Ex 33:12-23; 1 Thess 1:1-10; Mat 22:15-22
As many of you know, Lawson (our minister of music) and I have known each other for a very long time—since our days at California Baptist College, in fact. You might be surprised to know that we weren’t actually friends back in college, although we had several friends in common. I’m not exactly sure why that is, but it wasn’t until we’d graduated that we started hanging out and discovered we had more than a few friends in common.
Which is not to say, by any means, that we are alike. If I had attempted to choose a best friend more different than I, I could hardly have chosen better. Lawson is naturally introverted, I am naturally extroverted. Lawson is almost anarchic in his ecclesial sensibilities, while I enjoy the structure of the liturgy. But the thing that has always driven me nuts about Lawson was his relaxed attitude about…well, almost anything. I have often joked about him that he is the most un-ambitious man I have ever known, in contrast to myself, who must always have a project of some kind going, always pushing myself to “succeed”—whatever that means, and for whatever good it has ever done me.
And yet, as I look back over our relationship of the last twenty-five years, I can see that it is precisely this maddening quality in Lawson that I most appreciate today. When I compare our lives, it is clear to me that Lawson has always been happier than I. He has certainly been more unflappable. He lets trouble roll off his back, doesn’t seem to take anything personally, and nor does he worry or obsess about anything—in contrast to myself, who must obsess about at least three things before breakfast.
I used to disparage this trait. I then came to admire it. Later, I gained enough wisdom to learn from it. It is not uncommon for me, when faced with a situation that spikes my blood pressure, to stop and ask myself, “What would Lawson do?” and then try, to the best of my imperfect ability, to do precisely that. I cannot speak to any way in which knowing me has enriched HIS life, if indeed it has, but I can certainly say that I am a happier and wiser man today because I have learned from Lawson HOW to be a happier man.
I reflected on our relationship this week while pondering our readings, because they all seem to be pointing to the same profound truth: relationship changes us. It transforms us. We see this clearly in our passage from Paul’s letter to the Thessalonians. Here, he’s just saying “hi,” he’s opening the letter, not actually saying anything substantial. But on the other hand, he’s saying a great deal. He’s noting with pleasure—and not a little bit of pride—that the Christians at Thessalonica have comported themselves well, they have made a good showing of it, they have very quickly gone from being non-believers to exemplary representatives of the Gospel.
And how did they get that way? Paul says, “you became followers of us and of Christ.” Because of the time they spent with Paul and those who worked closely with Paul, they became like Paul in some very important ways, becoming “examples to all in Macedonia and Achaia who believe.” The RELATIONSHIP between the people in this tiny Christian community and Paul transformed these people, it made them better people, and effective ministers of the Good News. Like Lawson and I in our friendship, this is an example of how the relationship between people created something greater than what was there before.
We see this in a larger scale in our Gospel reading. This is a familiar story—perhaps too familiar, because knowing it well, I think we overlook its profundity. Jesus’ fellow Pharisees are jealous of his following and incensed at his criticisms, and so they set a rhetorical trap for him. They flatter him in an oily and obsequious way, and then ask him, “Is it lawful to pay taxes to Caesar or not?”
It’s a trick question, of course, because if he says “yes,” they can condemn him for collaboration with the Roman occupiers. If he says “no,” they can sick the centurians on him for inciting defiance of the empire. But our hero is clever and sees right through their trap. He tells them to show him a coin, and asks them, “whose image is on this coin?”
“Caesar’s,” they say.
“So give what is Caesar’s to Caesar, and give what is God’s to God.” It’s a very smart answer, partly because of what Jesus says, and partly because of what he does NOT say. In asking whose image is on the coin, he implies that imperial money does indeed belong to the empire. But the unspoken question is just as important, and would not have been lost upon his hearers. If Caesar’s image is on the coin, upon whom is God’s image? Human beings, says the book of Genesis, are made in the image of God. Our money may belong to Caesar, but our LIVES belong to God.
This verse has long been used in our country to justify the separation of church and state, but I’m afraid it’s not that neat. Because human beings cannot live in a society such as ours WITHOUT money—not for very long. And we cannot live together in any kind of numbers for very long without government of some kind before an outbreak of The Lord of the Flies occurs. Humans beings need government, and of course, government is meaningless without human beings. The two are not really separable. We are subject to both God and the state, at the same time, and as such we are a people of divided loyalties, and it cannot be otherwise.
