From time to time I make new entries in this continuing series called “Theological Primer.” The idea is to present big theological concepts in around 500 words. Today we look at the doctrine of perichoresis.
It is a recurring theme from the lips of Jesus that the Father dwells in the Son, that “I am in the Father and the Father is in me” (John 14:10-11). All that Jesus asks in the high priestly prayer is rooted in the reality that the Son is in the Father, and the Father is in the Son. The apostle Paul, likewise, testifies that in the incarnate Son “all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell” (Col. 1:19).
We usually understand these verses to be about Christ’s deity. And rightly so. But they also speak to the mutual indwelling of the persons of the Trinity. The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit are distinct persons—distinguished, respectively, by paternity, filiation, and spiration. And yet, we must not think of the three persons as three faces in a yearbook. The Father indwells the Son; the Son indwells the Spirit; the Spirit indwells the Father (and you could reverse the order in each pair).
The Greek term used to describe the eternal mutual indwelling of the persons of the Trinity is perichoresis (in Latin, circumincession). The word circulatio is also sometimes used as a way of metaphorically describing the unceasing circulation of the divine essence, such that each person is in the other two, while the others are in each one. At the risk of putting things in physical terms, perichoresis means that “all three persons occupy the same divine ‘space.’”[1] In other words, we cannot see God without seeing all three persons at the same time.
The mutual indwelling of perichoresis means two things. First, the three persons of the Trinity are all fully in one another. And second, each person of the Trinity is in full possession of the divine essence. To be sure, the Father is not the Son, the Son is not the Spirit, and the Spirit is not the Father. Perichoresis does not deny any of this. What perichoresis maintains is that you cannot have one person of the Trinity without having the other two, and you cannot have any person of the Trinity without having the fullness of God. The inter-communion of the persons is reciprocal, and their operations are inseparable. As Augustine put it: “Each are in each, and all in each, and each in all, and all are one.”[2]
Like many aspects of Trinitarian theology, this one can be hard to grasp; we have to rely on careful verbal definitions rather than concrete analogies. We must not think of perichoresis—as some have suggested from the etymology of the word—as a kind of Trinitarian dance. Such an analogy, and its social Trinitarian implications, undermines the truth that perichoresis means to protect. Here’s the problem: How can three persons simultaneously share the same undivided essence? The answer is not that Father, Son, and Holy Spirit waltz in step with each other, but that they coinhere in such a way that the persons are always and forever with and in one another, yet without merging, blending, or confusion. Only by affirming the mutual indwelling of each in each other, can we worship our triune God as truly three and truly one.
[1] Gerald Bray, Doctrine of God, 158.
[2] Augustine, On the Trinity, 6.10.

Kevin DeYoung (PhD, University of Leicester) is senior pastor of Christ Covenant Church in Matthews, North Carolina, Council member of The Gospel Coalition, and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary (Charlotte). He has written numerous books, including Just Do Something. Kevin and his wife, Trisha, have nine children: Ian, Jacob, Elizabeth, Paul, Mary, Benjamin, Tabitha, Andrew, and Susannah.

I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to think about something other than politics, read something other than politics, breathe something other than politics.
Before I go any further, it bears repeating: politics matters. As a pastor, I am eager for Christians to be informed and engaged in politics. In fact, after theology and church history, I probably read more on politics, political history, and political philosophy than anything else. I am not against reading, writing, thinking, and speaking on politics.
And yet, I can’t help but question the wisdom of so many Christians—in particular, Christian leaders whose ministries are ostensibly not about politics—voicing specific opinions, sometimes passionately and sometimes frequently, about every political person, place, and thing. I understand that some Christians do punditry, advocacy, and opinion journalism for a living. I’m not surprised when they comment on political matters or weigh in on the events of the day. That’s what they do, and some of them do it really well, helping Christians think Christianly about what they are hearing and reading in the news.
So, again, I’m not against Christians offering cultural and political analysis. I’m not against discipling Christians to see all of life through the lens of Scripture.
What I am against is the instinct shared by too many Christians, including pastors and leaders, that assumes, “If everyone is talking about it, I should probably say something too.”
I worry that people will not first think of gospel convictions or theological commitments when they hear of our churches and ministries, but they will first think of whether we were for or against a certain candidate.
I am nervous that our lines of Christian fellowship will be drawn not according to Reformational principles of ecclesiology, worship, and theology, but according to current expressions of cultural antipathy and identity politics.
I am concerned that weighing in with strong public comments—from both the left and the right—about everything from voter fraud to judicial philosophy to energy policy to why we should all celebrate (when my candidate wins!) and come together in unity (when your candidate loses!)—does nothing to persuade our foes, but much to alienate our friends.
More than anything else, I fear we are letting the world’s priorities dictate what the church is most passionate about.
This isn’t a blanket denunciation of ever saying anything about political issues or political candidates. I have before and probably will again. But perhaps there are questions we should ask next time before joining the online cacophony.
Am I making it harder for all sorts of people to hear what I have to say about more important matters? Think about it: most of us are annoyed when athletes and movie stars feel the need to enlighten us with their political opinions. At best, we roll our eyes and still watch their movies or their games anyway. At worst, we turn them off for good. People will do the same to us. It’s good to think twice before we cash in our goodwill chips, doubling down for or against a particular candidate.
Is my online persona making it harder for my in-person friends to want to be around me? You may feel like, “I only post a few things each day on social media. There is so much more to my life.” True, but what you post on social media is the only part of your life that most of the world knows and sees. People don’t see your fully formed, full-orbed personality and personal life. They see the fifteen things you posted last week, ten of which had to do with politics, seven of which drove half of your friends absolutely bonkers. At the very least, we should consider if adding this stress to family and friends is really worth it.
Am I speaking on matters upon which I do not have special knowledge and for which no one needs my opinion? If my knowledge about something is limited to the three minutes I’ve been angry, or even the 30 minutes I’ve been surfing online, I probably don’t need to download those thoughts to the world.
Am I animated more by what I am reading in Scripture or by what I am seeing on the news and in social media? I’m convinced one of the biggest ways the world is currently shaping the church is by simply setting the agenda for the church’s concerns. We may think we are transforming the world by offering around-the-clock political commentary, but if all we talk about is what media outlets are already talking about, who is influencing whom?
You may argue in reply, I hear you, but the issues are too important. Christians can’t sit on the sidelines as the world argues about the important issues of our day. Fair enough. But consider: is posting your quick thoughts on the daily news cycle really the best way to make a long-term difference? Why not slow down and read some books and comment on those? Or write something online that goes back to first principles? Or write a book if you have opportunity? Or invest in liberal arts education that draws from the best of our Western tradition? Or simply and gloriously disciple young believers to know their Bibles, bear the fruit of the Spirit, and be committed to their local church?
American culture is incredibly diverse. We don’t all watch the same movies or television shows. We don’t all go to church. We don’t all read the same thing or listen to the same music. The one thing that we can all get into is politics, and that’s not healthy. Politics has become the national pastime that brings us all together, only so it can drive us all apart. The task of the church, in this polarized environment, is to slow down, set our minds on things above, and stick to our own script. To be sure, we should not always be silent. But neither should we be the noisiest people in the room, especially when the room tries to tell us what we should be talking about.
Brothers and sisters, it’s OK to have an unarticulated thought. It’s OK to go about our lives in quiet worship and obedience. It’s OK to do your homework, read your Bible, raise your kids, and make your private thoughts prayers instead of posts. Alison Krauss was right: sometimes you say it best when you say nothing at all.

