Render unto Caesar

I have often had a rather uncomfortable relationship with the more public face of my religion, the people who are often chosen to represent Christianity in the public sphere, whether selected by a less-nuanced (and perhaps controversy hungry) national media or simply by virtue of their ability to shout louder than everyone else. (In fact, I mentioned this discomfort as one of the reasons I started this blog to begin with.)

For one, more often than not, they only ever seem to be able to show one of two emotions: outrage or fear. They give speeches and write articles which either sound the march to war (boycott! protest! call your congressman!) or ring the warning bells of persecution (they are trampling our rights!), and seem to have little room for empathy or mutual understanding. However, more than just the emotional responses, the thing at which I find I cringe the most is the moral superiority complex that inspires them -- a complex that seems to say: unless you believe as I do or choose to live in ways that line up with what I understand to be "right," you are not worthy of my care or concern and no obligation I have to you is valid.

To make this more concrete: I recently came across the story of (now, ex-) Atlanta Fire Chief, Kelvin Cochran on the interwebs, who was fired just this month. Now, according to the right reverend Franklin Graham, Cochran's firing is an example of what he believes to be a continually growing practice of religious persecution in this country. By Graham's telling, Cochran was a great Fire Chief of upstanding character who just happened to be Christian and also just happened to put together some small, self-published materials for a bible study in his church that had a tiny section on sexual immorality. That section was discovered somehow (Graham conspicuously fails to tell us how) and, since it was out of line with popular opinion (equating homosexuality with pedophilia and bestiality), some "gay council member" with an axe to grind, "went on a rampage" and got Cochran fired.  

Persecution! Call the mayor!

The problem with Graham's telling is... it's not exactly true. What Graham, and others, conveniently leave out is that Cochran wasn't fired because he wrote the book, but because he then distributed that book to several of his employees. To state that more plainly: A public official, who was in charge of a public institution, wrote and distributed a book to his employees in which he equates a particular group of people -- some of whom may have been among that group of employees -- to pedophiles or people who have sex with animals. So, that public institution (namely, the local government) -- which already had rules in place that forbid that kind of perceived public condescension and of which Mr. Cochran was fully aware when he accepted the job -- fired him.

Watch out! Here come the PC police! 

Of course, what really makes this an issue is that Graham (et al) skim over all of that (or, rather, don't mention any of it at all) and instead remind us, with what feels like a shake of his finger, that what Cochran wrote, "simply restates God’s position put forth in His Word, the Bible."

Can't you see?? He was fired for believing the BIBLE! Be afraid! Contact your congressman! You DO believe in the bible, don't you?


But... what if we consider Jesus' attitude in this regard?

"Then the Pharisees went and plotted how to entangle him in his words. And they sent their disciples to him, along with the Herodians, saying, 'Teacher, we know that you are true and teach the way of God truthfully, and you do not care about anyone's opinion, for you are not swayed by appearances. Tell us, then, what you think. Is it lawful to pay taxes to Caesar, or not?' But Jesus, aware of their malice, said, 'Why put me to the test, you hypocrites? Show me the coin for the tax.' And they brought him a denarius. And Jesus said to them, 'Whose likeness and inscription is this?' They said, 'Caesar's.' Then he said to them, 'Therefore render to Caesar the things that are Caesar's, and to God the things that are God's.' When they heard it, they marveled. And they left him and went away." (Matthew 22:15-22)

For this passage to make much sense, you need to know that the Pharisees' question isn't about financial policy or responsibility but about loyalty and obligation. At the time, the Jews were actually beholden to two different taxes, the temple tax and the Roman census tax. The purpose behind the temple tax was to support the priests and maintain the temple. More precisely, it was what allowed the temple to be the temple. In that vein, the Roman census tax, which is what is in question here, is what allowed the Empire to be the Empire -- the same empire ruled by a man who claimed to be the Divi Filius - the son of god! - and which gave reverence to a whole host of gods other than Yahweh. With that in mind, we can see the question takes on a rather pointed tone:

You claim to be the Son of God and to be advancing his kingdom. So, tell us, is it lawful within that kingdom to give your money to support a rival?

Pretty tricky, right? The Pharisees seem to have cornered Jesus as either a political agitator or a fraud. If he says it's illegal to pay the tax, he's outed himself as an agitator, which gives the Pharisees all the evidence they need to get the Romans involved. If he says you should pay the tax, he's a fraud, more concerned about the safety of his own skin than the legitimacy of the kingdom he has been proclaiming.

Jesus' response, however, turns the whole question on it's head.  

The coins you use to pay that tax, whose face is on them? (Caesar's) Then, render unto Caesar what is Caesar's.

His choice of words here is important -- we must not mistake "render" for the more sterile "give." Render (greek: "apodote") implies debt, something that must be repaid.

That is... you must "give back to Caesar what you owe him." 

We just can't miss this. However they felt about it, the Jews did live within the confines of what was considered the Roman Empire and had even benefited from the peace the empire established as well as the roads and irrigation systems it had developed. In fact, the very silver they used as currency had been mined and coined by the Romans. And how did the Romans pay for all of that? Taxes -- the very same taxes that were used for war and expansion, to pay the salaries of priests who devoted themselves to idols and led others in worship to the same, and to expand the reach and influence of a man who claimed to be what Jesus actually was.

