Published July 23, 2026
Some Pharisees and Herodians approached Jesus in the temple courts and asked whether paying taxes to Caesar was lawful. Before getting to the question, they buttered Him up. They called Him truthful and praised His integrity.
They had already mapped out both possible answers. Supporting the tax could make Jesus look friendly to Rome. Rejecting it could give His enemies grounds to accuse Him of rebellion.
They were waiting for one loose sentence.
They Wanted To Set The Pace
Jesus slowed everything down.
He asked them to bring Him a denarius. One of them apparently had the hated Roman coin close at hand, which feels worth noticing. Jesus held it up and asked whose image and inscription appeared on it.
“Caesar’s,” they said.
Then Jesus answered, “Therefore render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and to God the things that are God’s.”
The trap fell apart.
Jesus gave them a real answer, but He refused the narrow little world they had built around the question. They wanted two doors. He opened a third one and made everyone in the room think about whom they truly belonged to.
The Coin Was Carrying An Image
Caesar’s likeness appeared on the denarius. Genesis tells us that God placed His image somewhere far more valuable.
On people.
That includes the people we find unbearable.
Arguments make this easy to forget. Somebody uses a smug tone or drops a cheap insult, and suddenly we are holding an imaginary trial in our head. We stop hearing them. We begin arranging the perfect reply, preferably one sharp enough to leave a small crater.
I know that temptation. The final punch can feel wonderfully righteous for about fifteen seconds.
Sometimes irritation even dresses itself up as spiritual discernment. Yet real discernment has brakes. It leaves room for prayer. It cares about truth, but it also pays attention to what anger is doing inside us.
The person across from you carries God-given dignity. Sin may have bent much of their life out of shape. The mark of the Creator remains.
Truth Never Needs Contempt
Jesus spoke plainly to people who wanted to ruin Him. His quiet authority remained rooted in the Father, and He kept their hostility from setting His pace.
Christians can disagree without developing an appetite for humiliation. We can expose a lie while remembering that a human being stands behind it. We can also walk away when the conversation has become a feeding trough for pride.
Before posting that reply, pray for the person who irritated you.
The prayer may begin awkwardly. “Lord, I really do not like this person right now” may be the honest first sentence. Start there. Ask God to scrape the contempt out of your heart before you put words into the world.
Then decide whether the reply still needs to be written.
Maybe truth needs a clear defense. Maybe the wisest move involves closing the app and washing the dishes. The internet will survive without our devastating final paragraph.
Caesar’s face appeared on the coin. God’s image stood all around Jesus, even on the men trying to trap Him.
That same image belongs to the person across from you.
I’m the writer behind Monk & Martyr. I don’t have formal seminary training, and I take comfort in the fact that Saint Francis of Assisi did not either. My “training” has been lived conversion and the slow work of following Jesus through real seasons of life. I write honest, Scripture-rooted encouragement that points back to one thing. You’re loved more than you know, and Christ’s grace is bigger than whatever you’re carrying.