B.C. and A.D.
Commentary
We were looking through some family photos the other evening, pictures taken from when we first moved into our present home, which was now twelve years ago. As you might expect, each picture was striking because of all that had changed. The interior of the house looks so different in many ways — different furniture, different colored walls, different carpeting, and such. The outside, likewise, looks different, as my wife has invested a good deal of time recreating and improving the landscaping. And then, of course, there are the people themselves. How the children have grown and changed in the past twelve years! (My wife and I, on the other hand, look exactly the same.)
The photos we were enjoying together were not deliberately taken for the purpose of being part of a before-and-after comparison. Yet almost any picture from the past can have that quality, can serve that purpose. Whether deliberately or naturally, things change over time. Pictures from an earlier time, therefore, invariably become “before” pictures.
In some areas of life, of course, before-and-after pictures are purposely taken. When someone undertakes a diet and exercise program, they (or the program they used) are delighted to present a picture of what they looked like before side-by-side with a picture of what they look like now. Remodeling and renovation projects often feature the same sort of pairing of pictures. I recently saw photographs that showed the difference made in a piece of land by a massive irrigation effort, turning a pretty desolate area into a fertile and fruitful one.
Before and after pictures ought also to be familiar to us at a spiritual level. Perhaps no actual photographs are involved, but still the principle is the same. The Christian’s testimony, after all, is a before-and-after testimony.
In this respect, the traditional dating designations — B.C. and A.D. — are helpful symbols. The “B.C.” refers to the years “before Christ” came. The “A.D.”, meanwhile, refers to the Latin “anno domini” — the year of the Lord. It recalls the ancient method of dating things in terms of a monarch’s reign (see, for example, Luke 3:1). The usage of “A.D.” represents an affirmation that Christ inaugurated his kingdom on earth, and so we are living under his reign.
That nomenclature has been replaced (or, dare I say, disguised) with the “B.C.E.” and “C.E.” conventions. But the older approach conveyed a significant message: namely, that history itself is a before-and-after picture. The “before” is the world, its knowledge of God, and its relationship to him before Christ came; the “after” is the world, its knowledge of God, and its relationship to him since Christ came.
And even if we have abandoned the traditional abbreviations for dating things, the principle still applies at a personal level. There is my life or yours “B.C.” It has a certain look and character. And then there is my life or yours “A.D.” — that is, now that it is a year that belongs to the Lord, a life that is under his reign.
Exodus 33:12-23
Our Old Testament passage features several elements worth noting. An expository preacher might feel able to cover them all. A preacher with a different approach, however, might have to choose just one for his or her sermonic focus.
First, we note the larger context that leads us to this moment. In the preceding chapter, Exodus 32, we read the miserable account of the golden calf episode. It was a betrayal and disappointment at so many levels. And so, early in chapter 33, the Lord communicated to Moses his intent to send his angel ahead of the people, but he said that he himself would not go with them.
As an aside, because the modern mind is so imbued with an assumption of God’s omnipresence, we may underappreciate the biblical theme of God promising to be “with” his people. “Of course, he is with us,” we think, “because he is with everyone, because he is everywhere.” But being present is not the same as being with. We shouldn’t imagine, therefore, that the Lord’s sad word to Moses meant that the omnipresent God was somehow going to be altogether absent from the Sinai peninsula. Rather, I suspect there is something more profound at stake when he says that he will not go with them, and Moses and the people grieved over the prospect.
Then we come to the second issue of great significance in this episode: Moses’ intercession. In this case, the modern believer may be handicapped by his or her sense of God’s omniscience. Inasmuch as he knows all, we are sometimes tempted to doubt the purpose or efficacy of our prayers. After all, what could we possibly add to his thinking, understanding, or decision-making?
Our humility in this matter is quite correct, of course, but scripture still bears witness to a relational God who deigns to respond to the pleas of his people. The Lord has stated clearly what he will do, what he will not do, and his reasons why. Yet Moses does not hesitate to do what seems a presumptuous thing: he endeavors to change God’s mind — or at least his plan. And while the modern mind may tend to dismiss the whole scene as a primitive anthropomorphism, scripture is unblushing in its testimony about a God who can be prevailed upon by human beings. It’s quite remarkable, and it ought to fuel our prayer lives.
