The Mayberry Preacher

WHEN PAUL RESPONDS

(Note: this sermon is the second in a two-part sermon series looking at Acts 9 and the conversion of Saul to Paul.  The sermons are in the first-person.  This sermon is written from the perspective of Paul; the previous sermon was from Ananias' point of view).

Acts 9: 10-19a
Steve Lindsley
July 15, 2012

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So I understand that you heard from an old friend of mine last week.  Amazing guy, isn’t that Ananias?  I mean, I did a whole lot in my life. I traveled all over the ancient world, getting around by foot, boat, camel back.  I was thrown into prison – twice.  I was shipwrecked.  I was once mistaken for a Greek God. I was even nearly stoned to death.  But in none of those things meant as much to me as what happened in the city of Damascus, in a house on Straight Street, in the presence of a young Jesus-follower named Ananias.  That experience, and that man, made me who you know me to be today. 

But it’s hard to see that, I know. Christianity does a marvelous job of telling just half of my story.  When people think of me, they think of “Paul,” an apostle of Jesus Christ.  They think about the three missionary journeys and all the letters I wrote.  They see a fervent believer in Jesus who would do just about anything to share the gospel.

And that’s true, of course – that’s who I had become. But it wasn’t who I had been.  The truth of the matter is this: to appreciate Paul, you have to get to know Saul first. And that’s why I’m here today. 

I was born in the port city of Tarsus, north of what they call today Syria.  I couldn’t have asked for a better upbringing, really.  My father was a Hellenistic Jew, which meant that he was Jewish to the core, but he was also part of the Greek aristocracy. And not only that, but my father was a Roman citizen – a commanding status symbol of our time.  Translation: I had it made!

Early on I recognized my love for God’s Law.  It’s kind of hard to explain my obsession with it.  I guess it just helped everything around me make sense, you know?  It gave it some context and some meaning.  It gave my life meaning.  And believe me, in the craziness that was the ancient world, I needed all the meaning I could get!  Our Torah is so much more than just a simple list of guidelines and rules.  I was brought up to believe that following God’s Law was not only being faithful to God but brought me into fellowship with God. 

As with most young Jewish boys, my father taught me the Torah early on.  Later I went to Jerusalem and synagogue school.  I just couldn’t get enough of the Torah; I had this insatiable appetite.  I was obsessed with trying to follow and live it.  I was a model student; and before I even finished school, folks started putting me up on the pedestal, telling me I’d be one of the greatest Pharisees.  They meant that as a compliment, you understand!

There was only one other thing that surpassed my zeal for the Law – and that was my disgust for those who disregarded it.  Especially those Jesus-followers.  I mean, I just could not understand why other people – good, reasonable Jews like me – would ever want to follow Jesus, be his disciples, and – worse yet – proclaim him as the Messiah, God’s anointed one. 

Now, I know it may be hard for you to hear this – after all, your very presence here is due to those folks I was working so hard to persecute.  But please try to understand where I was coming from.  For me, the Torah was the embodiment of the Almighty God in our midst.  It had to be followed to the letter, literally.  And Jesus totally changed all that.  Of course, now I understand that he came, as the apostle Matthew said, to fulfill the law.  But all I could see at the time was a man who had no regard for the law.  None!  He healed people on the Sabbath.  He fellowshipped with those our faith told us not have any contact with.  And to top it all off, he proclaimed himself as God’s only son.  As far as I was concerned, Jesus was a fraud – that’s why the world wound up putting him to death.  And I was determined to make sure that anyone who followed him met the same fate.

So you can see how I quickly gained a reputation as a persecutor of these “followers” – revered by my peers and feared by my targets.  And I gotta say – I was pretty good at it!  I had a plan and it worked like a charm.  Here’s what I’d do: I’d pick out a city and write all the synagogue leaders there.  I’d ask them for the names and addresses of those in their flock who’d been swayed by the teachings of Jesus and embraced this radical and perverted faith.  Then I’d travel to that city, list in hand, and seek those individuals out one by one.  Believe me, I was quite good at my work.

All of that changed, of course, the day that I made my way to Damascus.  You know the story, I’m sure – Jesus coming to me on the road, blinding me with his presence, and asking the question that even now reverberates in my head, “Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?” 

