Luke tells us in verse 20, that their motive was to have evidence that would enable them to hand him over to Pontius Pilate as a seditionary. 

In fact, the trap the spies lay is threefold. One element is indeed that if Jesus were to say, do not pay taxes to Caesar then that is an easy win for handing him over to Pilate. Look, they will say, here is someone who is undermining the Pax Romana. He is treacherous. Oh, and by the way, aren’t we good citizens for snitching on him? 

And that last element about their own reputation with Pilate was significant. Because Pilate was in a politically weak situation with them, even though he was the Roman governor. 

Why? Because earlier he had authorised some actions that were so offensive to the Jews when he allowed Roman symbols to be set up in the temple that a delegation of Jewish leaders had gone to Rome to complain about him. He had received a telling-off for not respecting the local religious customs and was now on thin ice. One more wrong step and he would be gone. The religious hierarchy here hope to further strengthen their position with him. As it is, they will certainly play on Pilate’s politically weak position later in Holy Week. 

This, then, is the first trap. Jesus may win popular acclaim if he tells people not to pay taxes to Rome – think how the tax collectors were hated. But if he does so, he effectively signs his own death warrant. And the temple authorities are in a strong and increasingly stronger position with Pilate, which suits them nicely. 

The second trap is if Jesus takes the opposite position and simply says, of course you should pay taxes to the ruling authorities. This is what the good believer does. There is a good case in both Old and New Testaments for Christians being loyal citizens – at least far as their consciences will allow – when living under the rule of nations that do not sympathise with their faith. The most striking example of this is the Jewish exile. Jeremiah tells the exiles in chapter 29 of his prophecy to seek the welfare of the city to which they have been sent. Daniel and his friends serve Babylon as far as they can and only stop at the point where to continue obeying would mean disobedience to God. Later, after Babylon has fallen, Nehemiah serves as cupbearer in the court of King Artaxerxes. 

But for all this, if Jesus does endorse paying taxes to Caesar, this will be seen by the ordinary people as caving in to the hated occupying Romans. These are the unclean people who must leave or be driven out of the Promised Land. The land must be cleansed of them. The Torah must be the law of the land and Israel must obey it. Then the Messiah will come. Groups like the Pharisees taught something like this. The Zealots took it to extremes with their violent and military opposition to Rome. 

Not only that, there was what you might call a social justice element to the opposition to rendering to Caesar. Although the Roman tribute only amounted to an annual payment of a denarius, a day’s wages, that would still have been significant for the many peasants who lived on the borderline of economic subsistence. They needed every penny, and even then survival was still precarious. They could do without another tax. 

These are the two traps that are most obvious in the text, and the two we hear about the most. But there is a third trap. I opened the first meditation by talking about the significance of the theme of the temple, and this is where it makes an appearance in this episode. Guess who was responsible for collecting that annual payment of one denarius to Rome? Why yes, it was the Jerusalem Sanhedrin. Some would say they compromised their loyalty to the Jewish faith by doing so, but in their eyes they were making a small concession in order to guarantee the continuation of the temple cult and the identity of the temple. To them, the temple mattered more than anything else. If Jesus opposed the payment of taxes to Rome, he would be undermining the Jerusalem temple itself, and that most certainly was not to be tolerated. 

How does Jesus respond?

Yesterday, we noticed how Jesus responded to a question with a question of his own. He does the same again today. He will not be boxed in by his opponents. He takes the initiative. He is after all Lord, even if they don’t acknowledge it, and he reserves his right to interrogate.

Not only that, but we shall also see that the outcome of his response is not a straight answer to the dilemma posed by the spies. If anyone is looking here for a simple answer about whether we should pay our taxes, Jesus’ answer will disappoint us, because he refuses to ask that. We are going to see that what Jesus does exposes the sin of the religious leadership. No wonder they are silenced afterwards. 

So here is how Jesus responds with a question:

23 He saw through their duplicity and said to them, 24 ‘Show me a denarius. Whose image and inscription are on it?’

‘Caesar’s,’ they replied.

25 He said to them, ‘Then give back to Caesar what is Caesar’s, and to God what is God’s.’

Well, lo and behold the spies do indeed have a denarius, just as Jesus asks. What a surprise! After all, as I mentioned, the Jerusalem Sanhedrin administered the Roman tribute tax for the occupying army. They are caught red-handed. 

And given that, there are two ways in which what Jesus says condemns the temple authorities. First is his language about ‘image.’ What are they going to think of in biblical terms when the word ‘image’ comes up? They are going to remember that all human beings were created in the image of God, and that the commandments forbade any graven images of the one true God. Yet here in the denarius is a coin that bears the inscription, ‘Tiberius Caesar, son of the divine Augustus.’ By colluding with the Roman authorities to collect a coin with that text, the temple leadership, the people who should have been defending and propagating the faith of Israel, are in fact colluding with false gods. They are promoting idolatry. They have no moral or religious authority, because it is undermined by their actions, which utterly contradict the basic tenets of the faith they are supposed to promote. 

