TWENTY-FIRST SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST
Prayer of the Day: Sovereign God, raise your throne in our hearts. Created by you, let us live in your image; created for you, let us act for your glory; redeemed by you, let us give you what is yours, through Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord.
“Give therefore to the emperor the things that are the emperor’s, and to God the things that are God’s.” Matthew 22:21.
This text has often been a springboard for discussions about the role of government vs religion; faith and civic responsibility; patriotism and discipleship. Jesus is heard to say that paying taxes is a legitimate exercise of public duty. The state, kingdom or empire, as the case may be, is owed a duty of loyalty and support-unless and until the state’s demands encroach on those made by God. Thus, one must carefully weigh the requirements of the state against what God demands of us. Give to the emperor the things that are the emperor’s and to God the things that are God’s.
The emperor, however, demands a great deal. Roman emperors were worshiped as gods and their imperial cult was inseparable from civic displays of national loyalty and patriotism. Refusal to acknowledge the emperor’s divinity was considered treasonous. The religious leaders in Jesus’ day walked a fine line between placating the government of Rome whose legions occupied their land and controlled their nation while trying to remain true to the affirmation made by God through the Prophet Isaiah in our lesson from the Hebrew Scriptures: “I am the Lord, and there is no other.” Isaiah 45:6.
I am not so sure we American Christians are free of that tension. We like to emphasize the “separation of church and state” in proclaiming our freedom from government influence and control. Yet while our government does not legislate any particular religion as such, it surely makes godlike demands. The most significant of these is the mandate to kill. The state alone is entitled to take life in order to uphold its laws, maintain civil order and protect its national interests. The state has the right to conscript its citizens, you and me, to use lethal force to protect its borders, defend its strategic priorities and fight its wars. Of course, just war theory would point out that this power to kill comes from God who establishes civil authority for these very purposes. But that seems to me a tacit admission that the power to kill is outside the scope of human authority and can only be justified by invoking the support of a “higher power.” That “higher power,” however specifically forbade his disciples’ from using lethal force. Thus, taking up the sword is an example of rendering to the emperor the things that belong to God.
A couple of things are worth noting about Sunday’ gospel. First, Jesus does not have a coin. To make his point, he must ask his questioners to produce one. Second, the coin itself is a clear violation of the second commandment forbidding the making of images. Not only so, but the image is that of an imperial figure demanding worship as a god. That Jesus’ opponents actually had such a coin in their possession put the ball squarely back in their court. Theirs is the problem of squaring allegiance to the emperor, whose image they carry on their persons, with their confession that God alone is God. Jesus did not have to respond to their question. As soon as they produced the denarius, they answered it for themselves. They demonstrated that they belong to the emperor. Jesus’ final word to his opponents was not meant to be a response to their question to him. It is rather a wry observation of their having been caught red handed with an idol: “Guess you folks have to figure out how to ‘render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s and to God the things that are Gods.'” Of course, Jesus’ opponents knew that all things belong to God and nothing of God’s can belong to the emperor. They cannot explain away their possession of the denarius and so depart in silence.
Once, when I was serving as an assistant to the pastor, I came into the sanctuary on Sunday morning to find a troop of girl scouts practicing a ceremony planed for the beginning of the service. The plan was for the girls to march in formation behind the American flag which would be placed in a stand directly in front of the altar. The congregation would then be invited to stand and join in the pledge of allegiance. I told the senior pastor I wanted no part in this part of the service.
“Why?” he asked in an exasperated tone. “What’s the harm in it?’
The same question was asked of bishop Polycarp prior to his being burned alive for his allegiance to Jesus and his refusal to worship the emperor. “Look,” he was told by some of his companions. “We all know the emperor is not really a god. What’s the harm in burning a little incense on the altar in his name? It’s more a patriotic than religious thing.” Polycarp didn’t see it that way. He would not allow the emperor to inhabit the sacred realm of worship owed to God alone. I am quite sure, he would not have welcomed the flag of the United States into that space either. So it was that I spent the first half of the service that day sitting in the sacristy. My relationship with the senior pastor was a little frosty for a couple weeks after that. But that discomfort hardly compares with being burned to death.
I believe we American Christians would do well to ask ourselves a few fundamental questions: Why do we countenance the presence of a national symbol in sanctuaries dedicated to the worship of the God who shows no partiality among nations? Why are we so easily co-opted into blessing our nation’s wars, honoring its acts of violence and glorifying the taking and sacrificing of human life? Have we become spiritually schizophrenic? How else to explain our singing hymns of God’s gentle reign and the Prince of Peace Sunday morning and then on Sunday evening singing of bombs bursting in air with gusto as war planes stream overhead? What will it take for us to recognize all the things of God we have surrendered to the emperor?
Here is a poem by Ada Limón reflecting on the National Anthem and its dark underside that should give disciples of Jesus pause.
A New National Anthem
The truth is, I’ve never cared for the National
Anthem. If you think about it, it’s not a good
song. Too high for most of us with “the rockets
red glare” and then there are the bombs.
(Always, always, there is war and bombs.)
Once, I sang it at homecoming and threw
even the tenacious high school band off key.
But the song didn’t mean anything, just a call
to the field, something to get through before
the pummeling of youth. And what of the stanzas
we never sing, the third that mentions “no refuge
could save the hireling and the slave”? Perhaps,
the truth is, every song of this country
has an unsung third stanza, something brutal
snaking underneath us as we blindly sing
the high notes with a beer sloshing in the stands
hoping our team wins. Don’t get me wrong, I do
like the flag, how it undulates in the wind
like water, elemental, and best when it’s humbled,
brought to its knees, clung to by someone who
has lost everything, when it’s not a weapon,
when it flickers, when it folds up so perfectly
you can keep it until it’s needed, until you can
love it again, until the song in your mouth feels
like sustenance, a song where the notes are sung
by even the ageless woods, the short-grass plains,
the Red River Gorge, the fistful of land left
unpoisoned, that song that’s our birthright,
that’s sung in silence when it’s too hard to go on,
that sounds like someone’s rough fingers weaving
into another’s, that sounds like a match being lit
in an endless cave, the song that says my bones
are your bones, and your bones are my bones,
and isn’t that enough?
Source: The Carrying (c. 2018 by Ada Limón; pub. by Milkweed Editions). Ada Limón (b. 1976) is an American poet. Of Mexican-American descent, Limon grew up in Sonoma, California. She attended drama school at the University of Washington, where she subsequently studied theatre. She went on to receive her Master of Fine Arts from New York University in 2001. In 2022 she was named the 24th Poet Laureate of the United States by the Librarian of Congress, the first Latina to be so honored. It was announced on January 30, 2023, that Limon will be writing an original poem dedicated to NASA’s Europa Clipper. Scheduled for launch in 2024, the Europa Clipper will be orbiting Jupiter and Limón’s poem will be engraved onto the craft. You can read more about Ada Limon and sample more of her poetry at the Poetry Foundation website.
Peter's Outer Cape Portico 