Kevin DeYoung (PhD, University of Leicester) is senior pastor of Christ Covenant Church in Matthews, North Carolina, Council member of The Gospel Coalition, and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary (Charlotte). He has written numerous books, including Just Do Something. Kevin and his wife, Trisha, have nine children: Ian, Jacob, Elizabeth, Paul, Mary, Benjamin, Tabitha, Andrew, and Susannah.

I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to think about something other than politics, read something other than politics, breathe something other than politics.
Before I go any further, it bears repeating: politics matters. As a pastor, I am eager for Christians to be informed and engaged in politics. In fact, after theology and church history, I probably read more on politics, political history, and political philosophy than anything else. I am not against reading, writing, thinking, and speaking on politics.
And yet, I can’t help but question the wisdom of so many Christians—in particular, Christian leaders whose ministries are ostensibly not about politics—voicing specific opinions, sometimes passionately and sometimes frequently, about every political person, place, and thing. I understand that some Christians do punditry, advocacy, and opinion journalism for a living. I’m not surprised when they comment on political matters or weigh in on the events of the day. That’s what they do, and some of them do it really well, helping Christians think Christianly about what they are hearing and reading in the news.
So, again, I’m not against Christians offering cultural and political analysis. I’m not against discipling Christians to see all of life through the lens of Scripture.
What I am against is the instinct shared by too many Christians, including pastors and leaders, that assumes, “If everyone is talking about it, I should probably say something too.”
I worry that people will not first think of gospel convictions or theological commitments when they hear of our churches and ministries, but they will first think of whether we were for or against a certain candidate.
I am nervous that our lines of Christian fellowship will be drawn not according to Reformational principles of ecclesiology, worship, and theology, but according to current expressions of cultural antipathy and identity politics.
I am concerned that weighing in with strong public comments—from both the left and the right—about everything from voter fraud to judicial philosophy to energy policy to why we should all celebrate (when my candidate wins!) and come together in unity (when your candidate loses!)—does nothing to persuade our foes, but much to alienate our friends.
More than anything else, I fear we are letting the world’s priorities dictate what the church is most passionate about.
This isn’t a blanket denunciation of ever saying anything about political issues or political candidates. I have before and probably will again. But perhaps there are questions we should ask next time before joining the online cacophony.
Am I making it harder for all sorts of people to hear what I have to say about more important matters? Think about it: most of us are annoyed when athletes and movie stars feel the need to enlighten us with their political opinions. At best, we roll our eyes and still watch their movies or their games anyway. At worst, we turn them off for good. People will do the same to us. It’s good to think twice before we cash in our goodwill chips, doubling down for or against a particular candidate.
Is my online persona making it harder for my in-person friends to want to be around me? You may feel like, “I only post a few things each day on social media. There is so much more to my life.” True, but what you post on social media is the only part of your life that most of the world knows and sees. People don’t see your fully formed, full-orbed personality and personal life. They see the fifteen things you posted last week, ten of which had to do with politics, seven of which drove half of your friends absolutely bonkers. At the very least, we should consider if adding this stress to family and friends is really worth it.
Am I speaking on matters upon which I do not have special knowledge and for which no one needs my opinion? If my knowledge about something is limited to the three minutes I’ve been angry, or even the 30 minutes I’ve been surfing online, I probably don’t need to download those thoughts to the world.
Am I animated more by what I am reading in Scripture or by what I am seeing on the news and in social media? I’m convinced one of the biggest ways the world is currently shaping the church is by simply setting the agenda for the church’s concerns. We may think we are transforming the world by offering around-the-clock political commentary, but if all we talk about is what media outlets are already talking about, who is influencing whom?
You may argue in reply, I hear you, but the issues are too important. Christians can’t sit on the sidelines as the world argues about the important issues of our day. Fair enough. But consider: is posting your quick thoughts on the daily news cycle really the best way to make a long-term difference? Why not slow down and read some books and comment on those? Or write something online that goes back to first principles? Or write a book if you have opportunity? Or invest in liberal arts education that draws from the best of our Western tradition? Or simply and gloriously disciple young believers to know their Bibles, bear the fruit of the Spirit, and be committed to their local church?
American culture is incredibly diverse. We don’t all watch the same movies or television shows. We don’t all go to church. We don’t all read the same thing or listen to the same music. The one thing that we can all get into is politics, and that’s not healthy. Politics has become the national pastime that brings us all together, only so it can drive us all apart. The task of the church, in this polarized environment, is to slow down, set our minds on things above, and stick to our own script. To be sure, we should not always be silent. But neither should we be the noisiest people in the room, especially when the room tries to tell us what we should be talking about.
Brothers and sisters, it’s OK to have an unarticulated thought. It’s OK to go about our lives in quiet worship and obedience. It’s OK to do your homework, read your Bible, raise your kids, and make your private thoughts prayers instead of posts. Alison Krauss was right: sometimes you say it best when you say nothing at all.