Then, third, we come to this potentially uncomfortable moment in which the Lord seems to change his mind. Of course, if we are honest with ourselves, we would have to admit that either option is somewhat uncomfortable for us. On the one hand, we are uneasy with the thought of an omniscient, all-wise, and eternal God changing his mind in response to a human plea. On the other hand, our hands would hang limp in despair if we truly thought that there was no point to our crying out to God in prayer.
A distinction should be made between changing God’s mind and changing God’s nature. While there are episodes in scripture of people — like Moses here — moving the Lord to act, there is no story in the Bible in which a human being persuades God to do something out of character. Perhaps it would be sufficient to note at this point that Moses and the Canaanite woman both prevail upon the Lord and receive his mercy. Jonah and the “sons of thunder,” on the other hand, would prefer to see God judge and destroy, but are only reprimanded for their expressed desire. There is, it seems, a particular direction that our prayers can make God’s hand move.
Then, finally, we come to the scene in which Moses asks to see the Lord’s glory, and the Lord responds in what, again, seems strangely anthropomorphic. So much has been written on this moment in the biblical story, and we cannot possibly do justice to all of it here. Suffice it, therefore, to make a few high-level observations. First, Moses is an example to us all in his pursuit of God. While fear or indifference keep so many at a distance, Moses wanted more. And his incalculable reward was to enjoy an intimacy with God rarely achieved (see Deuteronomy 34;10). Second, there is an implied connection between God’s face and God’s glory, which lends some understanding into other passages where the appearance of Jesus’ face is a matter of such emphasis (e.g., Matthew 17:2, Revelation 1:6), while other experiences with God’s glory are highly descriptive yet do not even attempt to describe his face (e.g., Isaiah 6, Ezekiel 1). Third, we are better positioned to understand the profound claim that the writer of the fourth gospel makes about Jesus (see John 1:14). And, finally, in a kind of double-grace, if you will, the Lord both allows Moses to come nearer and is careful to protect him at the same time.
1 Thessalonians 1:1-10
Many New Testament scholars suggest that 1 Thessalonians is the earliest of Paul’s letters. And, as such, many would contend that this is the earliest written material we have in our New Testament. Whatever the timing of this passage within that larger scheme of things, we gather from the letter itself that Paul probably wrote it during his second missionary journey, having established the church in Thessalonica not that long before.
It is difficult for an American congregation to climb into the original context of such a letter. Many of us grew up in the church, were surrounded by believers for our whole lives, and have known the stories about Jesus since before we can remember. Accordingly, it’s hard to imagine the situation that serves as the backdrop for this epistle.
Let us, therefore, try to paint this picture in our mind’s eye. The people who lived in Thessalonica in the middle of the first-century AD had never heard of Jesus. Many of them had never heard of the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Moses was unknown to them. So were David, Elijah, and Isaiah. And the stories of Bethlehem, Nazareth, Galilee, Calvary, and the empty tomb were completely unheard of.
Then this man named Paul, along with some companions, appeared in town and began to proclaim a new and unfamiliar message. To the Jews in Thessalonica, it was at least a message with significant points of connection with what they already knew and believed. For the Gentile residents, however, Paul’s message was almost an entirely foreign word.
Yet that message did not come “in word only, but also in power and in the Holy Spirit and with full conviction.” Paul and his fellows were not just traveling philosophers. They were no mere sophists. Rather, their message and their lives combined to form something so compelling that many in Thessalonica came to faith in Christ. And now they were a fledgling church of new believers, to whom Paul was writing this letter of instruction and encouragement.
People sometimes carelessly pit Paul and James against one another on the whole issue of the relationship between faith and works. Paul does not address that issue overtly here, but his anecdotal accounting shows that he and James are in harmony: that is, faith is accompanied and verified by works. That’s not the terminology Paul uses here, but we see a pattern in this passage of believing and living. Those who have faith in Christ are known by how they live.
That, as we noted above, was central to the effectiveness of Paul’s message in Thessalonica. Now, in this letter to those young believers, he reminds them of the example that he and his companions set for the Thessalonians: “you know what kind of men we proved to be among you.” And that happy marriage of believing and living produces offspring: the Thessalonians themselves.
Paul recalls that the believers in Thessalonica became imitators of Paul and company. That is both the way it should work and the way it does work.
