Exodus 33:12-23; Psalm 99; 1 Thessalonians 1:1-10; Matthew 22:15-22
Saint Margaret’s
Anglican Church
Budapest, Hungary
“Show me the coin.”
According to art historians, the sixteenth-century Italian artist known today as Titian was among the first great painters of the Renaissance to tackle the subject of today’s account from the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus and the Denarius, or Jesus and the Tribute Coin, as it is sometimes called. A challenging topic for a painting, I suppose, given the smallness of the coin against the backdrop of large human figures. In any case, Titian’s painting was apparently commissioned by the wealthy Duke of Ferrara for the door of the cabinet where, you guessed it, he kept his coins. In other words, a portion of his riches and great wealth. His treasure chest, if you will.
Actually, the Duke may have chosen the subject of the Tribute Coin because he himself felt torn between his allegiance to the Pope, understood at the time to be the Vicar of Christ on earth, and to the Holy Roman Emperor and thus successor of Caesar. Titian himself experienced so much success with the painting that it ended up making his reputation, his career, and interestingly his own fortune. Not bad for a coin which represented merely a day’s wages in the time of our Lord.
Now, no one likes to pay taxes; whether it be the Pharisees of Jesus’ time, the Duke of Ferrara, or the ultra-wealthy oligarchs of today, among whom tax avoidance is not a dirty word or a crime but a science. And tax policy itself remains one of the most fraught subjects any government ever confronts in any age; it is indeed an issue facing the new Hungarian government at this very moment.
e can only assume by the way that Titian paid his taxes, although I do not suppose there is any extant record of it one way or the other.
It was well known at the time of our Lord that the exorbitant taxes collected from commonfolk generally ended up lining the pockets of corrupt tax collectors and government officials, although few dared say it aloud. So it is that we find the Pharisees plotting today “to entrap Jesus in what he” says, as the text tells us. They ask him if it is lawful to pay taxes, knowing full well that there can be no right answer when the law of God seemingly collides with the law of the Empire.
At our Lord’s request, “They brought him a denarius,” a unit of money emblazoned with the image of the emperor. “They brought him a denarius.” But where did it come from…? The text is a bit ambiguous. As Father John pointed out to me earlier this past week, if it was their own coin, they have in a sense already answered their own question. If the coin was in their own possession, they must have considered it permitted and lawful. Jesus’ answer is a rebuff to the Pharisees and their bungled attempt to trip him up in his own words. A gotcha-moment, if there ever was one.
Yet, while Jesus’ famous answer, “Give therefore to the emperor the things that are the emperor's, and to God the things that are God's,” while Jesus’ answer would certainly win him points in any debating tournament, it is, upon closer inspection, no answer at all. Sorry, Jesus. His response merely highlights the conundrum or dilemma which has been brought before him. It emphasises the conflict we must all feel even today being part of this fractured, sinful world and engaged in its enterprise but yet also not entirely of this world. Jesus’ answer entraps the Pharisees, not him. And if we are not careful, it will entrap us as well.
Back to Titian… Perhaps his composition can point us in the right direction. And, I say point advisedly. For, the figure of Titian’s Pharisee, said to be a Titian self-portrait by the way, raises the denarius up and heavenward, modeling our Lord’s own hand raised and pointing to that which is above. The thrust of the composition is thus unmistakable. The coin, no matter whose image is on it, also belongs to God, not to Caesar, not to the Pharisees, and most certainly not to us.
The coin of the Pharisees is of course long gone. So are the Pharisees, come to think of it. Although I suppose there might still be a few of them here and there among us. The almighty emperor, whose image graced the coin is also no more. And the little Caesars and tycoons of today’s world stage will also not last forever. Titian perhaps lives on in “the beauty of holiness,” as Psalm 96 calls it. But no one remembers much the Duke of Ferrara, his beautiful cabinet, or his coins.
Like you and like the Duke of Ferrara, I too value the coins in my pocket, the paper bills in my wallet, the electronic particles on my laptop, all representing my usually diminishing account balance at the bank. And yes, I too pay my taxes. In two countries no less. But I also know that the vast Father Frank financial empire does not truly belong to me. Everything belongs to the Lord, finally and ultimately.
When the Pharisees heard Jesus’ explanation, the text tells us, “They were amazed.” And “They left him and went away.” Perhaps to plot another attempt at tripping him up. But just maybe one or the other of them was in fact truly amazed. Got the memo. Got the WhatsApp message. For, the truth or beauty of this Gospel vignette is that we have never paid out anything of our own to anyone because nothing has ever truly belonged to any of us in the first place. Even the coins in our pockets belong to God. Our very lives belong to God.
Now, I do not know about you, but I have never met anyone anywhere in any country or any culture who has complained to me that taxes are too low. Not the Pharisees; not Titian or the Duke of Ferrara; not you or me. But what today’s Gospel account reminds is that in God’s topsy-turvy, upside-down economy, the tax rate is alas higher than you or I can ever even imagine. It is, to be precise,, one hundred percent. And the tax bill, yours and mine, is already way overdue. And no, my friends, I am afraid there is no court of appeal.
So, show me the coin.
Amen.
The Revd Canon Dr Frank Hegedűs
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