Let me tell you something: meeting Jesus on the road like I did tends to leave a bit of a mark!  But you know what experience had an even greater impact on me?  It wasn’t the bright light or the voice of Jesus.  No, what really worked on my heart in a way my legal-minded self could never explain was the blindness – three whole days that I couldn’t see a thing.

I wonder – have you ever lost your sight for some period of time?  Maybe you were blindfolded for a game, or maybe you were trying to walk around your house in the dark of night.  Do you know how disorienting that can be, when that blindness goes on and on and on; and you truly have no idea if you’ll ever get your sight back?  Do you know how that makes a man like me feel?  Because see, that blindness was about more than just not having sight.  It was about being vulnerable – for the first time in my life, really.  That was the most unsettling part of the whole thing.  There I was, the great Saul, reduced to a stumbling fool down the streets of Damascus.  Taken to a home of someone I’d never met; having no idea what they’d do with me.  This was not my style!  This was not the way I rolled!  And so there I sat – in the home of a Jesus-follower, nonetheless! – waiting for some man named Ananias to come and give me back my sight.  If he ever came at all.

Three days, without sight.  You know what that’ll do to you?  Among other things, it forces you to put your mind to work.  And that’s what I did – I did a lot of thinking those three days.  A whole lot of it.  I thought about this Jesus, who obviously had demonstrated to me quite dramatically that he was not the fraud I thought he was.  I thought about those people I was with, people I only knew from the sounds I heard.  Amazing people they must be, to have their hated enemy in their midst and take care of me like that.

But you know what I thought about the most about during those three sightless days?  I thought about my life and what would become of it.  It was obvious to me that things would never be the same; that I couldn’t keep doing what I always had.  This Jesus, who I had always despised, he was real!  So what would that mean for me?  What would that mean for the rest of my life?

I remember thinking that when I heard the door open and immediately knew in my mind that it was this Ananias Jesus had spoken of in my vision.  I couldn’t see him, of course, but I could hear him walking over to me, the steps getting closer and closer. I was halfway expecting a slap in the face or kick in the gut, but what I got instead were his hands placed softly on my shoulder.  And these were hands of love, mind you – a love which far surpassed any loyalty to the Law I’d ever encountered.  It was a love that could only come from Jesus.  And it was a love that made this blind man see again.

I know you all today talk about my conversion “on the road to Damascus.”  But if you want to know the truth of it, the real moment of turning for me was in that room three days later, when Ananias came to me and laid hands on me and baptized me into the fellowship of believers.  And you know, even to this day I am still utterly amazed by the contrast of it all.  Think about it – I had used my hands over the years to persecute these people, and now they were using theirs to, quite literally, instill the spirit of Jesus in me.  And with that spirit, I would be changed forever.  Once a thorn in their side, I would now become their brother and ally.  Once a man who scoffed at Jesus, I would now willingly lay down my life for him.  Once a man who tried to do everything in his power to snuff out the Good News, I would now become its greatest champion.  And I’d do it all just as passionately as I did everything in my life before – three long missionary journeys, numerous letters to churches, a zeal for the Lord that would never die. 

It wasn’t easy at first, of course.  It never is.  I knew there were many in my new community of faith who would doubt my sudden “conversion” and be suspicious of my motives. On the other side, there were former Pharisee colleagues of mine who assumed I had suffered some mental breakdown from which I would never recover.  Perhaps over time the doubts on both sides would diminished and everyone would accept me for the new man I had become.  Perhaps.   

And I guess that’s part of the reason why I don’t really think about what happened as a “conversion,” you know?  For me, it felt more like a “call.”  There’s a difference.  Conversion suggests a turning from one direction to another – and that’s great and all.  But the thing is, conversions don’t always wind up sticking.  Because in the end, there’s not always something to keep you from turning back to where you were before.

But a call – now that’s different.  A call is not as much about an outward turning as an inward transformation.  And when change happens on the inside – well, that just seems to be a bit more permanent, you know?  More importantly, though, a call isn’t as much about what you do as what God does.  When God calls you, there’s a sense that you are a changed person – that you can’t keep living your life and doing the things you did before.  You just can’t.  Because you don’t want to.  There’s something new at work inside you, and it’s leading you in a different direction than before.  And you’re not really having to fight it, because you actually enjoy where it’s taking you and who you’re becoming along the way.  It’s not any easier – it’s not like your life is suddenly free of burdens or temptations.  It just feels right - like it’s the person you were meant to be all along.

