Wednesday, October 19, 2011

Sermon: What is the Currency of the Kingdom of God?


Year A
Matthew 22:15-22

As a seminarian, I’m often asked a few questions by nearly everyone I meet at diocesan convention. Questions like:  What is seminary like?  How is seminary going?  For me, the experience of seminary is hard to boil down into something simple, but I will say this:  sometimes seminarians are put into awkward positions. 

For instance, if you were a seminarian, there may come a day when you haven’t been to your home parish in over a year, and on the day you return to preach, the reading from the lectionary is one of the Bible’s most explicitly political passages.

What do you do with that?
Contemporary American thought tends to support keeping religion and politics separate.  We do not often want to hear politics preached from pulpits.  We tend to think that religion is above politics—that religion should remain unstained by political processes. 

Or maybe it’s the other way.
Maybe religion stains politics…

We’ve seen through history and in current events that mixing religion and politics
can yield deadly results and oppressive policies.  Maybe, we think, it’s better to see religion as purely the realm of the spiritual, and politics the realm of the material—what we experience in the real world, outside of the church.

Still, the Gospel reading shows Jesus in the thick of a political situation, and reminding those around him of their responsibilities to God. 

I beg your indulgence, because in a time when many of us tend to live dualistic lives in between the secular and the religious, I believe it makes a difference if one’s faith leads one to allow constraints and divisions and oppressions that are already present in the world (and in the church), or leads one to participate in a faith that seeks to set people free.

But let’s begin at the beginning.  What’s going on in this story?  What is so political about it?


Jesus has come into Jerusalem just days before his death.  He and his entourage are in the temple.  He has been telling parables in which the Pharisees appear in a bad light.  Jesus makes them appear to be hypocritical and unbending religious purists. 

The Pharisees have had enough.  So the Pharisees think about ways to embarrass and discredit Jesus.  Maybe, they think, we can get him to say something embarrassing or treasonous.  The Pharisees send some of their own to Jesus with a question, along with some folks named in the gospel as Herodians.

Some background may be helpful here, because this is an odd part of the story.  You see, the Pharisees and the Herodians would not have liked each other.  ‘Herodian’ means a supporter of Herod Antipas, who was not a very nice guy.  He’s the guy who had John the Baptist, Jesus’ cousin, beheaded.

Herodians were folks who supported the Roman occupation of Jerusalem.  Pharisees did not like the Herodians because the Pharisees were not fans of the occupation; the Pharisees thought the Herodians were sell-outs.  But a mutual hate can make for strange friends, and Jesus made both the Pharisees and the Herodians nervous. 

Jesus threatened the power they had fought to keep
For the Pharisees’— it was their bid for the people’s religious lives,
For the Herodians— control of the occupational government. 
This meant that both groups had the most access to power; And someone like Jesus, who called their use of power into question, was a problem to be ‘resolved.’

The group comes up to Jesus, and they ask their trick question.  A yes or no question which should have embarrassed Jesus no matter which way he answered it.  If Jesus said to pay the tax, He would appear to be a sympathizer of the oppressive government and lose credibility with many of his followers; the Pharisees win.

If Jesus said not to pay the tax, he would be guilty of treason.  An agitator.  The Herodians would not let someone who openly protested their rule live.  Rome does not like rebels.  If Jesus says not to pay the tax, the Herodians could have him killed, and the Pharisees still win.

Pretty brilliant, right? 
Politics as usual in occupied territories.

Jesus throws them a curve ball by asking for the coin. The coin was a denarius.  And it looked a lot like coins we would see today, but with a major difference.  Our quarter doesn’t name George Washington as God; the denarius did name the emperor as God.

For a Jew to be carrying a coin that called anyone but the God of Israel divine—in the temple of all places!— should have been embarrassing.  That the Pharisees and Herodians could produce the coin probably made them a bit sheepish.

Jesus then asks who is on the coin. 
They answer ‘the emperor,’ and Jesus famously replies “Give to the emperor that which belongs to the emperor, and to God what belongs to God.”

With this response the Pharisees and the Herodians are humiliated.  They walk away amazed; surprised that they did not see that response coming.  Jesus managed to take their yes or no question about taxes and turn even that to God.

I want to suggest that the gospel reading for today is
more than Matthew bragging on Jesus’ rhetorical skills,
more than a tale showing Jesus’ political prowess,
more than a scriptural permission for Christians to pay taxes,
and more than a handy reading to pull out and read for church pledge drives. 

The gospel reading today is a challenge to us because we are  all called to ask a few questions:
What bears the image of God?
What is the currency of the Kingdom of God?
Does this have bearing on
Our politics today?

In asking these questions we are then called to a process of formation; a process of sifting through our lives to find out what bears the image of what would want to rule over us in this world; and what bears the image of God. It is a matter of discerning what is from the kingdoms of this world, and what is part of the Kingdom of God. 

This is an act of discernment that we engage on our own and in community.

What makes this task difficult is that we are not just in the world or just in sync with God. 
We are both of God and in the world. 

We look at both the best and the worst of what we carry within us, and like coins in our pockets, we examine these things closely to see whose image we find on them.

Perhaps we begin with the work of exchanging
Within ourselves and with God’s help
Hate for Love
despair for hope
darkness for light
injury for pardon
doubt for faith.
In doing this work inside us, we learn something about God and God’s desire for the world we see before us.

Then we begin to see God’s economy and that every person bears the inscription of God.  The image that God created, the image shared by Christ when he walked the earth as God incarnate, and the image which the Spirit enlivens daily. 