Kevin DeYoung (PhD, University of Leicester) is senior pastor of Christ Covenant Church in Matthews, North Carolina, Council member of The Gospel Coalition, and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary (Charlotte). He has written numerous books, including Just Do Something. Kevin and his wife, Trisha, have nine children: Ian, Jacob, Elizabeth, Paul, Mary, Benjamin, Tabitha, Andrew, and Susannah.

We may know by early morning who will be president. Or we may not know until the end of the year which side will be celebrating come Inauguration Day. But whether we have hours or days or weeks left, the 2020 election season will come to an end. And when it is over—after countless tweets, posts, articles, and punditry; after being exposed to a steady stream of advertising, befuddlement, and outrage; after all the ballots have been counted and you feel relieved, grateful, or despondent—don’t forget what will still be true:
God will still be on the throne, and he will be working all things according to the counsel of his will (Eph. 1:11). God will be our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble (Ps. 46:1). God’s dominion will be an everlasting dominion, and his kingdom will endure from generation to generation (Dan. 4:34).
Our God is not small, and his providential care cannot be stymied. The king’s heart will be a stream of water in the hand of the Lord, and he will turn it wherever he chooses (Prov. 21:1). Not a bird will fall to the ground, or a hair from your head, apart your Father in heaven (Matt. 10:29-30). Our God does whatever he pleases (Ps. 115:1).
There is no guarantee, for good or ill, regarding the future of the United States of America, but there is an unbreakable promise that Christ will build the church, and the gates of hell will not prevail against it (Matt. 16:18).
Come tomorrow, all of the promises of God will still be Yes and Amen in Christ (2 Cor. 1:20). Nothing will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord (Rom. 8:39). The Lord will still know those who are his (2 Tim. 2:19), and if you believe in the Lord Jesus Christ you will be saved (Acts 16:31).
We do not have to wonder about God’s priorities. Each new day, he will exalt about all things his name and his word (Ps. 138:2). God promises to oppose the proud and give grace to the humble (James 4:6). The poor in spirit, the mournful, the meek, the hungry, the merciful, the pure, the peacemakers, the persecuted—they will be blessed (Matt. 5:3-10). And the wicked will reap what they sow; God cannot be mocked (Gal. 6:7).
No matter who controls the Senate or the presidency, the Great Commission will still be accomplished through the ordinary means of word and sacrament (Matt. 28:19-20; Luke 24:48; Acts 1:8). As for man, his days will be like grass (Ps. 103:15). The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God will remain forever (Isa. 40:8). Whichever party occupies the White House or the governor’s mansion, the most solemn charge laid upon every pastor will be the same: to preach the word in season and out of season (2 Tim. 4:1-2).
Republicans and Democrats will come and go, but Christ’s reign is secure. On his robe and on his thigh he has a name written, King of kings and Lord of lords (Rev. 19:16). There is only one name given among men whereby we must be saved (Acts 4:12). And one day—maybe soon—the kingdom of this world will become the kingdom of our Lord and of his Christ, and he shall reign for ever and ever (Rev. 11:15).
Politics matters. Policies matter. Presidents matter. They really do. But let us never forget that some things matter much, much, eternally much more.

Kevin DeYoung (PhD, University of Leicester) is senior pastor of Christ Covenant Church in Matthews, North Carolina, Council member of The Gospel Coalition, and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary (Charlotte). He has written numerous books, including Just Do Something. Kevin and his wife, Trisha, have nine children: Ian, Jacob, Elizabeth, Paul, Mary, Benjamin, Tabitha, Andrew, and Susannah.