In so many aspects of human behavior, we human beings do live by imitation. We learn how to do so much of what we do by imitating. And we also pick up some bad behaviors, or at least idiosyncratic patterns, by way of the influence of others.
Meanwhile, of course, we know that the examples around us are not monolithic. We don’t imitate everything that we see. And so, it behooves us to be selective about what we imitate, and Paul commended the Thessalonians for becoming imitators of him.
Interestingly, just as Paul had been an example to them, now the Thessalonians are becoming an example to others. An important element of Paul’s rejoicing in these opening verses of the letter is the phenomenon he has observed: that the faith and witness of those Christians in Thessalonica has begun to have an impact on the whole region and beyond. Believing and living go together — and just keep going!
Matthew 22:15-22
If the stakes were not so high and the errors not so tragic, the scene would be almost comic. It's hard not to crack a smile when you see people left speechless by a clever response. And especially when the people in question are malevolent in their motives.
Jesus makes his triumphant entry into Jerusalem in Matthew 21, and almost immediately he is preyed upon by different representatives of the establishment that is hostile toward him. We certainly see evidence of that hostility during his Galilean ministry, but it reaches a boiling point once Jesus is in Jerusalem. He is arguably on their turf once he's there, and the enthusiastic response of the crowds must have been deeply unsettling to those leaders in Jerusalem.
Matthew reports a series of encounters in which Jesus' opponents are endeavoring to trip him or trap him. This particular episode seems to be a perfectly-designed trap. When asking about so volatile an issue as paying taxes to the emperor, it would seem that Jesus is left without any good option. A pro-tax response will cost him much of his popular appeal, along with some of the misplaced hopes of the crowds. An anti-tax answer, on the other hand, would land him in immediate trouble with the Roman authorities. Either way, Jesus' opponents thought they had accomplished checkmate.
Jesus's response to their question ranks with Solomon's famous judgment about the disputed baby in 1st Kings 3. It is the awesomeness of wisdom. It is the genius of finding a way out where there was no way out, of giving an answer to which there can be no rebuttal.
We have all seen — perhaps been part of — arguments that seem to have no end. While this person is articulating his position, the other person is barely able to contain the multiple responses that are occurring to him. And when it is his turn, his opposite is, likewise, pawing the ground for the chance to expand on his point of view. Back and forth some arguments go, with no resolution, with no one winning a definitive last word.
In this dispute in Matthew 22, however, there is a definitive last word. Jesus gives his answer, and there is no “but,” no “on the other hand,” no “you’re wrong about...” Nothing. Crickets.
Yet the genius of Jesus’ reply goes beyond just its un-answerability. He does not merely accomplish a rhetorical escape. Rather, he speaks profound and beautiful truths.
First, there is a deft demotion of money. While the world grabs and jockeys and clamors for more of it, Jesus shows that he holds it very loosely. The image and name on it suggest that it belongs to someone else. And if it’s his, then let him have it.
Second, there is the skillful submission to those in authority without an endorsement of them. This is likely a theme that could be traced throughout the New Testament. Jesus is neither pledging allegiance to Caesar nor defending the Roman Empire. He simply confirms a proper deference to the civil authorities, while still managing to subordinate them to something bigger and more important.
Which brings us, finally, to the “render unto God” line. This is the truly important matter, you see. The antagonists behaved as though the big issue was taxes and Caesar. Jesus’ response puts everything back into perspective, however, reminding all that the big issue is God. For it matters very little whether you do right by the emperor or not if you are not doing right by God. And so, Jesus’ interrogators — along with the listening crowd, and along with you and me — are left to ponder the weighty question of whether we are rendering unto him what is his.
Application
The men and women to whom Paul wrote in 1 Thessalonians were brand new Christians. Indeed, as we alluded to above, they were the sort of Christians that most of us have little or no contact with. While we may be surrounded by folks who grew up in church, immersed in the things of God, they were people who had never even heard of Jesus before the Apostle Paul came to town. For these folks, “B.C.” was probably only a few months earlier.
Paul is candid about what B.C. looked like for them: “you turned to God from idols to serve a living and true God.” This was a complete paradigm shift for these people, you see. It was a move from false to true, from darkness to light, from death to life. And what Paul writes about their faith and example indicates that their new “A.D.” life presented the world around them with a dramatically different “after” picture.
