What's Getting My Attention
“Then give to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and to God the things that are God’s” (Matthew 22:21).
This verse stopped me when I read it several days ago. The context is Jesus being asked by religious and political authorities whether it was right to pay taxes to Caesar. They were trying to trap him: if Jesus said that paying taxes to Caesar was a bad idea, that could be a capital offense; if he said it was fine, the people might question the legitimacy of his ministry.
Jesus asked to see a coin. It would have contained a picture of the Roman Emperor inscribed with the words: “Caesar Augustus Tiberius, son of the Divine Augustus.” The fact that Jesus’ interlocutors carried such a coin exposed their hypocrisy. So Jesus tossed the ball back: "Give to Caesar what belongs to Caesar, and to God what belongs to God.”
Was Jesus skirting the issue, or was he raising a question each human needs to grapple with?
There’s the Sunday school answer: ‘Give God your tithe (i.e. 10%) and the government your taxes, and you’re good to go; do whatever you want with the rest.’ While that may be one possible application, I think it may be missing the main point.
For one thing, I don’t think this is just or even mainly about money. Money is one kind of currency, but there are other kinds. I don’t have much choice over how much money I give Caesar, but there’s another kind of disposable currency Jesus may be getting at: our attention (e.g. paying attention).
Rome was very good at getting people’s attention. Exacting crippling taxes was one way. Recruiting local tax collectors (like Matthew) was another. The ubiquitous presence of Roman soldiers, Roman buildings, Roman statues, Roman inscriptions, Roman laws, Roman slaves, and Roman magistrates made it difficult not to to be constantly Caesar-conscious. Roman collaborators and Zealot revolutionaries also attracted people’s attention, accompanied by the ever-present threat of imprisonment, torture, and crucifixion.
Yet Jesus hardly ever referred to Rome and never directly. Rather than reinforcing the attention people gave Caesar, Jesus talked about God’s kingdom instead.
Over the last few weeks, I’ve been thinking a lot about attention, mainly because various podcasts and other media sources keep bringing it up. It was even one of the main points in a sermon I heard this past Sunday.
So you can understand why when I came across the words, “Give to Caesar what is Caesar’s, and to God what is God’s,” I felt challenged to think about my attention rather than my money; especially – I’ll admit it – the attention I give to politics.
I’m reading a book by Elizabeth Oldfield entitled Fully Alive: Tending to the Soul in Turbulent Times. It’s about the seven deadly sins. That may sound boring or depressing, but Oldfield’s a colorful, earthy writer who makes these topics come alive with contemporary relevance. I’m thinking now about her chapter on acedia, a word that’s sometimes translated as “sloth” but refers to a kind of listlessness, distraction, apathy, and restlessness. Etymologically, it comes from the Latin word via Greek which means “without care.” It’s been called the Noonday Demon. “Boredom is a key component, both an unwillingness and inability to attend to what is important.”
Oldfield believes that the antonym or opposite of acedia is attention.
The etymological root of attention is stretching toward something, moving intentionally closer. Ideally, I would decide carefully what warrants my attention, which people, ideas, objects or projects have sufficient meaning and value for me to spend a part of my fleeting life attending to them. I would stretch towards those things that will help me be kinder, freer, more just....
We all know that we are living in what has been termed the attention economy. It feels more like the acediac economy. No matter how many articles I’ve read about how tech companies manipulate us with dopamine hits and our Pavlovian response to notifications (articles I’ve found via social media), it’s easy not to see the full danger of it. We are so seduced by the convenience and gloss and repeated tiny emotional rewards for compliance that we don’t recognize the opportunity cost. How rapidly our lives are passing with our minds resting primarily on matters only pixel deep.
Is my attention a passive spectator stuck in a “first-come, first-served" mode, or do I consciously steward my attention toward things that matter most? To Jesus’ point, how much of my attention am I giving to Caesar – e.g. politics, but also the whole American system – and how much am I giving to God? Is it a matter of splitting my attention, or of remembering that all my attention (and money and, well, everything) belongs to God and is mine to savor and steward as his image-bearing son? (Move over, Caesar.)
Jesus had some challenging things to say about attention: “If your right eye causes you to stumble, pluck it out and throw it away.”
Another time, Jesus said, “The lamp of the body is the eye. If your eye is healthy, your whole body will be full of light. If your eye is unhealthy, your whole body will be full of darkness. If the light in you is darkness, how great is the darkness.” Again, the issue here is what we do with our attention or how we steward it.
You’ve probably noticed from my blog and Facebook posts that I give a fair amount of my precious attention to politics. I have a degree in history with a minor in political science. So it’s a natural interest of mine. As a pastor, I’ve felt a need to be reasonably informed, especially given how politics seem to be influencing many Christians’ lives in pretty profound ways. Just yesterday I read about a pastor who lost 80% of this congregation because of politics; not because of anything he said, but because of what he wasn’t willing to say, and a candidate he wasn’t willing to support.
It’s not that I usually think about politics instead of thinking about God. When I’m not listening to podcasts, I think and write about God quite a bit. I absolutely believe that God is more important than politics, and I try to bring God into my thinking about politics and converse with people who will help me do that.
But I confess that my attention to politics has spiked since 2016. I’m sure I don’t have to explain why.
And I have to confess that part of my increased attention has risen out of fear. I believe there are genuine, hair-raising reasons to be afraid (e.g. see this recent post by political historian Heather Cox Richardson). What I have to decide is what I’m going to do with my fear – should I listen to even more podcasts, read additional Substack articles, and take more frequent MSN breaks? Should I maybe yell a little louder at the television the one hour a week Sharon and I watch PBS NewsHour? (Sorry, Dear.)