We may know by early morning who will be president. Or we may not know until the end of the year which side will be celebrating come Inauguration Day. But whether we have hours or days or weeks left, the 2020 election season will come to an end. And when it is over—after countless tweets, posts, articles, and punditry; after being exposed to a steady stream of advertising, befuddlement, and outrage; after all the ballots have been counted and you feel relieved, grateful, or despondent—don’t forget what will still be true:
God will still be on the throne, and he will be working all things according to the counsel of his will (Eph. 1:11). God will be our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble (Ps. 46:1). God’s dominion will be an everlasting dominion, and his kingdom will endure from generation to generation (Dan. 4:34).
Our God is not small, and his providential care cannot be stymied. The king’s heart will be a stream of water in the hand of the Lord, and he will turn it wherever he chooses (Prov. 21:1). Not a bird will fall to the ground, or a hair from your head, apart your Father in heaven (Matt. 10:29-30). Our God does whatever he pleases (Ps. 115:1).
There is no guarantee, for good or ill, regarding the future of the United States of America, but there is an unbreakable promise that Christ will build the church, and the gates of hell will not prevail against it (Matt. 16:18).
Come tomorrow, all of the promises of God will still be Yes and Amen in Christ (2 Cor. 1:20). Nothing will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord (Rom. 8:39). The Lord will still know those who are his (2 Tim. 2:19), and if you believe in the Lord Jesus Christ you will be saved (Acts 16:31).
We do not have to wonder about God’s priorities. Each new day, he will exalt about all things his name and his word (Ps. 138:2). God promises to oppose the proud and give grace to the humble (James 4:6). The poor in spirit, the mournful, the meek, the hungry, the merciful, the pure, the peacemakers, the persecuted—they will be blessed (Matt. 5:3-10). And the wicked will reap what they sow; God cannot be mocked (Gal. 6:7).
No matter who controls the Senate or the presidency, the Great Commission will still be accomplished through the ordinary means of word and sacrament (Matt. 28:19-20; Luke 24:48; Acts 1:8). As for man, his days will be like grass (Ps. 103:15). The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God will remain forever (Isa. 40:8). Whichever party occupies the White House or the governor’s mansion, the most solemn charge laid upon every pastor will be the same: to preach the word in season and out of season (2 Tim. 4:1-2).
Republicans and Democrats will come and go, but Christ’s reign is secure. On his robe and on his thigh he has a name written, King of kings and Lord of lords (Rev. 19:16). There is only one name given among men whereby we must be saved (Acts 4:12). And one day—maybe soon—the kingdom of this world will become the kingdom of our Lord and of his Christ, and he shall reign for ever and ever (Rev. 11:15).
Politics matters. Policies matter. Presidents matter. They really do. But let us never forget that some things matter much, much, eternally much more.

Kevin DeYoung (PhD, University of Leicester) is senior pastor of Christ Covenant Church in Matthews, North Carolina, Council member of The Gospel Coalition, and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary (Charlotte). He has written numerous books, including Just Do Something. Kevin and his wife, Trisha, have nine children: Ian, Jacob, Elizabeth, Paul, Mary, Benjamin, Tabitha, Andrew, and Susannah.

Romans 13 doesn’t tell us everything we need to know about the nature and purpose of government, but it puts in place some of the most foundational building blocks.
Here again is Paul’s famous teaching on God and government:

Let every person be subject to the governing authorities, for there is no authority except from God, and those that exist have been instituted by God. Therefore, whoever resists the authorities resists what God has appointed. And those who resist will incur judgment. For rulers are not a terror to good conduct, but to bad. Would you have no fear of the one who is in authority? Then do what is good, and you will receive his approval, for he is God’s servant for your good. But if you do wrong, be afraid, for he does not bear the sword in vain. For he is the servant of God, an avenger who carries out God’s wrath on the wrongdoer. Therefore, one must be in subjection, not only to avoid God’s wrath but also for the sake of conscious. For because of this you also pay taxes, for the authorities are ministers of God attending to this very thing. Pay to all what is owed to them: taxes to whom taxes are owed, revenue to whom revenue is owed, respect to whom respect is owed, honor to whom honor is owed. (Rom. 13:1-7)

