Sermon for October 18, 2020 - The Twentieth Sunday after Pentecost - Proper 24A - The Rev'd Elise A. Feyerherm

Isaiah 45:1-7 – Psalm 96:1-13 – 1 Thessalonians 1:1-10 – Matthew 22:15-22

The scenario from our gospel this morning feels very contemporary, in which a group of people sets out to entrap someone whose religious and political allegiances are seen as threatening. Instead of doors opened to receive fresh air and understanding, questions become spears designed to wound and demonstrate the opponent’s weakness. “Tell us what you think. Is it lawful to pay taxes to the emperor, or not?” 

This question is beyond loaded. The emperor is a symbol not merely of government, but of oppression and idolatry. The tax was a way not only of counting heads in Judea and Galilee but of financing their own oppression. To support it was akin to asking for a knee to be pressed against their necks. But to challenge it was to mark oneself as a potential revolutionary. Either way, you couldn’t win.

This encounter is the first of a series of three controversies in this part of Matthew’s gospel – a question about the tax to Rome, followed by one about the resurrection of the dead, then about which is the greatest commandment. Each one designed not to understand, but to test, and, in the end, to defeat. Jesus spends much of his earthly ministry facing very real battles, whether against demons or disease or contempt for the downtrodden. His ministry of liberation and healing and inclusion threatens the delicate balance that has allowed so many to gain advantage, or even just survive, in a cutthroat world. 

This sounds so, so familiar. Is it just me, or does it seem as if everything is being weaponized lately? Our money and resources in the public square have become weapons of defense or attack or, probably, both. The questions being asked of ourselves and others, whether on the debate stage or the town hall or the confirmation hearing, are never just inquiries – they are improvised explosive devices designed to explode just where someone is most vulnerable. Everything is a battle these days, and it feels as if we can never rest. The world is at war, it might seem, in so many ways. No wonder we are tempted to turn our words – and our wallets – into weapons of intended destruction.

The adult formation class on Sunday mornings here at St. Paul’s has been exploring the idea of civil discourse – the reasons for and basic tenets of speaking respectfully with those with whom we may disagree. We are learning in this video series from various leaders in the Episcopal Church, clergy and laity, both how and why it is important to develop these practices, not only in the outside world, but within our church communities as well.

We are being challenged to remember that the dignity of every human person is a non-negotiable, even when it seems as if no one else is playing by that rule. We are learning the importance of creating brave spaces, where everyone feels heard. We have been reminded to step back and let others speak, especially when we ourselves occupy places of privilege and power. We are struggling with the fact that we will have to live with discomfort as we engage in these conversations. We are being reminded that asking questions is often more productive than responding with our own position. We are learning that when words and ideas are weaponized, there is no stopping the bleeding until we lay down our arms and ask for forgiveness.

And I for one am reminded continually of how hard this is to do. Let’s come back to the story we heard just a little bit ago about Jesus, and realize how even questions can be used as swords, depending on how they are framed and intended. “Tell us, is it lawful to give the tax to the emperor?”  What are our versions of that question? “Tell me, do you care about the poor?” Do you want our economy to thrive? “As you are considering your pledge, do you want the church to survive and thrive?”

Simple, yet loaded questions. How easy it is to ask questions in ways that attempt to trap the one we are questioning, or imply our own superiority in the way we ask the question. We may not ask these questions out loud, but are they in our minds and hearts? I know they are in mine.

It is so hard not to play games with each other, to keep our armor on, to send out barbs in the midst of even honest attempts to understand one another. It is so hard not to want to be right, and to catch others in the act of being wrong. It is so hard not to want to be armed, to weaponize everything at our disposal, just in case.

In response to the weaponized question of that particular hour, Jesus’ question is no less pointed, but is designed to teach, I think.  As they show him the coin used for the imperial tax, Jesus inquires, “Whose head is this, and whose title?” The head on the coin at that time was probably that of the emperor Tiberius, and the title, from the Latin, “august son of the divine Augustus, High Priest.” Ruler and god in one – an image designed to supplant any and all political and religious rivals. An image designed to conquer, to control, and to corrupt any who would dare to challenge it.

“Whose head is this, and whose title?” If we look at our own legal tender, we see perhaps better images, representing a system that at least seeks “liberty and justice for all,” even if it does not fully succeed in providing those things. Nowadays we have even begun to lose our connection with those aspirational images: our currency is more likely to bear only our own name, image, and title, on the credit card or the bank account. Whose head is this, and whose title? The world economy wants us to believe that our money is ours and ours alone to do with as we please. 

During this season at the end of the church year, when we ponder stewardship, what we owe to God and to each other from the abundant gifts God has showered upon us, we are given other images – icons, really – with which to engage in that serious prayer that is required if we are to lay down our own weaponized questions and actions. 

You have probably heard many other preachers remind you that behind Jesus’ question of “Whose head and whose title” is another question – whose image do you bear, and whose title? We bear, of course, the image of God, imprinted upon the human race from the very beginning of creation. And that means that all that we are and have ultimately belongs to God. No matter what our dollar bills have printed on them, no matter the name and title on our credit cards and bank accounts, it is God whose purposes are to be served.

But there is more. That image of God? We do not see it only in the mirror. It is imprinted upon every human being who exists and has ever existed on earth. Period. Our stewardship of money, of time, of talent, and of speech, is called to honor that image. It is a question that propels our prayer and our service and our speech: Whose image, and whose title? No weapons, no shields, no battle plans – just that image behind, before, and all around us, as we pray:

O God, whose image we bear into the world 

and whose face we see in Jesus Christ: 

Give us courage to lay down our weapons of fear and deceit and contempt, 

that we may behold your image not only in ourselves

but in those who would oppose and undermine us, 

and greet the world with generosity, compassion, and justice. 

All this we ask in the name of Jesus Christ, 

who walks with us and who lives and reigns with you and Holy Spirit, 

one God, now and forever. Amen.