And see, I think ultimately that’s the call that God places on each of us – to follow Jesus wherever he takes us.  And the great thing is, you don’t have to be blinded for three days or made vulnerable and exposed to realize this.  I’m here today to tell you that my entire life is a testimony to the fact that God has a purpose for each one of us, if only we listen to his voice and act upon it.  And as long as we remember that God’s vision may be vastly different from ours, we’ll be okay.  As long as we follow the call, we’ll forever be in God’s hands.

So listen – if you ever feel like you can’t quite live up to the calling, if you ever wonder whether God’s plans are too much to handle, just remember a religious fanatic who met Jesus on the road one day and, after three days of blindness, came to see the truth of it all.  That truth, my friends, is a calling to serve Jesus with your whole life.  The question for you this morning is this: how will you respond to your call?  In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, thanks be to God.  AMEN.

WHEN ANANIAS SPEAKS

(Note: this sermon is the first in a two-part sermon series looking at Acts 9 and the conversion of Saul to Paul.  The sermons are in the first-person.  This sermon is written from the perspective of Ananias; the next sermon will be from Paul's point of view).

Acts 9: 10-19a
Steve Lindsley
July 8, 2012

 

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Straight Street, is what they called it.  For you today, it’d be along the lines of Regent Street in London or New York’s Fifth Avenue.  It’s where everything – and I mean everything – happened in the ancient town of Damascus.  It’d been that way forever – scholars believe Damascus is the oldest continually inhabited city in the world.  And Straight Street has always run right through the center of it.

 

Usually I find myself walking down this street a couple of times a day, making my way around town or purchasing goods.  But what found me strolling down Straight Street that afternoon was anything but routine; nothing I could have imagined in my wildest dreams.  Visions will make you do some pretty crazy things, people. 

See, I had heard he might be in town.  And when he’s around, let me tell you, you watch your step carefully.  Everyone knew who Saul was – born and raised a Jew, inheriting Roman citizenship from his father.  An outstanding rabbinical student, the cream of the crop; but Saul was no bookworm.  He was a man of great passion – whatever he believed in, he believed in completely.  And the thing is, he expected you to feel the exact same way he did.  But then he started hanging out with the rough crowd and became more of a fanatic than a true student of the law. 

That’s why he hated people like me – this Nazarene sect which embraced Jesus as the messiah.  For Saul, there was no greater offense to the Jewish faith.  It drove him nuts!  In fact, that’s why he came to Damascus in the first place.  He’d go from synagogue to synagogue, asking for the names of people like me so he could use his “persuasive tactics” to bring them back to the fold.  It wasn’t pretty.

Needless to say, we got ourselves ready.  We weren’t going to deny our faith, of course, but we sure were going to make it difficult for him.  We made preparations and expected the worst; because that’s what you did when Saul came to town.  You hunkered down and kind of waited it out, like a bad storm.   

So imagine my surprise, when God came to me in a vision one night.  Came to me in my sleep and said:  Get up!  Get up, Ananias, and go to the street called Straight; and at the house of Judas look for a man of Tarsus named Saul.  Say what… ?!   I love the way God put it: “A man of Tarsus named Saul,” like I wouldn’t know who he was without his address.  He could’ve said “Look for your worst nightmare” and I would’ve known exactly who he was talking about.

The bigger question, though: why in the world would God want me looking for Saul??  I didn’t have to wait too long for my answer: At this moment, God said, Saul is praying, and he has seen in a vision a man named Ananias come in and lay his hands on him so that he might regain his sight.  Seen it.  In a vision.  Nice, God, nice!  It’s not just that you’re asking me to go see this man that I and everyone else are trying to avoid like the plague.  But now you’re telling me that Saul’s already seen me come to him in a vision you gave him.  Like it’s set in stone; like I don’t have a choice.  Thanks, God; thanks a lot.

I resisted the urge to press this issue and instead tried a more diplomatic approach.  So in my most humble and unassuming demeanor I said: Lord, I don’t know about you, but I’ve heard a thing or two about this man.  And just in case you haven’t, just in case it’s slipped off your holy radar, Saul has done some pretty rotten things to your servants in Jerusalem.  And word on the street is that he’s come here to do the same to us. That’s why we’ve battened down the hatches and gone underground.  Are you sure you want me to go looking for him?

