Who’s Image?

The Law, the Gospel, and the Lord Who Fulfills Both

The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the communion of the Holy Spirit be with you all. Amen.

Jesus had entered Jerusalem in the triumphal entry. The crowds came out and greeted Him. He then went to the temple and cleansed it—turning over the tables and chasing out the money changers.

Now He was approached by the Pharisees, who were trying to trap Him because He had upset the apple cart, so to speak. They brought Him a coin and asked, “Is it lawful to pay taxes to Caesar?” Jesus said, “Show Me the coin used for the tax.” They gave Him a denarius, and He asked, “Whose image is on this?” They said, “Caesar’s.” Jesus replied, “Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and to God the things that are God’s.”

The Pharisees had no answer for that and backed away. Then it was the Sadducees’ turn. The Pharisees and Sadducees famously did not get along. The Sadducees had aligned themselves with Roman power—they were comfortable letting the Romans rule. The Pharisees, on the other hand, wanted the people to return to God so that God might overthrow the Romans. They weren’t zealots, but they were sympathetic to that kind of thinking.

Even though these two groups opposed each other, they found a common enemy in Jesus. The Sadducees came to Him with a story: a woman married a man, but the man died before they had children. According to the law of Moses, she then married his brother. This happened through all seven brothers, and finally the woman herself died. The Sadducees asked, “In the resurrection, whose wife will she be?”

But the Sadducees didn’t believe in the resurrection. Jesus replied, “You are wrong because you know neither the Scriptures nor the power of God. In the resurrection they neither marry nor are given in marriage.”

That’s where our Gospel lesson from Matthew 22 picks up:

“When the Pharisees heard that Jesus had silenced the Sadducees, they gathered together. And one of them, a lawyer, asked Him a question to test Him.”

This “lawyer” wasn’t like what we think of today—it was someone who studied the Law of God, an expert in the Torah. He asked Jesus, “Which is the greatest commandment in the Law?”

It’s a question designed to trap Him. If He gives the wrong answer, everyone can disregard Him. But Jesus answers with the very words written in the Old Testament:

“You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind.”

This is the great and first commandment. What is the First Commandment? You shall have no other gods. The Second? Do not take the Lord’s name in vain. The Third? Remember the Sabbath day by keeping it holy.

If you keep God first, you’ll keep those first three commandments.

Then Jesus adds, “And a second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself.”

If you love your neighbor as yourself, you’ll keep commandments four through ten. The first three deal with our relationship with God; the rest deal with our relationship with our neighbor. “On these two commandments,” Jesus says, “depend all the Law and the Prophets.”

That’s the foundation.

Now, the Pharisees thought they were doing just that. They had surrounded the Ten Commandments with 613 additional laws—fences—to make sure they didn’t break them. They wouldn’t even say God’s name. Instead, they used substitutes like Adonai or simply paused when reading Scripture.

That’s why in your Bibles today, you’ll see LORD in all caps. It’s a practice handed down from that reverence. But the problem with this mindset is that it treats the Law like a checklist—something we can fulfill ourselves.

It’s like the rich man who told Jesus, “I’ve done all these things.” And Jesus replied, “You lack one thing: go, sell all you have, and give to the poor.” The man went away sorrowful because he had many possessions. It turned out he didn’t love his neighbor as himself, nor did he keep God first.

So the Pharisees pointed to the Law, to their own works. But Christ pointed to Himself—the fulfillment of the Law.

He turned the tables on them, asking, “What do you think about the Christ? Whose son is He?”

They answered confidently, “The son of David.”

Then Jesus asked, “If He is David’s son, how is it that David calls Him ‘Lord’? For David says, ‘The Lord said to my Lord, sit at my right hand until I put your enemies under your feet.’ If David calls Him Lord, how is He his son?”

They had no answer. After that, no one dared to question Him again.

The Pharisees pointed to the Law. Jesus pointed to the Gospel. The Messiah had come to fulfill the Law—to do what we could not do.

If we think we keep God first, the mirror of the Law—the second use of the Law—shows us we don’t. We don’t keep God first. Some people aren’t here today because God isn’t first in their lives right now. I’m not talking about those in hospitals or firefighters who can’t control their schedules—I’m talking about those worshiping at “St. Mattress” this morning.

We don’t keep His name holy. We profane it all the time. If we were truly holy people, we would live like it. But we don’t. We’re sinners.

Even those of us here today—are we here joyfully, or begrudgingly? Are we here for the coffee and donuts beforehand?

We don’t love our neighbor as ourselves. The Pharisees didn’t either. They hated the Romans, the tax collectors, the sinners. Every time Jesus ate with one of them, they scoffed: “He eats with sinners and tax collectors—how can He be holy?”

They were blind to their own sin. That’s the fallacy of works-righteousness: to think, “I can fulfill the Law. I’m good. Jesus didn’t really need to die for me.”

It puffs us up and focuses us on ourselves.

The opposite reaction is despair—realizing we can’t do it and believing God couldn’t possibly love us. But that’s just as wrong. God doesn’t love us because we’re perfect; He loves us because Christ is perfect.

As Paul says, “Bear one another’s burdens.” The church in Corinth certainly didn’t have it all together, and yet God still loved them. Even the disciples fought among themselves about who was greatest. Jesus told them, “Cut it out. You’re acting like the Gentiles.”

If there were a “Pastor Ross Paraphrase” Bible, there’d be a lot of “You guys are idiots” in it!

Faith isn’t about doing the Law. Salvation isn’t about doing the Law. Salvation is about faith—faith in the One God sent. Through that faith, we begin to fulfill the Law, but it’s never what saves us.

If it were only about morals, Aesop’s Fables or Saturday morning cartoons could teach us that. But faith recognizes that Christ died for me. Christ fulfilled the Law on my behalf. As I tell the little kids: Jesus followed Mom and Dad’s rules perfectly, did all the chores, and then gave us His goodness—even though we didn’t deserve it.

Faith doesn’t point to me. Faith points to the One who died for me.

Even if I can’t fully comprehend it—how God can be both the Son and the Lord of David—I can believe that Jesus is Lord and that He died for me.

There’s no test when you get to heaven. St. Peter isn’t sitting there with a final exam saying, “If you don’t pass this, you’re out.”

No—God gives us Jesus because we can’t pass the test. We can’t defend ourselves. We’re full of sin and pride. But even though we’re sinners, Christ died for us. That’s why it’s called the Gospel.

There’s an old B.C. comic strip I remember reading as a kid. One character asks, “Why is it called Good Friday if it’s the day my Lord died?” The other replies, “Well, if you had a punishment coming and someone else took your place, what would you call that?” The first says, “Good.” That’s why it’s Good Friday—Jesus took our punishment.

The Law and the Gospel work together. The Law shows our need for the Gospel. The Gospel gives us faith, and through the Holy Spirit, we begin to live according to the Law—not out of fear, but out of love.

I could go on, but that’s the theme of the Reformation—and I have to save something for next Sunday!

So come back for part two.

Until then, may you be comforted by the God who died for you, who fulfilled the Law for you, who loved you so much that He went to the cross for you.

May you live in that faith, that grace, and that forgiveness—not just today, but all days, in Christ’s name.

Amen.