Dust and Breath: A Human Coin

“Then the Pharisees went and plotted how they might entangle Him in His talk. And they sent to Him their disciples with the Herodians, saying, “Teacher, we know that You are true, and teach the way of God in truth; nor do You care about anyone, for You do not regard the person of men. Tell us, therefore, what do You think? Is it lawful to pay taxes to Caesar, or not?” But Jesus perceived their wickedness, and said, “Why do you test Me, you hypocrites? Show Me the tax money.” So they brought Him a denarius. And He said to them, “Whose image and inscription is this?” They said to Him, “Caesar’s.” And He said to them, “Render therefore to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and to God the things that are God’s. When they had heard these words, they marveled, and left Him and went their way.” (Matthew 22:15-22 NKJV.) 

Matthew’s passage communicates what has become an often quoted maxim—pay your taxes. Be a good citizen. But is there something more revolutionary under the surface of what Jesus appears to be saying? 

Jesus is always teaching. Whether he is walking near a grain field on the Sabbath, or sitting down to dinner, or attending a wedding, or mourning His best friend, teaching who God is seems to emanate through every action. He is Salvation in motion. There is a movement, a flow, a pulsating rhythm to the environment He creates around Him, and living words seem to pour out of Him like rain spilling from the sky. 

Jesus often teaches, as we see in the multiple encounters throughout the different Gospels, through parables. But here we see Him teaching in a different way—through questions. 

With regard to questions, I often think the questions Jesus asks (which don’t always seem to make sense) somehow uncover what is really being asked. Take for example the rich young ruler, or the Samaritan woman at the well. And in typical Jewish fashion, Jesus often responds to questions with yet another question.  

Questions are very much part of the threads which make up the biblical narratives—in the first conversation in the Garden of Eden in Genesis, God asks the first humans who are hiding behind their shame, ‘Where are you?’ When Joseph is looking for his brothers, he is approached by a man in a field (random), who profoundly asks him, ‘What are you seeking?’ When Moses in Exodus 4 is getting ready to approach Pharaoh, God asks him, ‘What is in your hand?’. Jonah, when he has run as far as he can from everything he knows, is asked by the sailors, ‘Who are your people and who is your God?’ If we stop there and ask ourselves these pivotal questions, we might hear God behind them, urging us to identify the most pressing questions which bubble below the surface, and which hide behind our masks. 

Back to our passage—picture yourself there on that day. Become part of the story—locate yourself inside the text. Are you there to hear a prophet who has travelled down from Galilee with his students? Are you indeed a student of His? Are you unsure—do you want to see if He really can be trapped with His own words, or if He offers something else? Where are you standing? Are you a zealous follower, or a sceptic, intrigued by what is unfolding before your very eyes?  

Maybe if you were there that day you would have similar questions about what is being asked of this holy Man—what indeed should we do? Be faithful to our Torah and our God, or violate them through paying homage to a foreign, pagan god? Will this teacher be able to answer, where all the others were not?  

Imagine Jesus being aware as He is speaking, of who is in the group. Is there a shift in atmosphere, as Temple officials join the group? A pointed question emerges from the crowd after a sentence or two of flattery, ‘Caesar…should we pay taxes, or not?’ He doesn’t answer the question, at least not directly. He is not stressed or flustered. With composure and power, He requests that He be shown a denarius (a Roman coin made of silver) stamped with the image of Caesar. The moment the Roman coin is produced they have revealed their own hypocrisy. 

Jesus is not looking to humiliate. He is looking to transform. He uncovers what is really there, not for shame but for the sake of wholeness. He uses what might have been a trap sent to embarrass and fluster Him, as a moment of astonishing teaching about who we are and about the kingdom of God. He simply speaks truth to power, and is a mirror, allowing what is under the surface to be reflected.  

In the ancient world, a king’s image engraved on his coins showed he owned that land. Julius Caesar was the first Roman ruler to have his own image stamped on the coins used wherever Roman dominion was enforced. This possibly newly minted coin flashed during the encounter we read above, showing Caesar as ruler of Judea, and therefore ruler of the people of Israel, which is why the question about taxes is so controversial. According to some, paying tax to Caesar using these coins not only sustained the Roman economy, but also was a way of venerating his image—something forbidden under Jewish law. 

If we are speaking about images being imprinted, where are we in terms of biblical text? If we think of the threads of Scripture, we are in the very beginning, when God took the dust of the earth and moulded it in His image and filled that dust with His breath. Dust and breath fused to bring forth life. Life that is made in God’s own image. This God-breathed dust is stamped with His image, in the same way coins are stamped in the image of the Emperor.  

“So give back to Caesar what is Caesar’s, and to God what is God’s.” Jesus teaches—give to Caesar what is his—coins made of metal bearing his own likeness. But give to God what is His—you. The handiwork of God, stamped in His image and filled with His breath. We bear the image of the Creator—it is to His kingdom we belong and not Caesar, no matter the might of the Roman army. We are God’s image, stamped in dust and each unique. 

Lois Tverberg writes in this vein, “Humans are God’s coins, meant to be spent on His world, proclaiming God’s Kingdom wherever we circulate”. (See, Walking in the Dust of Rabbi Jesus, Lois Tverberg, Zondervan 2012). 

By Julie Wisdom McKinley (PhD)