The second is when he says, ‘Give back to Caesar what is Caesar, and to God what is God’s.’ Traditionally, we’re used to hearing, ‘Render unto Caesar’, but the emphasis is not simply on ‘Give,’ but on ‘Give back.’ In other words, Jesus is not saying, you have some civic duties and some religious duties. He is not answering a general question about taxation. Margaret Thatcher and others misunderstood him. No: he is telling the Sanhedrin to get out of administering the temple tax. They are more concerned with winning favour with the Roman powers-that-be than they are with winning favour with God. They have compromised their faith for the sake of political gain. 

Don’t get me wrong: Jesus is not saying that true disciples should not be involved in politics, but he is saying that followers of the One True God should not sell their souls to politics. They should not place it above their devotion to God. They should not use politics as a means to an end of personal gain. And if that sounds uncomfortably like what we have seen in the USA with Donald Trump’s MAGA Christian supporters, well, it is. 

Politics is a worthy if difficult place for a Christian to serve God in the world. Christians should take on such a call on the grounds of the old saying that if Jesus is not Lord of all then he is not Lord at all. He is Lord over politics. But going into that field must not be for personal gain. It must be to serve others, regardless of whether any benefit comes our way. 

Besides, when people play with politics for their own ends, what kind of people do well out of it? Is it the poor and the powerless? No. It’s the wealthy. It’s people who already have power. That should concern Christians. Again, look at America, and perhaps this time look at Elon Musk. 

No, Sanhedrin, says Jesus, give back to Caesar. Your job as leaders of God’s people – if that is what you truly are – is to speak truth to power, not to prefer power to truth. It’s a searing critique, and one the church needs to hear in every generation. 

Ultimately, this is not that different from when Jesus said, you cannot serve both God and Mammon. You have to make a choice, you ‘gotta serve somebody’, as Bob Dylan sang, but it can only be one and not both. The temple authorities have chosen to side with the Empire rather than the kingdom of God. 

The spies are silenced. They have been caught out. Moreover, they have been shamed by this public exposure of their utter disloyalty to Israel’s God. 

But while their shame may indicate that their sin has been laid bare, it is no more than remorse at best. It is not repentance. They do not change. They stay on their evil course, as the rest of Holy Week will demonstrate.

Is Internet Access A Human Right?

Various websites are reporting a study for the BBC in which 79% of respondents (27,000 people around the world) say that Internet access is a fundamental human right. The BBC report itself is here, and the full report in PDF is here. Tech sites such as PC Pro report it, too.

Much as I love techie stuff, I think we have to be careful about our language. I find it interesting that the lively comments on the PC Pro report are not all fawning agreement. The idea of net access as a fundamental right is described as ‘hogwash’ by one commenter and ‘a privilege’ by another.

The point in the report is one about communication. Here is one extract from the BBC news report:

“The right to communicate cannot be ignored,” Dr Hamadoun Toure, secretary-general of the International Telecommunication Union (ITU), told BBC News.

“The internet is the most powerful potential source of enlightenment ever created.”

He said that governments must “regard the internet as basic infrastructure – just like roads, waste and water”.

“We have entered the knowledge society and everyone must have access to participate.”

We need to communicate. The Internet is now fundamental to that. Ergo, internet access is a fundamental human right.

‘Rights language’ is all around us. Have you noticed how politicians, when they describe some improvement in welfare or health provision, say it is what people deserve? Gordon Brown certainly does. It’s on a par with the execrable ‘Because I’m worth it’ adverts.

Am I alone in being bothered by the use of ‘human rights’ language? By the looks of those PC Pro comments, I’m not. Just to raise a doubt about human rights language today is to risk being labelled as an oppressor, but from a Christian perspective it needs challenging. In fact, I would argue such terms are used recklessly and thoughtlessly by Christians.

Why? Because – as the late Lesslie Newbigin argued – the language of human rights is secular. It arises in a post-Enlightenment society where faith in God had been relegated to the private sphere. In the public, ‘secular’ discourse, humankind was the highest rank of creature and virtually deified. Rights language is about what belongs to deities, Newbigin said. Therefore, to speak of human rights is to talk in idolatrous terms.

To many ears, this will be shocking. How else do we protect some basics of human existence? But would it not be better from a Christian perspective to speak of human dignity (because we are made in the image of God) and human need? Welfare and health provision – to return to the example of politicians – are issues of dignity and need. The ability to communicate – as Dr Touré indicates – is pretty basic to human life. Whether we all need to communicate in every which way is debatable, of course, but the fundamental need is there. If society becomes so dependent upon information via the Internet, then Christians may perceive that the gap between the information-rich and the information-poor could be a moral issue.