What do we see in this passage about the nature and purpose of government? Let me make four observations.
1. The government’s authority is a derived authority. We see this right from the beginning: “there is no authority except from God” (v. 1). Any lawful governing authority has that authority on account of God—the only absolute, supreme authority.
There are three great societies on the earth—the home, the church, and the state—each of which have its authority from God. Within the home, children obey their parents, and the husband is the head of his wife. Within the church, the elders exercise loving authority over the sheep. Within the state, there are civil magistrates to exercise governing authority over people. These magistrates may be called kings or queens or governors or presidents or the police, but regardless of the political arrangement the idea is the same. Government’s authority comes from God.
2. The government’s authority is a divine authority. This point not only follows from the first; it is made explicit in the text. The authorities that exist “have been instituted by God” (v. 1). Further, “whoever resists the authorities, resists what God has appointed” (v. 2). The language is even more striking in verse 4 where Paul calls the magistrate “God’s servant.” The Greek word is diákonos, from which we get our word deacon. Likewise, verse 6 calls these same authorities “ministers of God.” The Greek word is leitourgos, from which we get our word liturgist. The civil magistrate is not an officer in the church (not de facto anyway), but his office in the world is a type of ministry. As John Stott puts is, quite provocatively, “Those who serve the state as legislators, civil servants, magistrates, police officers, social workers, even tax collectors, are just as much ministers of God as those who serve the church as pastors, teachers, evangelists, or administrators.” Of course, we don’t want to confuse “ministers of God” with pastors in the church, but strictly speaking Stott’s statement is manifestly biblical. The governing authorities serve society by ministering on God’s behalf.
Before leaving this second point, let me make two related points.
One, it’s always good to hold Romans 13 in tension with Revelation 13. If Romans 13 describes the ways things are supposed to be, then Revelation 13 describes the sad reality of the ways things often are. In Revelation 13 we are introduced to the beast—the idolatrous, blaspheming, persecuting corruption of governmental power. The authorities meant to do the work of God sometimes do the work of the Devil.
Two, I think it is fair to assume that Romans 13 is talking about lawful authority. By “lawful” I don’t mean “authority we always appreciate” or “authority that is always exercised with absolute integrity.” Surely we must obey the governing authorities even when we struggle to respect those in positions over us. And yet, Paul is not suggesting that any old person can call himself king and demand your obedience, or that any 10 people can form a militia and exercise their own vigilante justice under the claim of God-given authority. Some authority is appropriate, and some is not. Paul was willing to submit to the high priest in a way he would not submit to the false apostles in the church.
This is an important point if we are to make sense of the American experiment. The Declaration of Independence says this: “Governments are instituted among men deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed.” If you were raised in America, you probably love that sentence. But have you ever stopped to think if it is true? After all, Romans 13 tells us that the government’s authority comes from God, not from the people. Is the Declaration of Independence unbiblical?
That depends on how you read it. If you put the emphasis on powers, then Jefferson’s sentence is at odds with Romans 13. Government derives its power from God, not from the consent of the governed. But you could also put the emphasis on just powers. On this reading, the Declaration is not denying that government may derive its authority from God; it is arguing that what establishes government as a lawful authority is the consent of the governed. This reading echoes the position of John Locke, who argued in his notes on Romans 13 that the supreme civil power “is in every commonwealth derived from God,” but “how men come to a rightful title to this power or who has that title, Paul is wholly silent and says nothing of it.” In other words, government’s authority is a divine authority, but determining who or what has a right to that divine authority in a given context is a matter that must draw from prudential wisdom and other philosophical considerations. Locke would say the government’s power comes from God, but the lawfulness of government comes from the consent of the people. I don’t think the Bible requires Locke’s understanding of social contract theory, but I think his interpretation of Romans 13 rightly separates the question of derived authority from the question of lawful power.
3. The primary responsibility of government is to restrain and punish evil. Look at the language in Romans 13. Verse two speaks of incurring judgment. Verse three asserts that the governing authorities are a terror to bad conduct. Later, we are told that evildoers should fear the one who is in authority (v. 3) and fear the one who bears the sword (v. 4). Those who exercise judgment on behalf of the governing authorities are the original avengers (v. 4). They are God’s servants, carrying out God’s wrath on the wrongdoer (v. 4).
Remember, the argument of Romans 13 is, in part, an answer to the exhortation of Romans 12. In Romans 12:19 we are told “never avenge yourselves, but leave it to the wrath of God.” Even if we are persecuted, even if we are wronged, even if we are oppressed, we must not take vengeance into our own hands. We look to God to execute justice through the ministers and servants to whom he has given the power of the sword. We do not put to death the murderer, but the government can (Gen. 9:6).
In short, the first and most primary responsibility of government is to uphold the law and to punish the lawbreaker. To put it positively, government’s God-given task is to protect the life and the possessions of its citizens.
4. The secondary responsibility of government is to approve what is good. We see this in verse 3: “Rulers are not a terror to good conduct but to bad. Would you have no fear of the one who is in authority? Then do what is good and you will receive his approval.” This means that government ought to enact policies that encourage and normalize good behavior. The wise magistrate, with good laws and the fair execution of justice, will nurture the cultivation of personal responsibility, the pursuit of healthy family life, and the establishment of economic conditions that reward hard work and productivity.
Put these two responsibilities together (points 3 and 4), and you could say government is at its best when the people can be confident of two things:
(1) No matter who I am, what I look like, where I am from, how much I possess, or how many connections I have, if I am violent toward my neighbor or toward his property, I will be punished.
And (2) no matter who I am, what I look like, where I am from, how much I possess, or how many connections I have, if I follow the rules and do what is good, the government will stay out of my business and provide the conditions for me to get ahead in life.
That’s what government should be about: protecting life and promoting good behavior. As Paul says elsewhere, let us pray “for kings and all who are in high positions, that we may lead a peaceful and quiet life, godly and dignified in every way” (1 Tim. 2:2).

Kevin DeYoung (PhD, University of Leicester) is senior pastor of Christ Covenant Church in Matthews, North Carolina, Council member of The Gospel Coalition, and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary (Charlotte). He has written numerous books, including Just Do Something. Kevin and his wife, Trisha, have nine children: Ian, Jacob, Elizabeth, Paul, Mary, Benjamin, Tabitha, Andrew, and Susannah.

Romans 13 doesn’t tell us everything we need to know about the nature and purpose of government, but it puts in place some of the most foundational building blocks.
Here again is Paul’s famous teaching on God and government:

Let every person be subject to the governing authorities, for there is no authority except from God, and those that exist have been instituted by God. Therefore, whoever resists the authorities resists what God has appointed. And those who resist will incur judgment. For rulers are not a terror to good conduct, but to bad. Would you have no fear of the one who is in authority? Then do what is good, and you will receive his approval, for he is God’s servant for your good. But if you do wrong, be afraid, for he does not bear the sword in vain. For he is the servant of God, an avenger who carries out God’s wrath on the wrongdoer. Therefore, one must be in subjection, not only to avoid God’s wrath but also for the sake of conscious. For because of this you also pay taxes, for the authorities are ministers of God attending to this very thing. Pay to all what is owed to them: taxes to whom taxes are owed, revenue to whom revenue is owed, respect to whom respect is owed, honor to whom honor is owed. (Rom. 13:1-7)