I was really hoping God would do a double-take and change course.  I should’ve known better!  In fact, it got worse: Go, God insisted, for Saul is an instrument whom I have chosen to bring my name before Gentiles and the people of Israel.

Okay, now I was furious!  Why would God do such a thing – make Saul an “instrument” of his??   That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard!  In what world is someone like Saul an instrument of anything for God?  The only thing Saul had done for years was make life miserable for everyone who claimed Jesus as Lord and Savior.  And now, Saul was going to suddenly start speaking on God’s behalf???

I hope you can sympathize with me here.  I mean, things were hard enough for us already, without Saul breathing down our necks.  We were nothing more than a fledging, loosely connected group of waywards just trying to share our love for Jesus in an increasingly hostile environment.  We needed every break we could get!  And now this Saul was going to be one of us?  Surely you understand how this made absolutely no sense.

And that’s not the half of it.  Deep down inside, I was terrified that God would ask anything of me.  Because honestly, I’m no one special.  I’m like most of you, just trying to make it in life and do the right thing.  I don’t have any delusions of grandeur or expect more than my fair share.  I’ve got my family, my friends, my job and my church.  I’m just an ordinary guy who wants to do my thing and chalk it up at the end of the day, you know?  So, if it’s indeed God’s will that Saul come and be with us, as ludicrous as that sounds, surely there are others out there more equipped to go see him.  Surely there is someone else who’d do a better job than me.

I was hoping that God would un-call me for this responsibility.  But the more I pleaded, the more God insisted.  And so there I was the next day – walking down Straight Street like I always did.  Except this time I wasn’t going to the marketplace or meeting friends.  I came to the house where God had told me to go; I knocked on the door and they let me in. 

It was kind of dark in there, but I still could make out faces – brothers and sisters in Christ who were part of this band of followers in Damascus with me.  How incredibly surreal that we would find ourselves here now under these circumstances!  I continued into the room and then came upon him, the great Saul – cowering in a corner with his arms around his knees.  I noticed something was wrong with his eyes – he heard my footsteps and looked wildly around the room, never actually looking at me.  Like the blind man he had so recently become.

And it was at that moment that I experienced a transformation of sorts – nothing all that dramatic, mind you, just a different way of looking at all of this.  I mean, here was Saul, our most revered enemy, perhaps the one thing that was keeping the gospel from taking hold and spreading far.  Here he was – blinded, shaking like a child, a pitiful, pitiful sight.  And it would’ve been so easy to put him out of his misery and, in doing so, put us out of ours, you know?  And don’t think for a second that I wasn’t tempted to do that.

But that’s when it dawned on me – slow, like a warm blanket – that God’s hand must have been in this; in what I was doing, in what Saul was doing.  That God really did have something special in store for this man.  Why else would God appear to both of us in a vision and then bring him here to a roomful of Jesus-followers?  I mean, can you imagine what this must have been like for Saul – blinded, vulnerable, totally incapacitated, in the presence of “the enemy” and having no way of knowing what we would do with him?  I’m telling you – it’s the coolest and most unsettling thing, when you realize that God is up to something!  

And so I went to Saul, I laid my hands on him, and said, Saul, I know who you are.  I know who you are.  But I also know who our God is, and the amazing things God can do.  The Lord Jesus, who appeared to you on your way here, appeared to me as well; and he has sent me so you may regain your sight and be filled with God’s spirit.  It’s not me who will do this; it is Jesus.  I have no idea where those words came from, to be honest with you.  Somewhere outside of me. 

I laid my hands on Saul and suddenly his wandering eyes focused squarely on mine – he could see again.  And then he smiled – a smile of a relieved and renewed man, absent of the hate and malice he had grown so famous for.  That smile continued to spread across his face as I baptized him and welcomed him as a follower of Jesus; as I welcomed him into our fold.

