Matthew 22:15-22
Money makes the world go round. It powers our ambitions, fuels our dreams,
conveys our plans and helps us arrive at our life goals. As the old joke goes,
if you think nobody cares whether you're alive, try missing a couple of
payments. Or, to put it another way -
Money talks – but credit has an echo.
Nearly everything we want and need requires
funds. And although there are several
scenes in Gospel where Jesus suggests we sell all we own in order to follow
him, few if any have made that decision to buck our capitalistic culture and
economic system and follow in Jesus’ footsteps.
There’s little we can do to escape being caught
in the net of money.
But
when does it fail us? (No, wait, I don’t
intend to discuss the finer points of inflation, recession, depression, or the
stock market. Don’t let your eyes glaze
over yet… I’m not talking about when the dollar fails,
but when money itself fails to capture things that are truly valuable.)
For
instance, money cannot capture the experience of listening to the Talbott
Brothers yesterday at the Lark. Money
may help you get in the door, or bring home a CD, but the energy of the room,
the spirit of the moment, the synergy between the performers, or the way it
touches your soul cannot be recreated, regardless of how much money is spent.
Money
also seems to fail against the march of time.
While it might be true that retirement is the time in your life when
time is no longer money… the other truism is that you cannot buy back
yesterday – minutes lost, or mistakes made, or regrets. Money fails us here too.
And
money doesn’t necessarily keep you healthy, or necessarily help when you are
sick. Money can provide treatment but
cannot undo disease, or help comfort those going through illness.
Today’s
Gospel reading is a money trap. The
Chief Priests, the Pharisees, the Herodians – these traditional enemies are so
frustrated by Jesus that they are ready to work with each other if it means
they will overcome Jesus. So they craft
the perfect question, a question that has danger on both sides.
“Is
it lawful to pay taxes to the Emperor?” The
Roman tax referenced here was levied annually on harvests and personal
property. It was a poll tax in that it
was determined by registration in the census.
And although the tax was administered by Jewish authorities, it put a
heavy economic burden on the impoverished residents of first-century
Palestine. There was, at least one
revolt provoked by this tax in the year 6 of the Common Era.
So
the majority of the people are against the tax.
But the Roman ruling power – and the Roman guard – took the tax very
seriously. If Jesus answers yes, it is
in fact lawful to pay taxes, he risks alienating all the struggling lower and
middle class Jews who are stifled, stressed and starved by this tax. But if he says no, it is unlawful to pay
taxes while the Roman guard stands watch, he will be brought up on charges of
sedition and fomenting rebellion by the Roman officials.
This
verse is well loved by many probably equally for it’s cleverness as much as for
the clear illustration of the tension in this balancing act.
Jesus
answers with a clear challenge to us, asking us, to whom do you belong? Do you belong to the image stamped on the
coin in your pocket, or do you belong to God, in whose image you were made?
Caesar
can stamp his picture and name far and wide, but Caesar is not the image
stamped on our soul. Because Caesar’s
interest in the well-being of his subjects stops abruptly at the point where
his power over their livelihood is threatened.
Caesar may own our financial debt, but Caesar does not have any claim on
the depth of our hearts. Jesus’ words
point to God’s interest in us, which has nothing to do with power or market
forces. Caesar may direct payment and
control the cash register, but he cannot come near the true commerce of life
that animates us. So Caesar will get
many or most of the coins, and be flattered by how well his likeness is
rendered in the medium of cold, hard, cash; but the coin of the realm of our
flesh and blood is the image of God.
What is rendered to God is whatever bears the divine image. Every life is marked with that inscription –
an icon of the One who is its source and destination.
And
this is where money fails us. We are
still caught in that tension between Caesar’s coin and God’s claim on our
hearts. And – I don’t know about you but
I can speak for myself – the immediacy of bills and the perk of shopping and
the lust for travel keep those coins on my mind. The lure of advertising and the temptation of
sales and the measurement of job creation and the focus on GDP as the
all-important indicator of good in our world keeps the pressure on.
But
so many of the beautiful things in life happen when money fails us. Money fails to measure the output of
afternoons raking leaves with grandchildren.
Money fails to measure the labor of love when we create meals for
friends and family. Money fails to
measure the width of joy on a child’s face when they encounter a new
experience. Money fails to measure the
inner dance of delight when put the final creative touches on a painting, or a
project, or a poem, or a pattern. Money
fails to measure the warmth of a cat’s fur when they curl on your lap. Money fails to measure the height of pride and
depth of poignancy when parents watch their last state marching band performance. Money fails to measure the sacredness of the
first moments when we welcome a newborn, or the last moments when we say
goodbye to a loved one, or so many of the in-between moments that bear the
image of God on our hearts.
There’s
an oft-repeated story on the interweb about a jar and some rocks. I’m sure most
of you have heard it before. It goes
like this…
A teacher walks into a classroom and sets a glass
jar on the table. He silently places 2-inch rocks in the jar until no more can
fit. He asks the class if the jar is full and they agree it is. He says,
“Really,” and pulls out a pile of small pebbles, adding them to the jar,
shaking it slightly until they fill the spaces between the rocks. He asks
again, “Is the jar full?” They agree. So next, he adds a scoop of sand to the
jar, filling the space between the pebbles and asks the question again. This
time, the class is divided, some feeling that the jar is obviously full, but
others are wary of another trick. So he grabs a pitcher of water and fills the
jar to the brim, saying, “If this jar is your life, what does this experiment
show you?” After a long look at each student, he explains. “The rocks represent
the BIG things in your life – what you will value at the end of your life –
your family, your partner, your health, fulfilling your hopes and dreams. The
pebbles are the other things in your life that give it meaning, like your job,
your house, your hobbies, your friendships. The sand and water represent the ‘small
stuff’ that fills our time – but not necessarily our soul.”
What are the big rocks in your
life? My guess is the majority of them
are not measured by money.
When
we look at each other, or in the mirror, we intend to see the inscriptions that
our business with the world has left on us: you are what you look like, what
you have, what you wear, what you do, the company you keep. Nevertheless, underneath all those
inscriptions is a much deeper mark: the sparkle of light in the eyes, the
smudged sign of a cross made once upon a time on the forehead, the image of all
children at play and at rest, and the all the memories of all the things that
can’t be measured. All those faces are a
part of your face, when you see the image that God sees. It becomes clear whose image is engraved upon
our souls, and to whom we belong.
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