What do we see in this passage about the nature and purpose of government? Let me make four observations.
1. The government’s authority is a derived authority. We see this right from the beginning: “there is no authority except from God” (v. 1). Any lawful governing authority has that authority on account of God—the only absolute, supreme authority.
There are three great societies on the earth—the home, the church, and the state—each of which have its authority from God. Within the home, children obey their parents, and the husband is the head of his wife. Within the church, the elders exercise loving authority over the sheep. Within the state, there are civil magistrates to exercise governing authority over people. These magistrates may be called kings or queens or governors or presidents or the police, but regardless of the political arrangement the idea is the same. Government’s authority comes from God.
2. The government’s authority is a divine authority. This point not only follows from the first; it is made explicit in the text. The authorities that exist “have been instituted by God” (v. 1). Further, “whoever resists the authorities, resists what God has appointed” (v. 2). The language is even more striking in verse 4 where Paul calls the magistrate “God’s servant.” The Greek word is diákonos, from which we get our word deacon. Likewise, verse 6 calls these same authorities “ministers of God.” The Greek word is leitourgos, from which we get our word liturgist. The civil magistrate is not an officer in the church (not de facto anyway), but his office in the world is a type of ministry. As John Stott puts is, quite provocatively, “Those who serve the state as legislators, civil servants, magistrates, police officers, social workers, even tax collectors, are just as much ministers of God as those who serve the church as pastors, teachers, evangelists, or administrators.” Of course, we don’t want to confuse “ministers of God” with pastors in the church, but strictly speaking Stott’s statement is manifestly biblical. The governing authorities serve society by ministering on God’s behalf.
Before leaving this second point, let me make two related points.
One, it’s always good to hold Romans 13 in tension with Revelation 13. If Romans 13 describes the ways things are supposed to be, then Revelation 13 describes the sad reality of the ways things often are. In Revelation 13 we are introduced to the beast—the idolatrous, blaspheming, persecuting corruption of governmental power. The authorities meant to do the work of God sometimes do the work of the Devil.
Two, I think it is fair to assume that Romans 13 is talking about lawful authority. By “lawful” I don’t mean “authority we always appreciate” or “authority that is always exercised with absolute integrity.” Surely we must obey the governing authorities even when we struggle to respect those in positions over us. And yet, Paul is not suggesting that any old person can call himself king and demand your obedience, or that any 10 people can form a militia and exercise their own vigilante justice under the claim of God-given authority. Some authority is appropriate, and some is not. Paul was willing to submit to the high priest in a way he would not submit to the false apostles in the church.
This is an important point if we are to make sense of the American experiment. The Declaration of Independence says this: “Governments are instituted among men deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed.” If you were raised in America, you probably love that sentence. But have you ever stopped to think if it is true? After all, Romans 13 tells us that the government’s authority comes from God, not from the people. Is the Declaration of Independence unbiblical?
That depends on how you read it. If you put the emphasis on powers, then Jefferson’s sentence is at odds with Romans 13. Government derives its power from God, not from the consent of the governed. But you could also put the emphasis on just powers. On this reading, the Declaration is not denying that government may derive its authority from God; it is arguing that what establishes government as a lawful authority is the consent of the governed. This reading echoes the position of John Locke, who argued in his notes on Romans 13 that the supreme civil power “is in every commonwealth derived from God,” but “how men come to a rightful title to this power or who has that title, Paul is wholly silent and says nothing of it.” In other words, government’s authority is a divine authority, but determining who or what has a right to that divine authority in a given context is a matter that must draw from prudential wisdom and other philosophical considerations. Locke would say the government’s power comes from God, but the lawfulness of government comes from the consent of the people. I don’t think the Bible requires Locke’s understanding of social contract theory, but I think his interpretation of Romans 13 rightly separates the question of derived authority from the question of lawful power.
3. The primary responsibility of government is to restrain and punish evil. Look at the language in Romans 13. Verse two speaks of incurring judgment. Verse three asserts that the governing authorities are a terror to bad conduct. Later, we are told that evildoers should fear the one who is in authority (v. 3) and fear the one who bears the sword (v. 4). Those who exercise judgment on behalf of the governing authorities are the original avengers (v. 4). They are God’s servants, carrying out God’s wrath on the wrongdoer (v. 4).
Remember, the argument of Romans 13 is, in part, an answer to the exhortation of Romans 12. In Romans 12:19 we are told “never avenge yourselves, but leave it to the wrath of God.” Even if we are persecuted, even if we are wronged, even if we are oppressed, we must not take vengeance into our own hands. We look to God to execute justice through the ministers and servants to whom he has given the power of the sword. We do not put to death the murderer, but the government can (Gen. 9:6).
In short, the first and most primary responsibility of government is to uphold the law and to punish the lawbreaker. To put it positively, government’s God-given task is to protect the life and the possessions of its citizens.
4. The secondary responsibility of government is to approve what is good. We see this in verse 3: “Rulers are not a terror to good conduct but to bad. Would you have no fear of the one who is in authority? Then do what is good and you will receive his approval.” This means that government ought to enact policies that encourage and normalize good behavior. The wise magistrate, with good laws and the fair execution of justice, will nurture the cultivation of personal responsibility, the pursuit of healthy family life, and the establishment of economic conditions that reward hard work and productivity.
Put these two responsibilities together (points 3 and 4), and you could say government is at its best when the people can be confident of two things:
(1) No matter who I am, what I look like, where I am from, how much I possess, or how many connections I have, if I am violent toward my neighbor or toward his property, I will be punished.
And (2) no matter who I am, what I look like, where I am from, how much I possess, or how many connections I have, if I follow the rules and do what is good, the government will stay out of my business and provide the conditions for me to get ahead in life.
That’s what government should be about: protecting life and promoting good behavior. As Paul says elsewhere, let us pray “for kings and all who are in high positions, that we may lead a peaceful and quiet life, godly and dignified in every way” (1 Tim. 2:2).