And the rest, as you people like to say, is history.  And let me tell you – it is impossible to overstate the ripple effects of what that man did with the rest of his life.  It’s mind-boggling!  Three huge missionary journeys.  Galatia.  Ephesus.  Rome.  Athens.  Corinth.  The rest of Saul’s life – or Paul, as we would later call him – the rest of Paul’s life was spent telling everyone about Jesus.  Except this time, he wasn’t telling people to avoid Jesus, or what would happen to them if they believed in Jesus.  Paul spent every minute of the rest of his life telling people to follow Jesus, to serve Jesus, to give up their lives for Jesus!  He was doing everything in his power, every ounce of energy and influence he had, to build up churches and spread the gospel near and far.  And I’m dead serious when I say this:  had it not been for Paul’s efforts, it’s highly unlikely that Christianity (as you now call it) would’ve become a worldwide religion.  It’s almost certain that this “Jesus fad” would’ve remained within the bounds of Palestine and died out with original followers like me.  The fact that you’re sitting in this very sanctuary this morning is a testimony to the work and ministry of a man named Paul.

But you know, as amazing as all that is, that’s not what I think about every time I pass by that house on Straight Street.  What I’ve never forgotten is the wonderful way that God can use anybody to do whatever God has in store – even if that person appears to be the least qualified, or the least equipped, or the least worthy.  I mean, who would’ve ever thought it would’ve been Paul telling the world about Jesus?  Or me giving him his sight back? 

The last thing God needs from you and me is to waste God’s time trying to tell God who God can and cannot use, you know?  Like trying to put God in some kind of box!   But we do it all the time, don’t we?  We did it back then, and we still do it today.  We Christians do a stellar job of drawing lines and determining who is “in” and who is “out.”  It’s almost like it’s built into our DNA, even though it goes against everything Jesus said and did.  I guess it’s inevitable when the church mistakenly believes that it’s their cross to bear, their burden to deal with.  Wouldn’t everything be easier if we finally admitted, once and for all, that it is not our burden, it is God’s.  It is not our church, it is God’s church.  And God can do whatever God wishes’ God can use whomever God pleases; and we don’t have to give our permission for any of it.  Contrary to the way we often act and think and live and exist, it is not about us.  It is about God.

And for reasons I’ll never understand, God chose to use me that day; as ordinary a person as you’ll find.  And here’s the scary part, folks: if God can use the likes of me, then God can use any one of you to do extraordinary things. I mean, I’m a blip on the Biblical radar; I’m an afterthought.  And that’s perfectly okay – because God uses each of us for purposes great and small, but purposes whose ripple effects reach far and wide in the kingdom of God.  It doesn’t take much, really – just a desire to follow God’s will, wherever it may lead.

And you know, I often wonder – if each one of us committed to doing that, what wonderful things might God do in our midst?  Think about that, will you?  Because that, my friends, is a vision that you never lose sight of – don’t you think?  In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy spirit, thanks be to God.  AMEN.

IN WHOM (NOT WHAT) WE TRUST

Psalm 99: 1-9; Matthew 22: 15-22
Steve Lindsley
July 1, 2012

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Four weeks.  That’s how long it sat in the rotunda of the Alabama Supreme Court building.  5300 pounds of solid granite, roped off as if to protect it from unclean hands.  The top of the monument was cut to resemble two stone tablets, upon which was inscribed the Ten Commandments.  King James Version.  On the sides of the structure were a number of inscriptions and dedications, including the familiar “In God We Trust.”

For thirty days or so, this rock created quite a firestorm during a scorching August.  Chief Justice Roy Moore stubbornly resisted requests to remove what became known as “Roy’s Rock,” even after a federal Court ordered him to do so.  A few weeks later, Moore was suspended by the Alabama Judiciary Inquiry Commission for his actions.  This did not, however, thwart the efforts of hundreds of supporters who flocked to the steps of the courthouse to defend their martyr hero – and the monument.  They swore their allegiance to “Roy’s Rock,” promising to do everything in their power to prevent it from being removed – even if it meant going to jail.  John Giles, president of the Alabama Christian Coalition, encouraged Christians all over the country to come to Alabama to fight for the cause.  And many did.

The monument was eventually removed from the rotunda, as was Roy Moore from the chief justice seat.  Lately, though, things have been looking up for ol’ Roy.  His non-profit organization, “The Foundation For Moral Law,” is humming along nicely, speaking engagements are plentiful (and profitable), and in November’s election Roy will vie once again for his old job – with a strong base of support.  Amazing, isn’t it, the places that a hunk of granite can take you!