“A.D.” living is also implied in our gospel lection.
The people in Jesus’ audience certainly knew all about living under someone’s reign. They were in the such-and-such year of Tiberius Caesar. That was not necessarily a desirable thing for them, to be sure, but it was a concept that they understood. And that reign — the lordship of Caesar — lay behind the challenging question that Jesus’ antagonists put to him.
As we have touched on above and elaborated on below, Jesus’ famous answer about paying taxes to the emperor carries with it a strong though tacit message about our relationship to God. The coin, you see, was regarded as belonging to Caesar inasmuch as it featured his name and image. Therefore, inasmuch as we are called by the Lord’s name and were made — and are being remade — in his image, it follows that we must belong to him.
Belonging to the Lord is also a part of the context behind our Old Testament passage. While the plot moves ultimately to Moses’ distinctive encounter with the Lord and his glory, the early part of the episode features Moses saying to the Lord, “Consider too, that this nation is your people.” So much of the Old Testament law for the children of Israel was built upon the predicate that they were the people who belonged to the Lord God. His reign, his lordship, his ownership of them, if you will, was the basis for how they were to conduct their lives, both individually and as a society.
To belong to him is to be living an “A.D.” life. We live under his reign; we function under his lordship. It behooves the believer, therefore, to be mindful of his or her own before-and-after pictures. There ought to be a difference, you see. And the world ought to see that difference, just as they did with those young Christians in ancient Thessalonica.
Alternative Application(s)
Matthew 22:15-22 — No More Finders-Keepers
I was taking a walk around a neighborhood on a very lovely, early summer day. Lots of folks were out, taking walks, jogging, riding bikes, pushing strollers. And as I walked along, I thought I saw a dollar bill lying on the street near a parked pick-up truck some yards ahead of me. I kept my eye on it as I drew closer. And when I finally came to it, I discovered that it was a twenty-dollar bill.
I picked it up and looked around. The nearest person was a man working in his yard across the street from where the truck was parked. I called out to him: “Excuse me, sir... Is this your truck?” “Yep.” “Well, I found this $20 bill near it. Perhaps it’s yours.” He reached out, put the $20 bill in his pocket, and thanked me.
Now I think it’s a legitimate question whether that money was actually his. He might have pocketed money that someone else had lost. So I’m not sure that the money was his. What I am sure about, however, is that it wasn’t mine.
I observe that my youngest children still operate very much on a finders-keepers-losers-weepers mentality. They think that to find something is to own it. I am trying to teach them differently.
In his encounter with the Pharisees recounted in Matthew 22, meanwhile, Jesus was also trying to teach a different mentality and paradigm about ownership. People seem to assume that what is in their possession belongs to them. Perhaps that’s natural. And, in many ways, they do have the law on their side. Yet the children of the kingdom are invited to think differently.
First, Jesus’ observation about currency is revolutionary. Who doesn’t operate with the assumption that the money in their pockets — money they have earned, after all! — is not theirs? Yet Jesus looks at the names and images on it, and he concludes that it must belong to someone else. In the case of the coin employed for the teaching, Caesar’s name and image were on the coin, and so Jesus reasonably concluded that the coin must be Caesar’s. It seems that Jesus did not keep a tight grip on money. And, as a consequence, money probably did not have any hold on him.
It was not at all difficult for me to pass along the $20 bill that I found on the street because I knew it wasn’t mine. Perhaps if I weren’t so convinced that the $20 bill in my pocket was mine, I would give it away more easily, too. Jesus clearly wants me to be ready to give it away (see, for example, Matthew 5:42, Mark 10:21, Luke 12:33).
Second, Jesus moves far beyond the transient currency that was the central concern of the Pharisees’ question. He uses his observation about the coin and Caesar to move his audience to a far more significant matter. What belongs to God? What is due to him? For whatever it is, that surely is an obligation we ought to pay.
The answer to the question, of course, is implied by the standard set in the case of the coin. What is it that has God’s image? What is it that has his name on it? Look in the mirror, and see what, according to Jesus, belongs to God.