However, we probably need to qualify the link between the Internet and information. Firstly, it isn’t entirely the case – surely we’re not going to dignify everything from Facebook status updates to pornography with the label of ‘information’. Secondly, ‘information’ is an insufficient category for Christians. What we value is ‘wisdom’, which is more than a pile of facts: it is what moral choices we are going to make and live with those facts, in the light of God. And that is even more basic to human flourishing than information.

Judgment

Matthew 25:31-46

There is one line from an early school report of mine that I remember: ‘David takes simple things and makes them complicated.’

You may recognise that trait in me even today! And I have to say there is an element of it sneaking into this sermon. The Vision of the Sheep and Goats, as George Beasley-Murray called it (first complication there – it’s not really a parable!) seems to be a piece of teaching by Jesus that is very simple. Do good to the poor and you’ll receive eternal life; ignore the poor and you’ll burn in Hell.

Simple, isn’t it? No.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not about to find the get-out clause that means we don’t have to care for the hungry, the thirsty, the stranger, the naked, the sick and the prisoner. But there are questions of detail that readers of this vision have asked. And as we explore them, we fill out more of the meaning.

In particular, we need to think about who ‘the nations’ are that are gathered before Jesus, the Son of Man at the judgment. And we also need to think about who ‘the least of these’ are, who may receive acts of mercy. In considering these two groups in the story, I hope we’ll answer some questions that have troubled sensitive Christians about this passage.

The Nations 
Who are ‘the nations’ in the story? Are they everyone in history? Are they people who have never heard the Gospel, given the surprised ‘Lord, when was it we saw you …?’ responses? Do they represent Christians, or possibly the Jewish people? And why does the question matter?

It matters, because it ties into the question of salvation. Are we saved by good works? What is the relationship between good works and salvation by faith in Christ? Does God have a different way of judging those who have never heard of Jesus – would that explain the surprise?

I’m not going to bore you with academic arguments, except to say that this story comes at the end of the fifth and final block of Jesus’ teaching that we find in Matthew’s Gospel. The first block was the Sermon on the Mount, and that set a theme for teaching about discipleship. All the teaching blocks are about discipleship in one way or another. This final block in chapters 24 and 25 focusses on questions about the end of all things. It fittingly climaxes here with a story about the Last Judgment.

So I do not think we can avoid the idea that Jesus is aiming this passage at those who claim to be his disciples. It fleshes out the statement in the Sermon on the Mount that not everyone who calls him ‘Lord, Lord’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only those who do the will of his Father. Obedience to the will of God is central and critical to Christian discipleship.

However, that raises the question I mentioned a moment ago. How does that thought sit with the teaching elsewhere in the New Testament that says we are justified in the sight of God not by our good works but by our faith in Jesus Christ? Doesn’t the sheep and goats story suggest that we are justified by good deeds?

To which I would reply that justification simply isn’t the issue here. The issue is one of identity: what does a disciple look like? And Jesus tells us here that a true disciple looks like someone who has compassion for the poor and needy – not just the deserving poor, but even the undeserving poor, because there is no hint that those in prison are in there for anything other than just reasons.

If we want to know whether we are progressing in discipleship, then the first test is not what dramatic spiritual experiences we have had. Nor is it whether we can muster a high score in a test of biblical and theological knowledge. Disciples are known by their actions for the sake of those in need. In his First Letter, John says that we cannot say the love of God lives in us if we see someone in need and fail to act. Such actions are the signs of true faith.

In that sense, it is connected to the question of justification, even though that is not Jesus’ particular concern here. It is rather like what Paul says in Galatians that faith works by love, and what James says in his Letter, when he maintains that those who are justified by faith show they truly are by their compassionate deeds of mercy.

So whether we care for people such as the hungry, thirsty, strangers, the naked, the sick and the prisoners is a test of true faith. Has God broken our hearts with the things that break his heart? And are we heartbroken enough to do something about it? This is a simple test of disciples’ obedience.

Nevertheless, we can probably extend this in a certain way to another question that is not Jesus’ primary concern in this passage. The question I have in mind is also one I mentioned earlier: how does God judge those who have never heard the Gospel? Some would argue that unless one actually hears the Gospel and responds, one is destined to damnation. It is a view that those who recognise other aspects of God’s character such as his mercy (as well as his judgment) find problematical.