Hard to believe all that happened ten years ago!  Our country continues to wrestle with what place God and organized religion should have in government and the public place.  Every year or so, a new municipality deals with this cultural clash – whether it’s the Ten Commandments in a courtroom or classroom, or the slogan “In God We Trust” adorning public property, or the Christian flag flying over a public monument in nearby King.

You talk to any number of people about their thoughts and opinions on this subject, and most of them are clearly on one side or the other – there aren’t a lot of fence-straddlers here.  Some do not see much of a distinction at all between faith and public life – to be American is to be a Christian; and vice versa.  Others are more inclined to draw lines between religion and patriotism, viewing the absence of those lines as a watering down of both.

Now this sermon today, in case you’re wondering, is not about which view is right or which view is wrong.  Because when you bring religion and politics into the discussion, things are rarely “black or white.”  But hey – don’t take my word for it.  Just ask Jesus in our scripture today!  The Jewish nation was under Roman rule back then; and it was a tenuous pairing to say the least.  That’s because Rome’s vision was about conquering the world in the name of Caesar, while Israel’s calling was to be the loyal and faithful people of God.  It was the clash of church and state, first-century Palestinian-style!

So when Jesus began traveling the countryside doing his thing, it was inevitable that he would find himself caught in the crossfire.  To the synagogue leaders and Pharisees, Jesus was both offensive and troubling: offensive because he challenged their treasured beliefs, and troubling because they knew the danger of a passionate man in the midst of a desperate people.  To the Romans, Jesus was at best a nuisance and at worst a threat to the established order and unquestioned loyalty to the emperor.  Jesus was a target for both camps; a pawn to be exploited.

Which is precisely what those Pharisees were trying to do when they approached Jesus that day. They had it all planned out: a single question that would surely stump him, make him blurt out something that would expose him as the false prophet they were so convinced he was. They began their exchange by laying it on thick: We know that you have integrity, Jesus; that you are indifferent to popular opinion, that you don’t pander to your students.  Then, with the niceties aside, the gloves came off.  They showed him a Roman coin and asked: So tell us: is it right to pay taxes to Caesar, or not? 

Oh man – the classic “gotcha” question!  Where neither answer is a good one. Don’t you just hate those?

When I was going through the ordination process many moons ago, one of the last hoops I had to jump through was my examination before presbytery.  It goes something like this: you preach a sermon and share a prepared Statement of Faith before hundreds of ministers and elders, and then you get to stand there before all those ministers and elders as they are given the opportunity to ask any question of you they wish – about faith, about your life, your calling, whatever.  Now by this point, most people realize that you’ve been run through the ringer so many times that, if you’d gotten this far, you’re good to go.  But there’s always one person – usually someone who likes to hear themselves talk, or someone like those Pharisees living in their black-or-white world – there’s always one person who finds their way to the microphone to ask a question they are convinced must be asked.

The moderator called for any questions from the assembly as I stood there.  Silence.  I thought I was home-free, until I heard a voice in the back: I have a question!  Ugh!  The elderly gentleman – who I later found out did this sort of thing at every presbytery meeting – this guy began by waxing poetic about how “edified” he was by my sermon and “impressed” with my Statement of Faith.  Buttering me up!  But there was one thing he wanted to know; something he was sure everyone else wanted to know; and that was this: Steve, is the Lord’s Supper a somber event or an occasion for celebration?   

And immediately, I saw the dilemma: if I said somber, he would counter, what about the new life in Christ?  Isn’t that something to be excited about?  But if I said celebration, he would accuse me of not taking the sacrifice of Jesus seriously enough.  I had two options, and neither were good ones.

So what did I do?  I went for the option!  I don’t know that it was the most sophisticated answer, and maybe it was a bit of a copout.  But I said it was both – both a somber occasion and a celebration.  And I do think it’s both, by the way.  It may not have been what that guy wanted to hear, but it seemed to appease everyone else – and, well, here I am!

The stakes were a little higher with Jesus’ gotcha question, don’t you think?  I mean, talk about getting caught between 5300 pounds of granite and a hard place!  Is it right to pay taxes to Caesar, or not?  Here’s the dilemma Jesus faced.  Saying “yes” would pit him totally against the Torah, the law of the Hebrews that those Pharisees knew so well.  That’s because every Roman coin – which taxes had to be paid with – every coin bore the likeness of Caesar and was inscribed with the following: “Tiberius Caesar Divi Augusti Filius Augustus Pontifex Maximus.”  You know, I gotta say it’s nice after nearly twenty years of preaching to finally put my high school and college Latin to use in a sermon!  Just in case you didn’t spend four and a half years studying a dead language like I did, that Latin inscription translated to: “Tiberius Caesar, son of the divine Augustus, High Priest.”  So paying homage to the coin amounted to idolatry – unequivocally prohibited by Hebrew law.  “Yes” was surely not an answer for Jesus.