If I am hard to convince that the money in my pocket is not my own, how much tougher will it be to persuade me that I — my body, my time, my attention, my future, and such — are not my own? According to Jesus, however, the evidence suggests that I belong to God. So let me loosen my grip on the things I am accustomed to calling my own. And once it has penetrated my understanding that “I” do not belong to me any more than that $20 bill on the road did, let me freely and gladly go to the Lord, offer myself, and say, “I believe this is yours!”
The photos we were enjoying together were not deliberately taken for the purpose of being part of a before-and-after comparison. Yet almost any picture from the past can have that quality, can serve that purpose. Whether deliberately or naturally, things change over time. Pictures from an earlier time, therefore, invariably become “before” pictures.
In some areas of life, of course, before-and-after pictures are purposely taken. When someone undertakes a diet and exercise program, they (or the program they used) are delighted to present a picture of what they looked like before side-by-side with a picture of what they look like now. Remodeling and renovation projects often feature the same sort of pairing of pictures. I recently saw photographs that showed the difference made in a piece of land by a massive irrigation effort, turning a pretty desolate area into a fertile and fruitful one.
Before and after pictures ought also to be familiar to us at a spiritual level. Perhaps no actual photographs are involved, but still the principle is the same. The Christian’s testimony, after all, is a before-and-after testimony.
In this respect, the traditional dating designations — B.C. and A.D. — are helpful symbols. The “B.C.” refers to the years “before Christ” came. The “A.D.”, meanwhile, refers to the Latin “anno domini” — the year of the Lord. It recalls the ancient method of dating things in terms of a monarch’s reign (see, for example, Luke 3:1). The usage of “A.D.” represents an affirmation that Christ inaugurated his kingdom on earth, and so we are living under his reign.
That nomenclature has been replaced (or, dare I say, disguised) with the “B.C.E.” and “C.E.” conventions. But the older approach conveyed a significant message: namely, that history itself is a before-and-after picture. The “before” is the world, its knowledge of God, and its relationship to him before Christ came; the “after” is the world, its knowledge of God, and its relationship to him since Christ came.
And even if we have abandoned the traditional abbreviations for dating things, the principle still applies at a personal level. There is my life or yours “B.C.” It has a certain look and character. And then there is my life or yours “A.D.” — that is, now that it is a year that belongs to the Lord, a life that is under his reign.
Exodus 33:12-23
Our Old Testament passage features several elements worth noting. An expository preacher might feel able to cover them all. A preacher with a different approach, however, might have to choose just one for his or her sermonic focus.
First, we note the larger context that leads us to this moment. In the preceding chapter, Exodus 32, we read the miserable account of the golden calf episode. It was a betrayal and disappointment at so many levels. And so, early in chapter 33, the Lord communicated to Moses his intent to send his angel ahead of the people, but he said that he himself would not go with them.
As an aside, because the modern mind is so imbued with an assumption of God’s omnipresence, we may underappreciate the biblical theme of God promising to be “with” his people. “Of course, he is with us,” we think, “because he is with everyone, because he is everywhere.” But being present is not the same as being with. We shouldn’t imagine, therefore, that the Lord’s sad word to Moses meant that the omnipresent God was somehow going to be altogether absent from the Sinai peninsula. Rather, I suspect there is something more profound at stake when he says that he will not go with them, and Moses and the people grieved over the prospect.
Then we come to the second issue of great significance in this episode: Moses’ intercession. In this case, the modern believer may be handicapped by his or her sense of God’s omniscience. Inasmuch as he knows all, we are sometimes tempted to doubt the purpose or efficacy of our prayers. After all, what could we possibly add to his thinking, understanding, or decision-making?
Our humility in this matter is quite correct, of course, but scripture still bears witness to a relational God who deigns to respond to the pleas of his people. The Lord has stated clearly what he will do, what he will not do, and his reasons why. Yet Moses does not hesitate to do what seems a presumptuous thing: he endeavors to change God’s mind — or at least his plan. And while the modern mind may tend to dismiss the whole scene as a primitive anthropomorphism, scripture is unblushing in its testimony about a God who can be prevailed upon by human beings. It’s quite remarkable, and it ought to fuel our prayer lives.
Then, third, we come to this potentially uncomfortable moment in which the Lord seems to change his mind. Of course, if we are honest with ourselves, we would have to admit that either option is somewhat uncomfortable for us. On the one hand, we are uneasy with the thought of an omniscient, all-wise, and eternal God changing his mind in response to a human plea. On the other hand, our hands would hang limp in despair if we truly thought that there was no point to our crying out to God in prayer.
