Well, American Christians are at it again. They're protesting another store (this time, Target) for perceived social corruption that finds them either cavorting with the Enemy or standing resolute against the powers of evil that destroy our political and social fabric. Yesterday, some 500,000 folks decided to target Target for protests, because Target his begun recognizing restrooms that don't follow a binary gender categorization.
How far we've come from Jesus' own imagination about political and social power.
Early in his ministry, before he'd even preached his first sermon, Jesus was confronted by Satan, who made Jesus an offer few of us would apparently refuse:
Jesus refused to worship Satan, even if the reward was power. Think of the good Jesus could have done with all that power! Jesus rejected Satan's tempting offer. Rather than running the kingdoms of this world Jesus went about establishing a counter Kingdom, a Kingdom in, but not of, this world -- what he called "the Kingdom of God".
The story of Jesus' temptation by Satan suggests to me that any kingdom, any politics, is a matter of worship. To be part of this Kingdom is to acknowledge who's really in charge, and whose will ultimately matters in the world. There may be some faiths which detach the believer from care about earthly matters, who strive to rise above outward, visible concerns like swords and shields and bathrooms, politics and power. Christianity is not one of those religions. We want you, body and soul. So we've got opinions about the way you spend your money, invest your time, cast your vote.
So, in an election year, it's rather common to ask how, as Christians, we should behave politically.
And here it is:
In one of the few places in the Old Testament where laughter is mentioned, it is the laughter of God over ridiculous nations: "He who sits in the heavens laughs; the Lord has them in derision" (Psalm 2.4). Later in the same psalm, when advising kings on how to behave around God, God tells the kings they can "kiss his feet" (although the translation is uncertain -- the psalmist may be telling kings to kiss another part of the Divine anatomy).
When politics is brought to the attention of Jesus, the whole debate is portrayed with such jocularity as to suggest that we're to take none of this with great seriousness.
Wanting to trap Jesus and hand him over to the police, they ask, "Should we pay taxes to Caesar or not?" (Note, that's our question, not Jesus'. We're so consumed with political questions, that it's all you read on Facebook these days.)
Jesus answers, "Who's got a quarter?" (His pockets are empty.)
When a coin is produced, Jesus asks, "Whose picture is this?" (Again, he doesn't recognize, or doesn't care.)
"Caesar", we reply. (I can just as easily hear, "George Washington".)
"Well, if he adores the stuff so much as to put his picture on it, then give it to him." ("But, be careful that you don't give to Caesar what has God's image on it.")
Okay. Should we pay taxes or not?
I'm hard-pressed to derive a theology of church and state from this little exchange, but I infer that a primary biblical way of treating politics is as a joke. Certainly, politicians can make mischief, but it's a theological mistake to take them too seriously.
I know, you're saying, "But isn't there a big difference between tyrannical old Caesar and modern, American democracy? We don't have, on our coins, 'Caesar is God'. Rather we have 'In God We Trust'. So there's no problem, right?"
I'm not so sure.
Democracy has deposed imperial tyrants, but have we really deposed tyrants? We are our own tyrants. Consuming, ever consuming, we call it "freedom" but it's little more than unlimited consumption. We call it "independence" but it feels more like loneliness. Reduced to a number by the almighty computerized bureaucracy -- we don't feel too free. Politics becomes a matter of "What's in it for me and what's the best way to get what I want?"
Political authority has always attracted the lowest elements of the human race. All through history, it's the bullies who want the power. Each government is a parliament of whores. The trouble is, in a democracy, those whose are us. (Read Revelation 17 for a better description of what America looks like than anything in the biblical account.)
I know, I know. We must have politics. Garbage has to be collected and roads built and police when we call. But governments, even democratically elected ones, take on airs, and start acting like little godlets.
Don't believe me? Why do we Christians in America think that allegiance is owed to a body that drops bombs and oppresses those who disagree with us? Somehow, we've convinced ourselves that it's okay, as long as Caesar is democratically elected.
