Sermon 20 October 2002

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A SERMON FROM ST. JAMES EPISCOPAL CHURCH,
Greenville, South Carolina

22nd Sunday in Pentecost

Isaiah 45:1-7; Psalm 96:1-9
I Thessalonians 1:1-10; Matthew 22:15-22


Texts of today's lessons

For many people, when we come across a story like this in the Gospels, we tighten up and think, "Uh-oh, here we go again" in the belief that this story wants to tell us something serious about politics or money, and therefore we ought to take it seriously and soberly, as it was meant to be heard. And we try to listen closely, but our mind wanders off to other things… (Have I bought my oyster roast tickets? Why did I stay up past midnight watching the World Series? You get the idea…)

In fact, friends what we have here in Matthew's Gospel is scriptural high comedy at its best. Yes, comedy! The scriptures are filled with comedy, irony, and humor, particularly the Hebrew Scriptures of the Old Testament. But far too often, we don't see it or won't allow ourselves or others to see it.

The thinking goes that "we cannot consider the scriptures funny or no one would take them seriously." I submit that unless we begin to see humor in the scriptures, we cannot take them as seriously as we ought, for humor enables us to recognize ourselves and the common situations of all our lives. We laugh at something, something strikes us funny, because we see it as true to our own experience, which by extension allows us to recognize ourselves in the stories of scripture, too.

Dr. Chaya Ostrower writes that humor has three basic components: wit, mirth, and laughter. "Wit is the cognitive experience, mirth is the emotional experience, and laughter is the physiological experience. Often, we equate laughter with humor, but there are many experiences of laughter that clearly have little to do with humor" such as tickling someone or nervousness. But if we only equate laughter with humor, then one can see why we might miss out on the humor in the scriptures, because the Bible doesn't come with a laugh track. Would that it did. Perhaps that's a possible invention yet for someone with too much time on his or her hands-but I digress.

More often than not, however, biblical stories get misread because we don't understand or recognize the elements of wit and mirth that make up the situation in the story, which set it up for being as humorous as it actually is.

Take today's story of Jesus in Matthew's Gospel. We all know this story for its immortal line, said best in the King James version, "Render therefore unto Caesar the things which are Caesar's; and unto God the things that are God's." But that line actually amounts to a punch line to all that happens before it, once we take a closer look. So let's go to the text:

"The Pharisees went and plotted to entrap Jesus in what he said. So they sent their disciples to him, along with the Herodians…"

Let's stop right here first. The Gospel writer, whom we by tradition call Matthew, is telling a story here about Jesus to a first century audience, an audience that knows who both the Pharisees and Herodians are.

First century listener responses to the idea of those two groups collaborating would be similar to your response if I told you that Bob Jones University was inviting the Pope to speak at commencement next year and to receive the university into the Roman Catholic Church. "Really?" you might say, incredulously -- and you would be right.

The Association for Applied and Therapeutic Humor says that, "Humor is the capacity to perceive, appreciate or express what is funny, amusing, incongruous [or] ludicrous… Humor is when an expected future is replaced with an unexpected future. The more unexpected, the more humorous."

It is ludicrous to suggest that the disciples of the Pharisees and the Herodians would have anything to do with one another-true Pharisees would consider themselves too righteous to even speak to those who work for the party of Herod, which supports the occupying power of Rome. So these disciples of the Pharisees must be wannabe Pharisees, phony Pharisees, if you will. And Matthew's listeners would say, "O.K., not very likely, but go on-we're amused here."

Back to the text: "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.'"

Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. How more self-indicting could one sentence be in the Gospels? Their so-called "compliment" drips with insincerity, untruth, deference, and partiality. However, beneath their butter-smooth flattery, applied thick as it is, there stands a naked truth in all its irony -- that Jesus does indeed teach the way of God in accordance with truth -- an irony Matthew fully intends.

They continue, "Tell us, then, what you think. Is it lawful to pay taxes to the emperor, or not?"

What we have here is a perfect example of the fallacy known as the complex question; the most famous example being something along the lines of, "Have you stopped abusing drugs yet?"

Posed as a "yes/no" question, neither answer leaves the one who answers looking very good. If you say, "no" then perhaps you need to find some help so that you might be able to say "yes" the next time someone asks; if you say "yes" then perhaps you have told us more information than you wanted to, particularly if you're running for election to the school board. The complex question attempts to catch us up in a misstatement. And this is precisely what both of these parties wanted Jesus to do, make a fatal misstep, and thereby lose all credibility and support.