A distinction should be made between changing God’s mind and changing God’s nature. While there are episodes in scripture of people — like Moses here — moving the Lord to act, there is no story in the Bible in which a human being persuades God to do something out of character. Perhaps it would be sufficient to note at this point that Moses and the Canaanite woman both prevail upon the Lord and receive his mercy. Jonah and the “sons of thunder,” on the other hand, would prefer to see God judge and destroy, but are only reprimanded for their expressed desire. There is, it seems, a particular direction that our prayers can make God’s hand move.
Then, finally, we come to the scene in which Moses asks to see the Lord’s glory, and the Lord responds in what, again, seems strangely anthropomorphic. So much has been written on this moment in the biblical story, and we cannot possibly do justice to all of it here. Suffice it, therefore, to make a few high-level observations. First, Moses is an example to us all in his pursuit of God. While fear or indifference keep so many at a distance, Moses wanted more. And his incalculable reward was to enjoy an intimacy with God rarely achieved (see Deuteronomy 34;10). Second, there is an implied connection between God’s face and God’s glory, which lends some understanding into other passages where the appearance of Jesus’ face is a matter of such emphasis (e.g., Matthew 17:2, Revelation 1:6), while other experiences with God’s glory are highly descriptive yet do not even attempt to describe his face (e.g., Isaiah 6, Ezekiel 1). Third, we are better positioned to understand the profound claim that the writer of the fourth gospel makes about Jesus (see John 1:14). And, finally, in a kind of double-grace, if you will, the Lord both allows Moses to come nearer and is careful to protect him at the same time.
1 Thessalonians 1:1-10
Many New Testament scholars suggest that 1 Thessalonians is the earliest of Paul’s letters. And, as such, many would contend that this is the earliest written material we have in our New Testament. Whatever the timing of this passage within that larger scheme of things, we gather from the letter itself that Paul probably wrote it during his second missionary journey, having established the church in Thessalonica not that long before.
It is difficult for an American congregation to climb into the original context of such a letter. Many of us grew up in the church, were surrounded by believers for our whole lives, and have known the stories about Jesus since before we can remember. Accordingly, it’s hard to imagine the situation that serves as the backdrop for this epistle.
Let us, therefore, try to paint this picture in our mind’s eye. The people who lived in Thessalonica in the middle of the first-century AD had never heard of Jesus. Many of them had never heard of the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Moses was unknown to them. So were David, Elijah, and Isaiah. And the stories of Bethlehem, Nazareth, Galilee, Calvary, and the empty tomb were completely unheard of.
Then this man named Paul, along with some companions, appeared in town and began to proclaim a new and unfamiliar message. To the Jews in Thessalonica, it was at least a message with significant points of connection with what they already knew and believed. For the Gentile residents, however, Paul’s message was almost an entirely foreign word.
Yet that message did not come “in word only, but also in power and in the Holy Spirit and with full conviction.” Paul and his fellows were not just traveling philosophers. They were no mere sophists. Rather, their message and their lives combined to form something so compelling that many in Thessalonica came to faith in Christ. And now they were a fledgling church of new believers, to whom Paul was writing this letter of instruction and encouragement.
People sometimes carelessly pit Paul and James against one another on the whole issue of the relationship between faith and works. Paul does not address that issue overtly here, but his anecdotal accounting shows that he and James are in harmony: that is, faith is accompanied and verified by works. That’s not the terminology Paul uses here, but we see a pattern in this passage of believing and living. Those who have faith in Christ are known by how they live.
That, as we noted above, was central to the effectiveness of Paul’s message in Thessalonica. Now, in this letter to those young believers, he reminds them of the example that he and his companions set for the Thessalonians: “you know what kind of men we proved to be among you.” And that happy marriage of believing and living produces offspring: the Thessalonians themselves.
Paul recalls that the believers in Thessalonica became imitators of Paul and company. That is both the way it should work and the way it does work.
In so many aspects of human behavior, we human beings do live by imitation. We learn how to do so much of what we do by imitating. And we also pick up some bad behaviors, or at least idiosyncratic patterns, by way of the influence of others.