What I have to remember is that Jesus doesn’t tell me to compare parties but to compare kingdoms. When Jesus refers to Caesar and God, he’s not just talking about two leaders who claim a divine identity, but two radically different kingdoms. Our current politics can keep us so mesmerized that we neglect our citizenship in the kingdom that ultimately matters, the only one guaranteed to last (Hebrews 13:8), and whose leader is Lord of all.
The United States is a real country or kingdom, and I consider myself blessed to live here, especially compared to places I probably don't need to name, and places whose names I don't even know. But nothing here is as real as the kingdom of God. God has no interest in mesmerizing or manipulating us. No earthly kingdom can hold a candle to God's kingdom's glory, beauty, majesty, goodness, and love. And there’s nothing exclusive about God’s kingdom: it’s available to anyone and everyone willing to learn from Jesus how to live there. Everyone is encouraged to immigrate. The joy of living in this kingdom won’t be complete during this present age. We still have to endure demagogues and dictators, narcissistic politicians, dysfunctional legislatures, and fluctuating economies in our earthly countries. But the United States isn’t my primary address. The apostle Peter encouraged Christians to think of themselves as resident aliens – even the ones who were Roman citizens and were doing quite well.
I still have to pay my dues to Caesar. I want to do that responsibly, and so I’ll continue to wrestle with how much attention to give to political podcasts and Substack articles. Because I love the church, I'll continue to call out pseudo-Christian movements like some forms of Christian nationalism (which pastor and author Caleb Campbell describes as a political ideology, a tribal identity, and spiritual idolatry). I agree with pastor and author Brian Zahnd that most people are like sheep and that political and spiritual leaders are the main culprits – and that they too are more like sheep than they care to admit.
But I want to keep reminding myself that I live in God’s kingdom now. My other country, the one called the United States, is certainly feeling unsettlingly fragile these days. But one doesn’t have to have a history degree to realize that it’s always been this way. This whole democracy thing has always been a relative crapshoot. It’s always going to be fragile because of its fallible leaders and imperfect, mostly uninformed citizens.
Like God said about his people under the old covenant, we aren’t worthy of this ongoing experiment and never have been. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t do all we can to make it work. As Churchill said, democracy is the worst of all forms of government, except for all the others that have been tried. I believe it’s only by God’s grace that we’ve made it this far and managed to do a few exceptional, even splendid things along the way.
As dire as things feel, I believe it will be by this same grace that we’ll survive the next election and eventually learn from it, even if there is some rough going. I don’t want to hold on to any Christian or national exceptionalism that suggests I or we shouldn’t have to suffer what other groups and nations have had to undergo because of ubiquitous human turpitude (depravity).
That reminds me of something historian and author John Dickson says: as followers of Jesus, our approach to culture should be fourfold: persuasion, prayer, service, and suffering. (Notice that power isn’t on the list.) Instead of forcing others to do what we want through gerrymandered legislatures and draconian laws, we should trust that anything good is ultimately persuadable; and that condemning others is likely to make them less curious and compel them to condemn us in return. We should also learn to be curious ourselves, and less quick to pontificate about matters the Bible hardly says anything about, and remember that even within the Bible an inspired word is often not the last word about a subject. It would also help to remember that when the apostle Paul said to put on the mind of Christ, he was talking about Christ’s humility (Philippians 2:5-8) and not a hermetically sealed theological or even moral system.
Paul said: “Knowledge puffs up while love builds up. Those who think they know something do not yet know as they ought to know. But if someone loves God, they are known by God” (1 Corinthians 8:1b-3). Is Paul just talking about his detractors, or is he including himself? He answers that question further on: “For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror [usually of poor quality in Paul’s day]; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known" (13:12).
Both these quotes talk about our being known by God. What that means is that we have God's attention. Why are we here? Elizabeth Oldfield writes: "Love wanted us here." God's attention is an expression and outgrowth of his immense love for us. That's why Jesus encourages us to address God as Abba, which basically means Dad. It's because of this Abba God revealed by and through Jesus that Oldfield can write:
I need to know that my frustrations and longings, and even my petty failures and spectacular screwups, are seen, that I am known, that I am held in a gaze that is not panicked or surprised, but steady and kind. I still want that unconditional positive regard. Maybe I’m too childlike, and real adults grow out of this. Maybe it’s another one of those things about atheism that I’m just not robust enough for, not clever or free or strong enough to tolerate being unseen. But I don’t want to grow out of it. I’m very happy singing, as the old hymn goes, “His eye is on the sparrow, and I know he watches me.”
This Abba God, like a good parent, wants us to be "fully alive," as the title of Oldfield's book suggests. That's why I tell people, "God loves you as you are – and loves you too much to allow you to stay there."
I want to get better at stewarding my attention. I’m also working on the quality of my attention. I want to come with more faith, hope, and love not only to politics but to people. While it’s okay and probably important to feel angry at times, if I allow my anger to turn into hatred (where's the line?) I’ve definitely become part of the problem. I also need and want to reign over fear. Fear is arguably at the root of all of the challenges we’re facing right now.
In the kingdom of God, fear is out of fashion, passé. And unnecessary.
After telling his disciples not to worry about their lives – including having enough to eat, drink and wear – Jesus said,
But seek first [God’s] kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own (Matthew 6:33-34).
God’s kingdom is such an interesting place. It’s so worth exploring, and risk-taking experiments in love and justice are always encouraged.
So let’s steward our attention consciously and well, giving politics its due, but not allowing fear to fuel the hatred that’s driving so much of our current politics. Even if there are dark days ahead, they won’t be the end of the story. God is perfectly capable of weaving all of this into his larger Story, a Story marked by the three Himalayan events that will ultimately determine how the Story ends:
“Christ has died! Christ is risen! Christ will come again!”
Now, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll go mow the lawn – and listen to a podcast.
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