For this end, these two natural foes have come together for a common purpose. These guys were probably up all night trying to think up a question that Jesus could not possibly answer gracefully, and they most likely thought that they did it. You see, if Jesus says, "Yes, you should pay your tax to the Emperor" he will lose most of his popular support, because this particular tax was seen as theft by the Judeans, and it forced them to admit that the Emperor -- a Gentile -- was lord over them. On the other hand, if Jesus says, "No, you should not pay this tax to the Emperor" then he will be arrested for urging people to break the law, if not for outright sedition.

Either way, Jesus loses, and the disciples of the Pharisees and the Herodians win. However, Jesus sees the evil, the malice, of these duplicitous disciples. He does not step into their trap, but rather goes on a humorous counter offensive.

Matthew continues, "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.'"

A few minutes ago I said that "Humor [occurs] when an expected future is replaced with an unexpected future. The more unexpected, the more humorous."

The disciples -- and the listeners to this story -- expected one thing -- Jesus' answer, but Jesus replies with an unexpected thing -- another question, which leads to the entrapment of the unsuspecting, phony Pharisees and their cohorts.

Jesus asks to see the coin used for the tax, and -- surprise -- they produce one! The coin has on it an image -- the head of the Emperor -- and an inscription that read "Caesar, King and son of God." Why surprise? No pious first century Jew would possess such a coin because it would violate two of the Ten Commandments, for this coin, bearing a graven image, equated Caesar with God. In fact, out of respect for these beliefs, the Romans routinely minted nondescript coins for use by Jews who wanted to use a non-offending coin to pay their tax.

Who would have expected these pious disciples of the Pharisees to have one of Caesar's coins in their pocket? No one. But they did, and lost all credibility by having it. Most likely, one of the Herodians had it and produced it, but they came together, as a united front, and all who saw it realized the hypocrisy of their question and actions. Producing the coin for Jesus betrayed their true loyalties.

"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."

You see, the coin had the emperor's head on it, in the Greek, eikon, for image. The image on the coin represents violence and oppression and prestige and power, and the Herodians and disciples of the Pharisees have literally bought into that image, that perception. They belong to Caesar, and to Caesar they give their allegiance.

But what about those listening to this scene, those within the story and those listening to the story as it is being told, both then and now? Being good students of the scriptures, all these listeners realize who bears God's image-humankind, those God whom created male and female in the Garden. Those who hadn't bought into the emperor's system, or hadn't yet made up their mind, when they heard this line recognized their own "image-of-God-ness," if we can coin a word. And it doesn't take much deep thinking to remember what else truly belongs to God -- all that we have, and all that there is and ever has been, for God is God, and God is One. "All things come of thee, O Lord, and of thine own have we given thee," we say to this very day.

Using his wit, Jesus has disarmed his inquisitors. The trap has sprung back upon those who laid it; it is verbal slapstick and unexpected. The more unexpected, the more humorous. And we can almost hear the mirth filled laughter of Matthew's listeners.

So what becomes of the coin? One apocryphal Gospel that cites this story has Jesus finish the narrative like this: "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, and to me, the things that are mine,'" and he put the coin in his pocket.

Biblical scholar Robert Funk says that it is Jesus pocketing the coin that makes the story absolutely unforgettable -- for the text makes no mention that he gave it back. If Jesus does indeed pocket the coin, it is such an unexpected end that it becomes a story that is told and retold for weeks, and months, and decades to come, around dinner tables and campfires and on journeys by all who saw it, by all who were there.

Even today this story from Matthew functions not merely as a morality play -- though it could be done as one, quite humorously. More importantly, this story forces us to examine with whom and where our loyalties lie. Are they with the image of the emperor, who breathes violence and oppression and prestige and power over others?

Or do our loyalties lie with the One in whose image we were created, who filled us with life giving breath, and by whose generosity we live, and move and have our being? In all its fullness this story functions as a mirror for us; it invites us to look in it and see if we recognize ourselves.

And if we see that our loyalties are not with God, though we might have thought they were, the story give us permission to laugh at ourselves, knowing that others have made that same assumption before us, and that it's never too late to realize the full measure of all life's blessings from our generous, creating God, and give back out of what belongs to God anyway. As Chrissie Hynde of the Pretenders has said, "Nothing is permanent; everything's on loan here."

Best of all, learning to see the humor in biblical stories and gleaning their wisdom through hearing and reading them prevents us from having to lose a full days wages to a smiling, winking, put-it-in-his-own-pocket Jesus in order to learn those lessons the hard way.

The Rev'd Timothy M. Dombek
ST. JAMES EPISCOPAL CHURCH
301 Piney Mountain Road
Greenville, SC 29609-3035
(864) 244-6358
timothy@stjamesgreenville.org

Copyright © 2002 Timothy M. Dombek All Rights Reserved.


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