Meanwhile, of course, we know that the examples around us are not monolithic. We don’t imitate everything that we see. And so, it behooves us to be selective about what we imitate, and Paul commended the Thessalonians for becoming imitators of him.
Interestingly, just as Paul had been an example to them, now the Thessalonians are becoming an example to others. An important element of Paul’s rejoicing in these opening verses of the letter is the phenomenon he has observed: that the faith and witness of those Christians in Thessalonica has begun to have an impact on the whole region and beyond. Believing and living go together — and just keep going!
Matthew 22:15-22
If the stakes were not so high and the errors not so tragic, the scene would be almost comic. It's hard not to crack a smile when you see people left speechless by a clever response. And especially when the people in question are malevolent in their motives.
Jesus makes his triumphant entry into Jerusalem in Matthew 21, and almost immediately he is preyed upon by different representatives of the establishment that is hostile toward him. We certainly see evidence of that hostility during his Galilean ministry, but it reaches a boiling point once Jesus is in Jerusalem. He is arguably on their turf once he's there, and the enthusiastic response of the crowds must have been deeply unsettling to those leaders in Jerusalem.
Matthew reports a series of encounters in which Jesus' opponents are endeavoring to trip him or trap him. This particular episode seems to be a perfectly-designed trap. When asking about so volatile an issue as paying taxes to the emperor, it would seem that Jesus is left without any good option. A pro-tax response will cost him much of his popular appeal, along with some of the misplaced hopes of the crowds. An anti-tax answer, on the other hand, would land him in immediate trouble with the Roman authorities. Either way, Jesus' opponents thought they had accomplished checkmate.
Jesus's response to their question ranks with Solomon's famous judgment about the disputed baby in 1st Kings 3. It is the awesomeness of wisdom. It is the genius of finding a way out where there was no way out, of giving an answer to which there can be no rebuttal.
We have all seen — perhaps been part of — arguments that seem to have no end. While this person is articulating his position, the other person is barely able to contain the multiple responses that are occurring to him. And when it is his turn, his opposite is, likewise, pawing the ground for the chance to expand on his point of view. Back and forth some arguments go, with no resolution, with no one winning a definitive last word.
In this dispute in Matthew 22, however, there is a definitive last word. Jesus gives his answer, and there is no “but,” no “on the other hand,” no “you’re wrong about...” Nothing. Crickets.
Yet the genius of Jesus’ reply goes beyond just its un-answerability. He does not merely accomplish a rhetorical escape. Rather, he speaks profound and beautiful truths.
First, there is a deft demotion of money. While the world grabs and jockeys and clamors for more of it, Jesus shows that he holds it very loosely. The image and name on it suggest that it belongs to someone else. And if it’s his, then let him have it.
Second, there is the skillful submission to those in authority without an endorsement of them. This is likely a theme that could be traced throughout the New Testament. Jesus is neither pledging allegiance to Caesar nor defending the Roman Empire. He simply confirms a proper deference to the civil authorities, while still managing to subordinate them to something bigger and more important.
Which brings us, finally, to the “render unto God” line. This is the truly important matter, you see. The antagonists behaved as though the big issue was taxes and Caesar. Jesus’ response puts everything back into perspective, however, reminding all that the big issue is God. For it matters very little whether you do right by the emperor or not if you are not doing right by God. And so, Jesus’ interrogators — along with the listening crowd, and along with you and me — are left to ponder the weighty question of whether we are rendering unto him what is his.
Application
The men and women to whom Paul wrote in 1 Thessalonians were brand new Christians. Indeed, as we alluded to above, they were the sort of Christians that most of us have little or no contact with. While we may be surrounded by folks who grew up in church, immersed in the things of God, they were people who had never even heard of Jesus before the Apostle Paul came to town. For these folks, “B.C.” was probably only a few months earlier.
Paul is candid about what B.C. looked like for them: “you turned to God from idols to serve a living and true God.” This was a complete paradigm shift for these people, you see. It was a move from false to true, from darkness to light, from death to life. And what Paul writes about their faith and example indicates that their new “A.D.” life presented the world around them with a dramatically different “after” picture.
“A.D.” living is also implied in our gospel lection.
The people in Jesus’ audience certainly knew all about living under someone’s reign. They were in the such-and-such year of Tiberius Caesar. That was not necessarily a desirable thing for them, to be sure, but it was a concept that they understood. And that reign — the lordship of Caesar — lay behind the challenging question that Jesus’ antagonists put to him.