When you start asking Caesar for a reason to get out of bed, or which restroom we should use, or why we shouldn't beat our spouse, or why we should love our children, well, there's a word for that in the Bible -- idolatry.
Here's what I take away from Jesus' encounter: Don't ever give Caesar more than his due. Don't ever take Caesar or Caesar's solutions that seriously.
And that's a particular problem for us. Americans looks to the government for so much -- and American Christians doubly so. I remember the day when liberal, mainline Christians were accused of "mixing politics and religion" in our churches. Ironically, now it's conservative, evangelical Christians groveling before politicians, turning their Sunday services into political stump meetings, expecting politicians with their laws and their taxes to force us to stay married and not abort our children and not allow transgendered persons to use the restroom that allows them some genuine rest and, ... well, don't get me started on that rant.
At the end of John's Gospel (John 20), Thomas, having missed the appearance of Jesus, tells the others that he won't believe in the resurrection unless he touches the very wounds of the Risen Christ. When the Risen Christ appears, he urges Thomas to be "not faithless but believing". Thomas cries out, "My lord and my God".
Thomas' confession, interestingly enough, not only expresses belief in the Resurrection but also makes a political claim. Dominus et Deus noster was the title emperor Domition commanded every resident of the Empire to honor. "Lord and our God" was the royal ascription in use when John wrote the Gospel. It may even have been inscribed on the coin given to Jesus.
With brilliant irony, John has transformed a phrase associated with the Imperial worship of glory and power, through Thomas' confession, to the Crucified and Risen One. The one who still bears the scars of crucifixion -- the worst the Emperor could do to a rival -- is the one who is now hailed by his Church as our Lord and our God.
How far we've come from Jesus' own imagination about political and social power.
Early in his ministry, before he'd even preached his first sermon, Jesus was confronted by Satan, who made Jesus an offer few of us would apparently refuse:
Then the devil led him up and showed him in an instant all the kingdoms of the world. And the devil said to him, "To you I will give their glory and all this authority; for it has been given over to me, and I will give it to anyone I please. If you, then, will worship me, it will all be yours."
Jesus responded, "It is written, 'Worship the Lord your God, and serve only him'" (Luke 4.5-8).Folks, take note: Satan is able to offer "all the kingdoms of this world" because politics is the peculiar province of the satanic.
Jesus refused to worship Satan, even if the reward was power. Think of the good Jesus could have done with all that power! Jesus rejected Satan's tempting offer. Rather than running the kingdoms of this world Jesus went about establishing a counter Kingdom, a Kingdom in, but not of, this world -- what he called "the Kingdom of God".
The story of Jesus' temptation by Satan suggests to me that any kingdom, any politics, is a matter of worship. To be part of this Kingdom is to acknowledge who's really in charge, and whose will ultimately matters in the world. There may be some faiths which detach the believer from care about earthly matters, who strive to rise above outward, visible concerns like swords and shields and bathrooms, politics and power. Christianity is not one of those religions. We want you, body and soul. So we've got opinions about the way you spend your money, invest your time, cast your vote.
So, in an election year, it's rather common to ask how, as Christians, we should behave politically.
And here it is:
Then the Pharisees went out and laid plans to trap him in his words. They sent their disciples to him along with the Herodians. "Teacher," they said, "we know that you are a man of integrity and that you teach the way of God in accordance with the truth. You aren’t swayed by others, because you pay no attention to who they are. Tell us then, what is your opinion? Is it right to pay the imperial tax to Caesar or not?"
But Jesus, knowing their evil intent, said, "You hypocrites, why are you trying to trap me? Show me the coin used for paying the tax." They brought him a denarius, and he asked them, "Whose image is this? And whose inscription?"It's a familiar story. And here's what I take away from it: The primary biblical way to treat politics, including the politics of bathrooms, is as a joke.
"Caesar's", they replied.
Then he said to them, "So give back to Caesar what is Caesar's, and to God what is God's."
In one of the few places in the Old Testament where laughter is mentioned, it is the laughter of God over ridiculous nations: "He who sits in the heavens laughs; the Lord has them in derision" (Psalm 2.4). Later in the same psalm, when advising kings on how to behave around God, God tells the kings they can "kiss his feet" (although the translation is uncertain -- the psalmist may be telling kings to kiss another part of the Divine anatomy).