We can do our best to separate church and state, and it is a noble ideal, but since you cannot separate God from those made in his image, and you cannot separate the state from the human beings that comprise it, you cannot, ultimately, divorce religion from government. Nor should you. Let me explain:
It is important that no religious institution should have any government influence, but faith influences government all the time. It is largely for reasons of faith that Catholics oppose both abortion and the death penalty—and is that wrong? Hardly. Faith, at its best, calls us to be the best people we can be—compassionate, kind, and moral people. The state is a reflection of us—IT bears OUR image, so to speak, and if we are compassionate, kind, and moral people, we want those values to be reflected in our government as well.
It is people of faith who led the civil rights marches in the 1960s, people of faith who have tried to shut down the School of the Americas, where the US military has been training Central and South American terrorists for nearly thirty years, it is people of faith who stand outside San Quentin every time there is an execution. I have an ongoing argument with a friend who insists that “there’s no place for politics in the church,” but there are very clearly political implications to Jesus’ teachings. You can separate church and state, but you can’t separate the state from people of faith, unless you want to make a rule that only atheists can vote. The fact that I follow Jesus INFLUENCES how I vote, and it should. Faith and politics should never be the same thing in a democracy like ours, but they are surely married.
And this is the point—there is a RELATIONSHIP between government and religion, and that RELATIONSHIP, ideally, makes both parties better. Relationship TRANSFORMS. Faith calls government to be moral, to be just, to be GOOD. Ironically, through its laws, government calls religion to precisely the same things. Is the relationship stormy? Sure—many of the best relationships are. But does it make both parties better in the end? I would argue that it does.
Finally, take a look at our reading from Exodus. Israel has just had its big “golden calf” fiasco—Moses has broken the tablets of the covenant, and God is ready to give up on them completely. God, in fact, is ready to abandon them in the desert and go in search of another people to bless. He’s fed up, he’s done, he’s grabbed his hat and is headed for the door.
But Moses stops him and argues with him, and he succeeds in talking him out of it. Moses says, “If your Presence does not go with us, then don’t bring us any further. We can’t do anything without you—we’ll die. Look at us! We’re not only vulnerable, we’re stupid. We admit that. We need your blessing to survive. We need your help. We need you to be with us.”
Maybe it’s flattery, maybe it was the force of a well-reasoned argument, or maybe God just felt sorry for the poor, stubborn, starving Hebrews. For whatever reason, God relents. He changes his mind. He tells Moses, “My Presence will go with you, and I will give you rest.”
Scripture implies that God learned something in this encounter—that God came away from this experience a little more understanding of human nature, a little more forbearing, a little more compassionate. The encounter with the wayward Jews brought out his true colors, but his argument with Moses invited God to growth, to become more than he was. The RELATIONSHIP between God and Moses transformed God, it made him a better God, just as the covenant made the Jews a better people.
Our readings show us that this is a truth that happens at every level—relationship between people makes us better people. Relationships between people and government make better people AND better government. And Relationships between people and God make for better people AND a better God.
Our theologies point at this, but I think they point at the side effects, not at the cause. The Catholic Church has always said that it was grace that transforms people. The Reformers said it’s faith that transforms people. But I say to you that it is relationships that transform people. Like St. Paul pointed out, it is relationship that produces faith. As with Moses, it was relationship that PRODUCED grace. It isn’t grace or faith that saves us, it’s community—the power of relationship to support, to correct, to heal, to grow.
That’s what we’re here, for. The church is a laboratory for relationship. We’re not here for any other reason. We come here to learn how to love one another, because we know that’s hard work, and there are few places in our life where that is the main focus and not just a side-effect. We come here to learn how to be in relationship with one another, to be in relationship with God, to be in relationship with the wider culture in responsible and effective and transformative ways.
It’s not easy, but it’s worth it. We have to give up our notions that we’re right about everything. We have to be teachable. We have to learn to say, “I was wrong and I’m sorry.” We have to learn how to forgive and forbear. And not just us, that goes for God, too. We teach each other. We grow together. We transform in community.
Let us pray…
Father, Son, and Holy Spirit
You are yourself a community.
Through Jesus Christ, you called us into community
With one another and with you.
Through St. Paul you taught us how to live in community
With grace and humility.
Thank you for the gifts you have given us
Thank you for those we love gathered here
Thank you for the gift of yourself,
Your faithfulness, your kindness and care.
Continue to teach us, and to learn from us
As we journey together towards the Community you intend us to be,
For we ask this in the name of Jesus. Amen.