As we have touched on above and elaborated on below, Jesus’ famous answer about paying taxes to the emperor carries with it a strong though tacit message about our relationship to God. The coin, you see, was regarded as belonging to Caesar inasmuch as it featured his name and image. Therefore, inasmuch as we are called by the Lord’s name and were made — and are being remade — in his image, it follows that we must belong to him.
Belonging to the Lord is also a part of the context behind our Old Testament passage. While the plot moves ultimately to Moses’ distinctive encounter with the Lord and his glory, the early part of the episode features Moses saying to the Lord, “Consider too, that this nation is your people.” So much of the Old Testament law for the children of Israel was built upon the predicate that they were the people who belonged to the Lord God. His reign, his lordship, his ownership of them, if you will, was the basis for how they were to conduct their lives, both individually and as a society.
To belong to him is to be living an “A.D.” life. We live under his reign; we function under his lordship. It behooves the believer, therefore, to be mindful of his or her own before-and-after pictures. There ought to be a difference, you see. And the world ought to see that difference, just as they did with those young Christians in ancient Thessalonica.
Alternative Application(s)
Matthew 22:15-22 — No More Finders-Keepers
I was taking a walk around a neighborhood on a very lovely, early summer day. Lots of folks were out, taking walks, jogging, riding bikes, pushing strollers. And as I walked along, I thought I saw a dollar bill lying on the street near a parked pick-up truck some yards ahead of me. I kept my eye on it as I drew closer. And when I finally came to it, I discovered that it was a twenty-dollar bill.
I picked it up and looked around. The nearest person was a man working in his yard across the street from where the truck was parked. I called out to him: “Excuse me, sir... Is this your truck?” “Yep.” “Well, I found this $20 bill near it. Perhaps it’s yours.” He reached out, put the $20 bill in his pocket, and thanked me.
Now I think it’s a legitimate question whether that money was actually his. He might have pocketed money that someone else had lost. So I’m not sure that the money was his. What I am sure about, however, is that it wasn’t mine.
I observe that my youngest children still operate very much on a finders-keepers-losers-weepers mentality. They think that to find something is to own it. I am trying to teach them differently.
In his encounter with the Pharisees recounted in Matthew 22, meanwhile, Jesus was also trying to teach a different mentality and paradigm about ownership. People seem to assume that what is in their possession belongs to them. Perhaps that’s natural. And, in many ways, they do have the law on their side. Yet the children of the kingdom are invited to think differently.
First, Jesus’ observation about currency is revolutionary. Who doesn’t operate with the assumption that the money in their pockets — money they have earned, after all! — is not theirs? Yet Jesus looks at the names and images on it, and he concludes that it must belong to someone else. In the case of the coin employed for the teaching, Caesar’s name and image were on the coin, and so Jesus reasonably concluded that the coin must be Caesar’s. It seems that Jesus did not keep a tight grip on money. And, as a consequence, money probably did not have any hold on him.
It was not at all difficult for me to pass along the $20 bill that I found on the street because I knew it wasn’t mine. Perhaps if I weren’t so convinced that the $20 bill in my pocket was mine, I would give it away more easily, too. Jesus clearly wants me to be ready to give it away (see, for example, Matthew 5:42, Mark 10:21, Luke 12:33).
Second, Jesus moves far beyond the transient currency that was the central concern of the Pharisees’ question. He uses his observation about the coin and Caesar to move his audience to a far more significant matter. What belongs to God? What is due to him? For whatever it is, that surely is an obligation we ought to pay.
The answer to the question, of course, is implied by the standard set in the case of the coin. What is it that has God’s image? What is it that has his name on it? Look in the mirror, and see what, according to Jesus, belongs to God.
If I am hard to convince that the money in my pocket is not my own, how much tougher will it be to persuade me that I — my body, my time, my attention, my future, and such — are not my own? According to Jesus, however, the evidence suggests that I belong to God. So let me loosen my grip on the things I am accustomed to calling my own. And once it has penetrated my understanding that “I” do not belong to me any more than that $20 bill on the road did, let me freely and gladly go to the Lord, offer myself, and say, “I believe this is yours!”
