The Pharisees went and plotted to entrap Jesus in what he said. So they sent their disciples to him, along with the Herodians, saying, “Teacher, we know that you are sincere, and teach the way of God in accordance with truth, and show deference to no one; for you do not regard people with partiality. Tell us, then, what you think. Is it lawful to pay taxes to the emperor, or not?”
But Jesus, aware of their malice, said, “Why are you putting me to the test, you hypocrites? Show me the coin used for the tax.”
And they brought him a denarius.
Then he said to them, “Whose head is this, and whose title?”
They answered, “The emperor’s.”
Then he said to them, “Give therefore to the emperor the things that are the emperor’s, and to God the things that are God’s.”
When they heard this, they were amazed; and they left him and went away.
In one of his finest no-answer answers, Jesus said: “Give therefore to the emperor the things that are the emperor’s, and to God the things that are God’s.”
His critics were “amazed.” They got it. They understood his point.
It seemed somehow clear to them. Clear enough to turn and walk away.
But it has rarely seemed that clear to us. Over the centuries Christians developed at least five interpretations of Jesus’ “render to Caesar” comment: (1) Caesar and God are separate — pay the tax; (2) Caesar and God are an enigma, an unsolvable puzzle meant as a deflection; (3) Caesar and God are a paradox and we, somehow, must serve both; (4) Caesar and God are at odds — pay your taxes but “with contempt”; or (5) Caesar is under the authority of God and give the state nothing, no matter the consequences.
Take your pick. Each one of these positions has theological oomph — and has been supported and argued over and over and over again in church history.
That makes me wonder: Have we missed the point?
When this story was first written down, sometime between 60 and 80, Roman emperors made a claim to divinity. Indeed, the imperial titles for Caesar included “Dominus et Deus” and “Dominus et Salvator.” Not “Mr. President” or “Your Honor” or even “Your Royal Highness” or “Your Majesty.” But “Lord and God” or “Lord and Savior.” Those were titles held by Caesar.
Jews hated it. This was idolatry. And Christians hated it, too. Christians hated it so much that they stole the titles and gave them to Jesus. No calling Nero their Lord and God. Instead, they proclaimed “Jesus is Lord.”
And the year 60, they were being killed for saying it.
That’s the invisible context of the Caesar tax story. In these early years, every Christian knew their creed: Jesus is Lord. Not Caesar.
The first audience of Matthew’s gospel would have known exactly how it was intended. The story undergirded their creed — Jesus is Lord. Not Caesar. They might have laughed upon hearing or reading it. Caesar thinks everything belongs to him. We don’t think that! Because nothing belongs to Caesar. Everything belongs to God!
The story was written down because it supported what Christians already believed. Not that they were trying to figure out some doctrine of church and state.
They were not worried about taxes. They were worried about Roman authorities throwing them to wild beasts.
They already knew that Caesar was a pretender. That evil was upon the throne. And God? Well, no matter what Caesar did, even if he murdered them, Caesar could never own them. Because God did. Through faith. Through baptism. Through their love of God. Through their solidarity with neighbors. Jesus is Lord!
And that’s it. The first creed was a theological statement. And it was a political statement. The first creed was theo-political. Jesus is Lord. Caesar is not.
In the case of this verse, the long historical argument of state and church in Christian theology is a complexity of our own making. It is complicated because we’ve made it complicated — trying to justify governments and practices and systems of politics that literally have nothing to do with divine intention and the sacred heartbeat of the cosmos.
Jesus is Lord. Caesar is not.
The Pharisees were amazed because it was so clear. So simple. They’d complexified Caesar and God — and Jesus cut to the chase. Give to Caesar what is Caesar’s — to God what is God’s.
It is simple. Everything belongs to God. Simple, yes. But it is very hard to live. The early Christians knew that. Simplicity doesn’t mean it is easy. And we know that, too.
But the simplicity still shines: God. Dominus et Deus. Lord and God. Dominus Mundi. Lord of the Earth. Dominus universum. Lord of the Universe.
Remember the creed — the cry — of the first followers of Jesus: Jesus is Lord!
Not Caesar. Never Caesar.
May we be brave enough to proclaim the same — and courageous enough to live it in our day.
Diane Butler Bass “The Cottage”