In the face of all of that, Jesus is essentially saying: If you live in the Empire and benefit from the good things it provides and make use of the Emperor's money, you fall under the obligation of the tax. Your commitment to the kingdom of God is not an excuse from the obligations you have to the earthly societies in which you participate. 

So, more pointedly, if you distribute religious literature to your employees even though your employer says you can't, you don't get to jump and holler and scream, "Persecution!" when they fire you.

If you live in Caesar's Empire and make use of Caesar's silver, your commitment to the bible does not absolve you of his taxes.

New Year's Resolution

It's a hard thing to admit, but it occurred to me yesterday that, for the better part of a decade, I have been asking my wife -- no -- rather, pleading with her to walk in idolatry.

Have you ever had a moment like that, a moment of painful clarity where the facade of self-justification you've built around your sin suddenly... evaporates?

See, what I had told myself all this time was that I was just trying to be a good husband. Tired, but feel like the house is a mess? I'll clean it! Exhausted from fighting with the kids all day? I'll take them! I can make sure they get fed and bathed and put to bed. Need to make an appointment or get someone to come work on the house? I'll find a way to make those calls between classes. Does the car need work? I'll take it in! Don't want me to be out of the house that long? I'll find away to take off of work or go in extra early. When it felt like too much, when I struggled under the weight of everything I'd taken on, I'd remind myself that I was called to give up my life on behalf of my wife just like Christ had given up his life for the church; I'd resolve to set the alarm a little earlier, to be a little more organized, and move on.

The trouble arose, however, whenever one of those tasks inevitably either fell through the cracks or wasn't done correctly. 

Maybe I'd forget to make one of those phone calls, or get so busy I never had the time. Maybe I'd clean but would forget to dust a particular counter. Maybe I'd step in to cook dinner and mess up the recipe. Maybe I'd take over managing the kids but not quite get them to bed on time. Whatever it was, just let my wife say one thing about how something I'd done wasn't quite what she'd expected it to be and watch out.

The next several hours would follow a rather predictable pattern. First, I'd get angry that she could be so ungrateful.

Here I was, doing all this stuff - for her! - and all she could do was criticize? 

Then, I'd spend an hour thinking to myself and, eventually, telling her how unreasonable she was and how she needed to be less critical and more supportive. Of course, a fight would ensue and, at the end, there would be one of two conclusions: either she'd have to admit she was unreasonable and make up her mind to be less so, or I'd have to admit her criticism was justified and would make up my mind to do better or work harder next time.

A week or even just a few days later, something else would get missed and we'd be at it again. Lather, rinse, repeat.

---

I have responded to this cycle in various ways over the course of our marriage. Sometimes, I convince myself I really am the forgetful, or absent-minded mess I feel I'm made out to be when we fight. So, I make all kinds of resolutions to cut out whatever might be distracting me, to work harder at being organized, or to try to understand better just what, exactly, my wife is looking for in various tasks. Other times, I sadly manage to convince myself I married a woman who is simply impossible to please. So, I resolve to keep doing what I can, but to be less affected by her criticism or, in my eyes, her lack of grace.

However, what I realized yesterday is, underneath all the striving and frustration, what I really want, more than anything, is to be enough for my wife. 

I want her to look out over the chaos that is her life, especially with two kids, and feel she can survive, even thrive, because she has a partner who could meet her needs, whom she delights to be with and who can fill in or lift her up when she felt weak. I want that cheesy, hallmark sentiment -- "As long as we have each other, we have all we need" -- to be true for us. So, when she says or does something that communicates that I'm not enough, I either decide to work harder to achieve that goal, or decide that I actually am enough, but she's simply too critical to see it. Indeed, for almost the entirety of our marriage, I've essentially been attempting to sell my wife on the idea that I either already am or could eventually be sufficient for her.

The problem with that is it's a lie. I am not now, and can never be enough for my wife -- nor was I ever meant to be!

Only Jesus can know and love and strengthen her as she truly needs. Only Jesus can fill the parts of her life that feel dark or empty. Only Jesus can meet the desires in her heart for something grand or beautiful or soul-satisfying. Only Jesus can make sense of each struggle she faces. Only Jesus is enough for my wife. With each promise to work harder, with each argument for my wife to be less critical, what I have been doing is asking her to accept from me what she can only truly receive from Jesus.

What I really want is not to be a good husband or 

to have a gracious wife. What I really want is to be god.

 
Hence, the idolatry.

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So, as we make the turn into the new year, having realized this, I thought perhaps a different type of resolution would be in order. No more white-knuckled promises to be better or do more, no more cold-hearted oaths to be less affected by criticism, this year this husband resolves:

1) To strive to remember, in every frustration and every failure, that I am not sufficient and that only Christ is enough 

 

AND

 

2) To no longer hope or labor under the delusion than I can be for my wife, or give to her, what only Jesus can

I figure, if I no longer feel compelled to be god, then maybe, just maybe, I'll no longer need to prove my wife wrong when she reveals that I'm not. (Maybe we can even work together as we each seek to let Jesus be enough for the both of us.)

Any of you husbands care to join me?