When politics is brought to the attention of Jesus, the whole debate is portrayed with such jocularity as to suggest that we're to take none of this with great seriousness.
Wanting to trap Jesus and hand him over to the police, they ask, "Should we pay taxes to Caesar or not?" (Note, that's our question, not Jesus'. We're so consumed with political questions, that it's all you read on Facebook these days.)
Jesus answers, "Who's got a quarter?" (His pockets are empty.)
When a coin is produced, Jesus asks, "Whose picture is this?" (Again, he doesn't recognize, or doesn't care.)
"Caesar", we reply. (I can just as easily hear, "George Washington".)
"Well, if he adores the stuff so much as to put his picture on it, then give it to him." ("But, be careful that you don't give to Caesar what has God's image on it.")
Okay. Should we pay taxes or not?
I'm hard-pressed to derive a theology of church and state from this little exchange, but I infer that a primary biblical way of treating politics is as a joke. Certainly, politicians can make mischief, but it's a theological mistake to take them too seriously.
I know, you're saying, "But isn't there a big difference between tyrannical old Caesar and modern, American democracy? We don't have, on our coins, 'Caesar is God'. Rather we have 'In God We Trust'. So there's no problem, right?"
I'm not so sure.
Democracy has deposed imperial tyrants, but have we really deposed tyrants? We are our own tyrants. Consuming, ever consuming, we call it "freedom" but it's little more than unlimited consumption. We call it "independence" but it feels more like loneliness. Reduced to a number by the almighty computerized bureaucracy -- we don't feel too free. Politics becomes a matter of "What's in it for me and what's the best way to get what I want?"
Political authority has always attracted the lowest elements of the human race. All through history, it's the bullies who want the power. Each government is a parliament of whores. The trouble is, in a democracy, those whose are us. (Read Revelation 17 for a better description of what America looks like than anything in the biblical account.)
I know, I know. We must have politics. Garbage has to be collected and roads built and police when we call. But governments, even democratically elected ones, take on airs, and start acting like little godlets.
Don't believe me? Why do we Christians in America think that allegiance is owed to a body that drops bombs and oppresses those who disagree with us? Somehow, we've convinced ourselves that it's okay, as long as Caesar is democratically elected.
When you start asking Caesar for a reason to get out of bed, or which restroom we should use, or why we shouldn't beat our spouse, or why we should love our children, well, there's a word for that in the Bible -- idolatry.
Here's what I take away from Jesus' encounter: Don't ever give Caesar more than his due. Don't ever take Caesar or Caesar's solutions that seriously.
And that's a particular problem for us. Americans looks to the government for so much -- and American Christians doubly so. I remember the day when liberal, mainline Christians were accused of "mixing politics and religion" in our churches. Ironically, now it's conservative, evangelical Christians groveling before politicians, turning their Sunday services into political stump meetings, expecting politicians with their laws and their taxes to force us to stay married and not abort our children and not allow transgendered persons to use the restroom that allows them some genuine rest and, ... well, don't get me started on that rant.
At the end of John's Gospel (John 20), Thomas, having missed the appearance of Jesus, tells the others that he won't believe in the resurrection unless he touches the very wounds of the Risen Christ. When the Risen Christ appears, he urges Thomas to be "not faithless but believing". Thomas cries out, "My lord and my God".
Thomas' confession, interestingly enough, not only expresses belief in the Resurrection but also makes a political claim. Dominus et Deus noster was the title emperor Domition commanded every resident of the Empire to honor. "Lord and our God" was the royal ascription in use when John wrote the Gospel. It may even have been inscribed on the coin given to Jesus.
With brilliant irony, John has transformed a phrase associated with the Imperial worship of glory and power, through Thomas' confession, to the Crucified and Risen One. The one who still bears the scars of crucifixion -- the worst the Emperor could do to a rival -- is the one who is now hailed by his Church as our Lord and our God.