Kevin DeYoung (PhD, University of Leicester) is senior pastor of Christ Covenant Church in Matthews, North Carolina, Council member of The Gospel Coalition, and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary (Charlotte). He has written numerous books, including Just Do Something. Kevin and his wife, Trisha, have nine children: Ian, Jacob, Elizabeth, Paul, Mary, Benjamin, Tabitha, Andrew, and Susannah.

At one point during her confirmation hearing, Amy Coney Barrett held up a blank notepad to show to the Senate Judiciary Committee all the notes she had taken with her to the world’s most stressful job interview. In the wake of this impressive feat, I noticed someone online posed a challenge to pastors that went something like this: Hey pastors, if she can talk for hours with nothing but a blank pad of paper, why can’t you preach without notes?
Immediately, I thought of several replies. (1) She was answering questions, not giving a lecture. (2) She probably didn’t want to be bogged down rifling through material when she needed to maintain eye contact and pay attention to the speaker. (3) She was being asked about material she had already taught, studied, or written about. (4) She’s super-duper smart.
But let’s set aside the unique spectacle that is a Senate confirmation hearing and think more directly about preaching.
There are three typical ways a preacher might preach: with a manuscript, with no notes, with some notes. Each approach has advantages and disadvantages.
Manuscript
Most of the well-known pastors I know preach from a full manuscript. I’ve often had the experience of speaking at a conference, and the organizer will say, “By the way, we are going to turn these messages into a book, so after you speak send me your manuscript.” More than once, I’ve been the only one who says, “Uh, I don’t use a manuscript, and it’s going to take a lot of work for me to turn my personal notes into something that can be published.”
The advantages to preaching from a full manuscript are many. You are able to plan for the well-placed rhetorical punch. You can enter the pulpit feeling more confident and less stressed about losing your way. After the message is spoken, you can share the sermon more easily in print—whether in a book, on your blog, on your church’s website. Most importantly, writing out a manuscript promotes greater clarity, concision, and theological fidelity. I always have our pastoral interns preach from a full manuscript. Even if they lose something in delivery, I want to make sure the content is as strong as possible.
Of course, there are dangers to manuscript preaching as well. The biggest drawback is the potential lack of energy and eye contact. There is a skill (and art) to writing your sermon for the ear and then reading from a manuscript in a way that doesn’t feel stilted. David Platt and John Piper stick closely to their full manuscript, but no one would accuse either of lacking passion or authenticity.
For my part, I wrote out sermon manuscripts for a couple of years early in my ministry. I love having those sermons written out now because it’s much more useful to return to a manuscript than to an outline or scattered bullet points. But I’ve never felt as comfortable preaching from a full manuscript. I feel less engaged with the congregation and less dynamic. Maybe it doesn’t seem any different to the audience, but I don’t enjoy preaching as much when I’m reading from a page. I’m just not sure I have a knack for it.
Thankfully, manuscript preaching is not the only way to preach.
No Notes
I was taught by Haddon Robinson at Gordon-Conwell to preach without notes, and for the first few years in ministry I stuck mainly to this approach. If you’ve never preached without notes, it’s worth trying out for a few months. It may be scary at first, but give it 10 sermons and see what you think (and see what others think). Haddon was a master at preaching without notes. He had a prodigious memory and was a gifted storyteller. He was also incredibly disciplined at gathering memorable illustrations, something I’ve never been good at.
I should clarify that preaching without notes is not the same as impromptu preaching. We are not talking about preaching on the fly. We are talking about diligent study throughout the week, maybe even writing out your sermon in full, and then going into the pulpit with just your Bible and your brain. Maybe you memorized the sermon word for word (as many preachers used to), or, more likely, you have the main points tucked away and the rest is ready to come out from a week’s worth of thinking and praying. In any event, we are talking about working hard through the week so that you can walk the high wire without a net on Sunday.
The advantages and disadvantages of preaching without notes are what you might think. On the plus side, it keeps you relentlessly engaged with the congregation. Unless you and the audience are looking at your Bibles, you are looking at each other. There is freedom in preaching with nothing but a Bible in your hand.
Preaching without notes also forces you to simplify your message. It’s no coincidence that the proponent of Big Idea preaching was a big proponent of preaching without notes. Complicated sermons with quotations and footnotes and the intricacies of Hebrew grammar don’t lend themselves to preaching without notes. But if you have one big idea, with three supporting ideas, plus five illustrations along the way, you can pull it off, and often with good effect.
On the other hand, preaching without notes can lead to some bad habits. If you aren’t writing out a manuscript ahead of time, it can leave you pulling things together on the fly as you preach. I remember one well-known preacher telling me, a few years ago, that he was tired of hearing these pastors who seemed to be finishing their sermon prep in the pulpit. “Don’t test out your sermon on me,” he said. “Work out your transitions and know how you are going to land the plane before you get into the pulpit.” Cutting corners in preparation is a danger.
Making your sermon too basic and too general is another pitfall, as is homiletical meandering. No one wants to listen to 15 minutes of content stretched into a 40-minute message. Haddon Robinson made it look easy. He delivered all his class lectures without notes, and I never remember a wasted word. But most of us will end up wasting a LOT of words unless we really labor to preach effectively without notes.
For me, the time spent in memorization was the biggest drawback to preaching without notes. I’m pretty good at memorizing things, but after a couple of years of preaching without notes, I couldn’t justify the time spent on stuffing outlines into my short-term memory. Maybe I needed to stick with it longer, but once I started preaching every week, and then twice on Sunday, I couldn’t make the time to cram all the information in my head. I was spending hours on Saturday evening and Sunday morning just trying to make sure I remembered my three points and didn’t forget the important stuff I needed to say. After a while I thought, “Why not just bring a few notes into the pulpit and stop all this cramming?”
Some Notes
So I started out preaching without notes. Then I tried preaching from a manuscript. And now, for most of my ministry, I’ve preached from an outline. At first, it was quite a full outline—six pages or more. Then I went down to five pages. Now I try to make sure I don’t go past four. Sometimes it’s a little more than three pages. I usually write out my opening prayer, write out particularly important sentences or paragraphs, write out quotations, and write out my major points. The rest of the outline may consist of sentences, phrases, Scripture passages I want to turn to, or simple prompts reminding me to tell “the Krispy Kreme doughnut story.”
Preaching from an outline works for me. I don’t have to memorize everything, but I don’t have to be tied to a manuscript either. I can plan for a few rhetorical flourishes, while still maintaining eye contact. I have the road map in front of me without sacrificing the freedom to speak more or less extemporaneously. I think I sound more conversational and more passionate when I’m not reading a manuscript. At the very least, I feel more comfortable.
Don’t get me wrong, there are still downsides to my approach. I often fear that I go too long, that my transitions were wobbly, and that my content was not as crisp as it should have been. Sometimes I get into the pulpit and realize the points that seemed clear in my mind, and looked good on paper, sound awfully muddy coming out of my mouth. I also find that it’s harder to preach from an outlined sermon months or years later.
If I could find the time, I think my ideal would be to write out a full manuscript (for clarity and for posterity) and then whittle that down to a half-page of notes that I could tuck in my Bible. In general, I know that my preaching errs on the side of too much information, so simplifying almost always helps my messages.
Honest Limitations
Here’s the bottom line: Be honest about your own limitations, but don’t give up on an approach until you’ve tried it. See what works best for you and your context. Don’t let someone else’s style or method determine how you can best communicate God’s Word.
And if you are in a rut, why not try one of the other approaches for a month or two and see how it feels? There are certain “rules” to preaching. It’s not anything goes. But there is flexibility too. In whatever approach they use, preachers should work hard to grow in the skill of preaching. Ultimately, we need the Spirit to blow, but the gifts and labors of the preacher are usually the kindling he uses to light a spark.