And I suspect that the ‘Lord, when did we see you …?’ questions do give us a glimpse of how God would regard such people. Is it not the case that in Scripture God judges people according to how they respond to whatever light from him they receive? In Genesis, the priest Melchizedek appears out of nowhere and Abraham makes an offering to him – and God approves. Joshua is pleased to use the help of the Jericho prostitute Rahab. Isaiah 45 calls the pagan king Cyrus God’s anointed.

So might it just be that here in Matthew 25, we get an indirect view of how God will treat those who know that mercy to the poor and the weak is what matters? I can’t be certain, but I think it’s possible.

The Least Of These 
So the judgment of the nations makes us realise that compassion for the needy, whether they are ‘deserving’ or not, is a valid test of discipleship. It may also show a way in which God judges those who have never heard the Gospel.

But what about those described as ‘the least of these’ in the passage – namely, those who are hungry, thirsty, aliens, naked, sick or prisoners? Who are they? Some would argue they stand for anyone who is poor and in need in the world. Other say this expression ‘the least of these’ is similar to other terms Matthew uses in his Gospel to describe oppressed Christians or Christian missionaries facing hardship. There are some similarities of language, but they are not conclusive. In any case, if God only judges people on how they treat the Church, doesn’t that make God’s people into some narrow-minded sect, where it’s only what we receive (and not others) that counts?

So I suspect that the vulnerable people in need in this story, whom Jesus labels ‘the least of these’, stand for anyone in the world who may be suffering these or similar conditions. God does not simply call us to look after our own. Let’s assume, then, that God gives us a brief that covers the whole world in demonstrating his love to those in need.

But does the passage make an even larger claim than that? Some Christians think so. The first time I ever heard Tony Campolo speak, he told a story about a trip he paid to the Dominican Republic, where he witnessed terrible poverty. As he was about to board his plane back to the USA, a mother tried to give him her child. The child would stand a far better chance in terms of health, education and prospects in the States. Campolo felt he couldn’t. But as his plane accelerated down the runway, he could see the mother and child still there. On the basis of this passage, he had an awful realisation: he hadn’t left a child in the Dominican Republic, he had left Jesus there. ‘Just as you did [not do] to the least of these, you did [not do it] to me.’

Similarly, the great German theologian Jürgen Moltmann has invoked the old Latin phrase ubi Christi, ibi ecclesia: ‘where Christ is, there is the Church’ from this text. He takes it to mean that if whatever we do to the poor we do to Christ, then Christ is present in the poor.

So does this teach that Christ lives in the poor? Does Christ perhaps even live in everyone, rather like the Quaker belief that there is an inner light within all people?

No, I don’t think the passage means that. It is a very heightened metaphorical way of speaking that Jewish people employed. ‘This is my body’ and ‘This is my blood’ would be of the same order. ‘Just as you did to the least of these, it is as if you did it to me’ might be a paraphrase that brings this out. 

This, I think, would be more consistent with the rest of Scripture, which sees the Spirit of God as being directly involved in the creation of humankind but who only resides within people when they become disciples of Jesus. The idea that the divine is resident in all people is closer to the mystical beliefs of some New Age philosophies than Christianity. If we all have God within, there’s very little need for salvation.

Nevertheless, we still have incredibly strong reasons for serving all who are in need with the love of Christ.  We do not do it simply as robots obeying a command programmed by our Master. We do so, because when he, as the agent of God’s creation, and in partnership with the Holy Spirit, made the human race, he made them ‘in the image of God’. Our lives and relationships are meant to mirror something about God, and God’s love. 

There is no greater dignity anything in all creation has than to be made in God’s image. When the image-bearers of God are made to suffer, that is an attempt to obscure the image of God, and it is an affront to the God who made people with such a high status. Affording dignity, respect and healing to those who are suffering is about making the image of God more visible in creation. 

Conclusion 
So – it’s a clear test of discipleship whether we meet the practical needs of the poor and struggling. It may even be an indicator of how God judges those who have no genuine opportunity to hear the Gospel.  

Not only that, we have an imperative to do so, because all people are made in the image of God, however much it has been damaged by sin. That means our call to love and serve those in need cannot just be a paternalistic ‘doing good’ to those who passively, but gratefully, receive all the good things we have to give. It must also mean that in affirming their special dignity we give power back to those who have become powerless.

We may have had to take some complex diversions to arrive at these conclusions. You may well think that school teacher was right to say I am the sort of person who makes simple things complicated. At the end, however, we do come back to some simple challenges. We may not be able to meet all the needs that a satellite television and broadband Internet world flashes before our eyes. But we can ask ourselves this: what time, money and possessions have I given up in order to practise God’s love for the poor? 

My status as a disciple requires positive evidence in response to this question. So does my commitment to God’s revelation in Scripture. If I want to be a biblical disciple, then, I will know that I have responded to those who are suffering, and I continue to care for the suffering.

Can I answer yes?

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