In political debates, there is such a thing a “gotcha” question—something asked only to coerce the person being questioned into saying something that could potentially damage his or her reputation. The tactic isn’t new. In fact, it’s at least as old as the New Testament writings. In the Gospel of Mark, for example, we read of a group of religious and political leaders who approached Jesus and asked Him, “Is it lawful to pay taxes to Caesar, or not? Should we pay them, or should we not?” (12:14).
In Jesus’ time, this question was hotly debated and historically controversial. Rome had levied a tax on Judea in AD 6, reminding first-century Jews of their subservience to the godless regime. The Jews would pay their Roman tax with their Roman currency, the system itself serving as a perennial reminder of their subjection.
Some within the Jewish community were known as Zealots. Their party was one of no compromise. They defied Rome, refusing to pay taxes to the empire. On the other side of the issue were the Herodians (politicos) and the Pharisees (theologues), who determined there was a way to pay the Roman tax without compromising their convictions.
It was the latter group, the politicos and theologues, who asked Jesus the loaded question. We can learn a good deal about our relationship to government from the high-stakes exchange that followed.
The Approach
Mark describes the setup in the passage’s opening verse: “And they sent to him some of the Pharisees and some of the Herodians, to trap him in his talk.” The “they” of verse 13 are presumably the same enraged religious leaders of verse 12. Seeking another opportunity to trap Jesus in His words, the group sent a delegation of Pharisees and Herodians. This unholy band had already approached Christ with spite before (Mark 3:6), which means the events in chapter 12 were simply the resurgence of their efforts to once and for all silence Jesus.
Their efforts were in fulfillment of Psalm 2: “The rulers take counsel together, against the LORD” (v. 2). These strange bedfellows, the political and the religious leaders, were united in their opposition to Jesus—amalgamated in their desire to destroy the Lord of glory. Indeed, when we read history, we find this notion emerging again and again: the combination of politics and religion to silence Jesus Christ, ensuring that the story of the Son of God dying for man’s sins is done away with.
We can notice the flattery with which this group approached Christ in verse 14, calling Him “Teacher” and acknowledging His resolve to speak clearly and truthfully. These details paint a tragic picture of humanity’s ability to speak the best of things from the worst of motives. Paying lip service to the way of God, they were unwilling to do the will of God.
The Reaction
Jesus responds in verses 15–17 with two questions and a statement. First, He asks a rhetorical question: “Why put me to the test?” (v. 15). This isn’t the first time we encounter Jesus put to the test. Back in chapter 8, the Pharisees had tested Him on the issue of signs. In chapter 10, the issue was divorce and remarriage. So by the time Jesus posed the question in chapter 12, He was essentially asking, “When are we going to stop this whole ‘gotcha’ question routine?”
Mark tells us that Jesus then requested a denarius and posed a practical question. We can imagine him turning the denarius back and forth in His hand, examining it carefully while those gathered examined Him, then asking, “Whose likeness and inscription is this?” (vv. 15–16). “Caesar’s,” they replied—and in no ambiguous terms, Jesus then answered the leaders’ initial question: “Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s.” In other words: “Yes, pay the Roman taxes.”
Jesus puts politics in its place, setting our duty to state within the confines of our greater duty to God.
The Roman denarius was a small silver coin, similar to the American quarter in both value and in size. On the coin was Tiberius Caesar Augustus and beneath his image the title “Son of the divine Augustus.” On the back was a portrait of Tiberius seated on the throne, crowned with a diadem, clothed as a high priest. It was an unmistakable token of Caesar’s unparalleled rule.
This made Jesus’ answer all the more provocative. With His response, Jesus refuted the Zealot ideology, which attempted to establish a sort of “country within the country.” There were responsibilities involved in being part of the Roman Empire, Jesus was acknowledging—part of which involved paying the tax. “So, pay the tax,” Jesus said.
Yet Jesus continued, instructing them to render also “to God the things that are God’s” (v. 17). Just as Tiberius’s image was stamped onto the denarius, so the image of God is stamped onto the lives of those whom He’s created. And while the Jews in that context had a responsibility to pay the Roman tax, these obligations were within the context of their ultimate responsibility to the living God. Jesus here puts politics in its place, setting our duty to any temporary state within the confines of our greater duty to the eternal, sovereign God.
The issues of political freedom aren’t the ultimate issues of life. We need only to think about our Christian brothers and sisters in places like Somalia, Libya, or Northern India, who know little political freedom but take great delight in God’s kingdom. For the believer, the primary issue isn’t the world’s kingdoms. It’s the kingly rule of the Lord Jesus.
The Response
The leaders’ response is recorded for us in one sentence: “They marveled at him” (Mark 12:17). Having come to interrogate Jesus intellectually, they find themselves examined. In attempting to trap Him, they were confronted with the reality (whether they realized it or not) that there’s no refuge from Him; there’s only refuge in Him by faith—a reality the self-righteous delegates were unwilling to embrace.
The issues of political freedom aren’t the ultimate issues of life.
From this passage, we can glean a few principles for living as dual citizens, with residences established within a geopolitical border and a citizenship that belongs ultimately in heaven (Phil. 3:20).
First, political agendas take a distant second place when we become disciples of Jesus. Consider two of Jesus’ apostles: Matthew, formerly a tax collector for Rome, and Simon, who belonged to the party of the Zealots. Matthew was a “big government” guy, Simon a “no government” guy. And yet where do we find them united? In the kingdom of Christ! Our political objectives are important but not ultimate. They’re secondary to Jesus’ kingship.
Second, there are limits to the honor that is due Caesar. When pressed to stop their preaching in Acts, the apostles replied, “We must obey God rather than men” (Acts 5:29). The state’s jurisdiction is to be honored, but it’s also limited. What’s due Caesar is tax. What’s not due Caesar is worship. We don’t render to Caesar those things which are solely God’s. The Christian confesses, “Christ, not Caesar, is Lord.”
Finally, the kingdom of Christ takes precedence over every other kingdom. No matter how much we love where we’re from, we belong ultimately to the kingdom over which Christ reigns, which is comprised of people from all the nations of the world under His authority.
The kingdom of Christ takes precedence over every other kingdom.
What, then, is our confidence? Where is our courage? How are we to think about the world in which our grandchildren will live—a world that we can’t even conceive? There’s only one answer, and it’s to view the present political sphere in relation to the future reality that will cause us to say, “The kingdom of the world has become the kingdom of our Lord and of his Christ, and he shall reign forever and ever” (Rev. 11:15).
This article was adapted from the sermon “‘Render to Caesar…’” by Alistair Begg.