But sometimes that image of God in other people is hard to see. The world and other people try to stamp other inscriptions on us all. 
Inscriptions of
race,
gender,
nationality,
ability,
wealth,
even religion.

How do these inscriptions influence us to act? 
To take a look around our country: 
Race can determine your level of care in the hospital, when you watch a staff that is helpful to one patient become cold to another.
Gender can determine what positions you can hold in business, government, the Church—if not on paper at least in practice.
Nationality can determine whether or not you can be treated as a person by the government-- Whether or not you are known as an ‘illegal’ or subject to enhanced interrogation techniques, otherwise known as torture.
Ability can determine if you are seen as a child of God or a cross to bear for family and friends.
Wealth can determine whether or not you are respected, or considered a human being of worth.

These inscriptions are powerful.  They still have a hold on me.  It takes a daily effort not to see the person in front of us as the sum of what marks society inscribes on them, but as Children of God, bearing God’s image, and of precious worth. 

Then we are called to act on our discernment.  To act as though our recognition of what is God’s and what is the world’s has meaning that is more than a theological proposition, but a compass to guide our actions in life. This may have political consequences.

The effort is to see what God sees; to acknowledge the different set of standards of God’s Economy— an economy based on life, and flesh, and blood, and warmth, and love—instead of an economy of metal, and paper, and scarcity, and neglect.

Then we give to God what is God’s by recognizing the image of Christ
in the stranger,
the friend,
the sick,
the hungry,
the thirsty
the imprisoned,
and the poor.

And ultimately, we may find that recognizing what belongs to God is more rewarding than to bow to the inscriptions the world fosters or bow in homage to economic systems that betray or deny the inherent worth of others.  In so doing, we give back to God— and give to neighbor— that which bears God’s inscription:  love, hope, light, pardon, faith, and help.

To recognize the dignity of others in spite of what the world has set as important is a step toward acknowledging a part of the reign of God; and acting on that reality.
and that has political consequences. 

May your discernment of what bears God’s image in your life be fruitful.
Amen.

Monday, October 3, 2011

CPE: Running from God's luring

“Yes, but how do you know you are called?” He asked again, for the third time since we began to talk fifteen minutes earlier. 

He was a man in his late 60s, in the hospital for heart problems and a probable stroke three days prior.

The first time he asked, I was a bit taken aback.  I’m not often asked this question outside of divinity school or church circles.  I’ve written essays about this, but I still do not have an answer to this question that I can give in under 30 seconds.  I mean, what do I include? How much of my personal history? Feelings?  Mystical experiences?  The wisdom of a community gathered to discern?  Answering the “how are you called?” question is hard enough to answer once, but trying to answer it three times in a short period of time is difficult.  You start to wonder if there is any way you can speak of calling in a convincing manner. 

Personally, his question to me was also a taste of what I did on a day-to-day basis:  I asked probing questions into subjects that are felt very deeply.  It takes a soft touch to do this work with the gentleness needed to gain trust and keep people from fearing so much self-disclosure.  It is a skill I’m still working on, as one who is sometimes more comfortable with the style of a police interrogator.

I tried to answer, knowing that giving a little of myself tends to get something in return from the other person…and I wanted him to open up a bit.  We had passed the point of a visit in which a chaplain is easily dismissed.  He wanted me there.  But this was a man who informed me that he was willing to talk until it was a subject I shouldn’t touch.

The second time he asked, I thought it could have been that the possible stroke was interfering with his memory.  Then he asked a third time.

People sometimes try to deflect conversation from themselves…is he trying to keep the conversation on me to keep from talking about himself?  I thought, as I tried to answer his question again. Why would he want me here just to deflect the conversation to me?

Then it occurred to me.  He wasn’t deflecting the conversation away from himself.  We aren’t really talking about me.  Somehow we are talking about him.

I answered the question again for a third time, and rather shortly.  Before he could respond, I quickly followed up.

“You have felt called before, haven’t you?” I asked knowingly, with a confidence I did not necessarily feel.

He looked at me—hard—for a moment.

“Yes.”

“How long ago was that?”

“It was around the time I was twenty-five.”  The hardness and the walls he had put up quickly crumbled.  He considered becoming a minister, but he became a lawyer instead.  He had a successful practice.  But I got the sense that he was missing something.  He still felt the call lingering—if not so fresh, it was certainly not forgotten.  We spoke very candidly for about five minutes.

“Do you regret not acting on the call?”  I asked.

“I do,” he said, “and I’ve had a good life, but I do occasionally wonder what might have been.” 
At this point his wife and grown son came into the room, and his manner changed.  People for whom a different role was assumed.  And then his minister came in.  The patient was a devout parishioner in the minister’s eyes.  But could he be more?  Ordained or not, what were the contours of this patient’s priesthood?  What could the contours be.

I participated that day in the Sacrament of the Sick with the patient, his family, and the minister, but I didn’t get a chance to see him alone again.  If I could have, I would ask him if his calling could be re-pursued…how his current occupation could be re-enchanted with the presence of God…I would explore with him how to ask God for guidance.  Would the regret go away?  I doubt it.  Could this patient learn how to follow the lure of God even if not ordained?  I hoped so.  I still hope so.

Being around the seminary means I meet a wide range of people in different places in their life and journey with God.  Often the story of someone’s calling by God is partially a story of running away from a God who emanates a Divine Lure; a beckoning to join God in God’s work in the world.  The joke everyone seems to get is that “you can only run away for so long.” 

Are you running? 


From what are you running? 


To what are you running?