On the other hand, answering “no” would’ve certainly been perceived by the Romans as an act of treason – much the same way that some folks in our day and time run into all kinds of trouble with the IRS.  And you can bet those Pharisees would’ve headed straight to the governor’s office and reported this carpenter from Nazareth, who would’ve been silenced before you could say “tax evader.”  So “No” wasn’t an option, either.

And you know something?  I think the thing I love most about how Jesus responds here is that he refuses to be pigeon-holed into the black-or-white world of the Pharisees, where there are only “yes” and “no” answers to “yes” and “no” questions.  I love the fact that Jesus is given two options and he chooses a third – and in doing so, heads straight into the gray of life the rest of us live in and totally turns the tables on those Pharisees, leaving them as the stumped and silenced ones.  For after revealing their hypocrisy – after making the Pharisees show everyone that they had in their possession one of those coins they considered so idolatrous, how brilliant is that! – after doing that, Jesus gave them anything but a “yes” or “no” answer – most simply worded, I believe, in The Message translation:

Give Caesar what is Caesar’s, and give God what is God’s.

Wow!  I mean, I know Jesus was the son of God and all, but don’t you wish you could do what he did: take the categories and holes that others try to pigeon you into, and rather than be forced to choose either/or, find a third and better way?  Because that’s exactly what Jesus does here! Those Pharisees were trying to get him to determine “ownership” – what God owns, what Caesar owns.  But Jesus wanted to talk about something much more important: loyalty and trust and relationship.

And see, that’s where the Pharisees’ blew it; that’s where their little plan came unraveled and they wound up, as the expression goes, eating crow.  There was no question the government owned the coin the Pharisees so quickly produced – it had Caesar’s image on it.  And because of that, taxes were (and still are) a reality.  But did Caesar, did the Roman empire, deserve their ultimate loyalty?  Was that the most important relationship in their lives? 

No – no, it wasn’t.  Not for them.  And not for us, either.  We in this sanctuary may be citizens of a country – and a great and wonderful country it is, and we should give thanks to God for that.  But we are first and foremost citizens of God’s kingdom on earth.  And in God’s kingdom, it’s not about what we own, or who owns us.  It’s about who we are in relationship with.  Who we are loyal too.  Who has our trust. 

And see, that sort of thing is awfully hard to capture in anything we make ourselves.  Just because a Ten Commandments monument sits in a courtroom or classroom doesn’t mean that everyone who walks in there will magically obey everything written on them.  Just because “In God We Trust” adorns every penny, nickel, dime, quarter and dollar bill in our wallets and pocketbooks doesn’t mean we always trust in God when we buy something with them.  Just because a Christian flag flies over a public monument doesn’t mean everyone who sees that flag automatically becomes a Christian. 

Our lives are not transformed by a hunk of granite or a time-honored slogan or a Christian flag.  Our lives are transformed by Jesus Christ and the God we trust in, the God we worship, the God we are in relationship with. And so what this broken world of ours really needs from you and me is to live like we have God’s word engraved on our hearts; like those slogans are not just catchy sayings but reflect how we truly conduct ourselves; like the thing we really pledge our allegiance to is not a “what” but a “who” – namely, a first-century Jewish carpenter from Nazareth.

As we celebrate our country’s independence in a few days, as we rightfully feel patriotic pride for this wonderful country in which we live and gratitude for those who have helped to made it that way, let us never forget that our calling as citizens of God’s kingdom is to always remember: it is in God we trust.  We place our ultimate trust and loyalty and love in a living God who cannot be encapsulated in some human creation, but instead comes to us in a living, breathing human being who refused to be pigeon-holed into a yes-or-no, black-or-white kind of world.  Jesus embraced the grey of life, and in doing so embraced us.  And Jesus longs to be in relationship with us – this day and every day.

And that, my friends, that relationship is something most deserving of our full trust.  In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, thanks be to God.  AMEN.