The Things that are God’s

What an odd little story tucked there near the end of the book of Exodus. So odd that it really defies our attempts to explain it, so we probably shouldn’t even try. Mostly because when you are dealing with manifestations of God, you are in the realm of mystery anyway. So, exhale, and don’t attempt an explanation. Please.

That said, there is plenty for us to ponder as we preach this story. There is this crazy conversation that leads to God saying to Moses “I will make all my goodness pass before you.” What? What in the world does that mean? Or what out of the world, maybe? I will make all my goodness pass before you. Hmm.

OK, take a look at what is going on here. Back up to verse eleven to get a little context. See, the text says that God and Moses spent a lot of time in conversation, like friends. Like friends, meaning they enjoyed each other’s company, but argued as much as agreed. It was a contentious relationship from the beginning. No denying that. They complained to each other, dreamed together; they debated the meaning of life. All the usual stuff that friends do.

This time, Moses is saying he’s gotten the short end of the stick again. You gave me this job, he says, but you don’t say how I’m supposed to do it, or who is going to help me do it, or even for sure what it is we are supposed to do now. I’ve got no road map; I’ve got no itinerary; I’ve got no clue what’s next. All I’ve got is this vague sense of call and the fact that you seem to like me for some reason. And besides, this is your mess to fix and not mine anyway. God says, “I’m here, take it easy.” Moses says, “Well, duh. You’re here. You better be here since this is all your idea anyway. But I need more than that. Way more.” God says, “OK. Because I like you. Because I told you my name. OK.” Moses is a bit stunned by this turn in the conversation and he whispers, “Show me your glory.”

So, what did he ask? Did he ask for a light show? For thunder and lightning? Or something else? Glory. How do we give God glory? Or how do we acknowledge God’s glory? By how we live. Yeah, sometimes it is praise and worship, but mostly we glorify God by living as God would have us live. Moses wanted something tangible. He wanted to see God walking around, living the way Moses was supposed to live. In short, thousands of years before the time, he was asking for Jesus. He wanted God to put on flesh and come and hang out with him. Come and guide him. Come and sustain him —for the task he was feeling way too inadequate to do. To lead the people that he was sure didn’t want to be led by the likes of him. He wanted a glimpse of how it was supposed to be, how he was supposed to be in God. He wanted Jesus.

In the morning, when I rise, give me Jesus. We are asking for glory when we sing that song, when we pray that prayer. Give me Jesus. Give me a glimpse of how I’m supposed to walk. Give me a hint of how I’m to do this task you’ve given me to do when I know it is beyond my ability to do. Parenting, pastoring, teaching, leading, living in love with neighbor and family, none of it is within my capabilities to do. None of it.

God says, “I know. So, here’s what I’ll do. I’ll make all my goodness pass before you.” Wait, what? “My goodness,” God says, “just what you need, just what will equip you, just what will fill you. On your own, the tasks before you are beyond you. But filled with my goodness, then the impossible becomes possible.” “Filled with my goodness,” God says to Moses, “you can lead these people.”

Goodness is not some ethical standard, some state of being, it is the empowering force that equips us to live as God’s people. It is blessing. God blessed Moses on that mountaintop, just as God blesses us anytime we let the Spirit fill us. “Filled with my goodness,” God says to us, “you can be who I created you to be. Filled with my goodness... “ See, we are so used to thinking these are attributes that we generate ourselves. If we work hard enough, then we will become good. But that isn’t how it works. It is a gift. It is the Spirit at work within us. And we let it because we know that without it, we fall short of who we want to be, let alone who God can equip us to be. And we invite the Spirit to bring us God’s goodness because we want it; we want to be there. We want to be that. That something more, that something new. We want to love like that.

And what could bring us down to earth again after all of that abiding in God’s goodness than a conversation about taxes? This will come as a shock, I’m sure, but this isn’t really a conversation about taxes. Matthew tells us that from the start: “Then the Pharisees went and plotted to entrap him in what he said.” We aren’t really discussing the ethics of economic policy here. We aren’t even giving folks today some help in how they should file their taxes, whether tax avoidance is smart politics/economics or bad morals (or both, somehow), and whether lying to the IRS is the same as lying to anyone else.

But, you might argue, doesn’t Jesus do that Jesus thing where he takes what is essentially a nefarious trap and turn it into some good advice and, in the end ,help us with the whole taxes thing? Well, maybe, but Jesus isn’t really in the advice business. Especially tax advice. He’s in the transformation business. He is in the radical rethinking life business. He’s about dying to sin and self and rising again to live a life without horizons. Not that paying taxes isn’t important for us, but it pales alongside eternity.

It is interesting how the argument plays out, or how Matthew presents it —after telling us that this was a plot to trip up Jesus and coming up with another of those no-win scenarios that the Pharisees love to concoct. And then, once they hit upon a fool-proof plan, they send their disciples to go get Jesus. Wait, what? Yeah, they sent the rookies in to do the dirty work. Maybe they weren’t convinced that this plan was indeed foolproof; maybe they had been burned by Jesus too many times in the past. Who knows? But they tagged in the guys who had been onlookers to this point; they sent the probationary ones to get into the fray. And it went about as well as could be expected when confronting Jesus with an unsolvable riddle. (Yeah, I always wondered why the Riddler was surprised when Batman figured out the clues in time to thwart his evil plans. Seems too easy in a way, don’t you think?)

OK, preacher reflection time out here. One of the tragic realities of the larger context within which we preach week after week is the painful rise of antisemitism. While the origins for this are many and various, and often out of our hands, it is worth a moment of reflection to ask ourselves as preachers how we present the Jewish people to our listening congregations. I know that I was often heard to be tapping into the “Keystone Kops” trope that the Gospel writers seem to lean into for both the Pharisees and the disciples of Jesus at times. This may seem innocuous, but it can contribute to an overarching understanding that the Jews were and are somehow less intelligent than we are today. Or that the antagonists in every Gospel story are Jews who are trying to get rid of the rabble-rouser Jesus. We need to remember and proclaim that the protagonists in these stories are also Jews, and the large crowds who followed Jesus and listened to him and brought their children to him were Jews as well. Letting any character represent a whole people is a dangerous proposition. As preachers, we have more influence than we might realize in shaping our congregation in their attitude and understanding of the people who gave us Jesus and the rich tradition of faith in which we stand.

Back to the story. How does Jesus respond to this testing? First, he discloses that he sees what they are up to and calls them out for putting him to the test. Then he says, “All right, I’ll answer your spurious question. Show me the coin.” When he says this, he distances himself from their primary complaint. How can this Jesus carry a coin that is a blasphemous symbol of a godlike being? So, he shows that he isn’t carrying such a thing. He has stepped outside of the normal economic world and chooses to live a different way. Not unaware of how the world works, this isn’t naivete on Jesus’ part. He knows the coin; he just chooses to not have any of them on his person.

We could argue that living by barter was possible for that culture in a way that it isn’t in ours. We could point out that choosing to live outside our economic system isn’t a very healthy way for us to live. Yet, there are people who do it all the time. And Jesus would claim, we should argue, that we owe it to them to be supportive and sympathetic to their needs. We could also dig a little deeper and ask what was the point that Jesus was trying to make? Was he really recommending that we all live off the grid? That we eschew money of any kind and live hand to mouth? Maybe, but maybe there was another point he was hoping to shed light upon.

Give to God the things that are God’s. What is the logical next question after that? What are God’s things? There were hundreds of laws and stipulations determining what was sacred – fit for use in the service of God— and what was mundane – of this earth and therefore not sacred and not fit for use in God’s service. But Jesus wants us to take a different look. Everything is sacred and fit for use in the service of God. Everything, starting with us and everyone around us, belongs to God and therefore it is a part of our calling to surrender ourselves to God.

Things are important, to be sure. But Jesus seemed much more interested in people than in things. The things that are God’s had to refer to everyone that he saw around him. The ones who were hanging on his every word, the ones who had given up livelihoods and family to follow him everywhere he went, and also the ones who were setting a trap for him, hoping that he would get tongue-tied talking about God and get himself in trouble with the people or the authorities or empire. They, too, Jesus would claim. They belong to God. And maybe if we could treat one another as though they belonged to God, then we might come closer to living out the promise of the kingdom that he kept talking about.

Maybe if we saw everyone as belonging to God, then we’d have an idea of what glory was.