Kevin DeYoung (PhD, University of Leicester) is senior pastor of Christ Covenant Church in Matthews, North Carolina, Council member of The Gospel Coalition, and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary (Charlotte). He has written numerous books, including Just Do Something. Kevin and his wife, Trisha, have nine children: Ian, Jacob, Elizabeth, Paul, Mary, Benjamin, Tabitha, Andrew, and Susannah.

At one point during her confirmation hearing, Amy Coney Barrett held up a blank notepad to show to the Senate Judiciary Committee all the notes she had taken with her to the world’s most stressful job interview. In the wake of this impressive feat, I noticed someone online posed a challenge to pastors that went something like this: Hey pastors, if she can talk for hours with nothing but a blank pad of paper, why can’t you preach without notes?
Immediately, I thought of several replies. (1) She was answering questions, not giving a lecture. (2) She probably didn’t want to be bogged down rifling through material when she needed to maintain eye contact and pay attention to the speaker. (3) She was being asked about material she had already taught, studied, or written about. (4) She’s super-duper smart.
But let’s set aside the unique spectacle that is a Senate confirmation hearing and think more directly about preaching.
There are three typical ways a preacher might preach: with a manuscript, with no notes, with some notes. Each approach has advantages and disadvantages.
Manuscript
Most of the well-known pastors I know preach from a full manuscript. I’ve often had the experience of speaking at a conference, and the organizer will say, “By the way, we are going to turn these messages into a book, so after you speak send me your manuscript.” More than once, I’ve been the only one who says, “Uh, I don’t use a manuscript, and it’s going to take a lot of work for me to turn my personal notes into something that can be published.”
The advantages to preaching from a full manuscript are many. You are able to plan for the well-placed rhetorical punch. You can enter the pulpit feeling more confident and less stressed about losing your way. After the message is spoken, you can share the sermon more easily in print—whether in a book, on your blog, on your church’s website. Most importantly, writing out a manuscript promotes greater clarity, concision, and theological fidelity. I always have our pastoral interns preach from a full manuscript. Even if they lose something in delivery, I want to make sure the content is as strong as possible.
Of course, there are dangers to manuscript preaching as well. The biggest drawback is the potential lack of energy and eye contact. There is a skill (and art) to writing your sermon for the ear and then reading from a manuscript in a way that doesn’t feel stilted. David Platt and John Piper stick closely to their full manuscript, but no one would accuse either of lacking passion or authenticity.
For my part, I wrote out sermon manuscripts for a couple of years early in my ministry. I love having those sermons written out now because it’s much more useful to return to a manuscript than to an outline or scattered bullet points. But I’ve never felt as comfortable preaching from a full manuscript. I feel less engaged with the congregation and less dynamic. Maybe it doesn’t seem any different to the audience, but I don’t enjoy preaching as much when I’m reading from a page. I’m just not sure I have a knack for it.
Thankfully, manuscript preaching is not the only way to preach.
No Notes
I was taught by Haddon Robinson at Gordon-Conwell to preach without notes, and for the first few years in ministry I stuck mainly to this approach. If you’ve never preached without notes, it’s worth trying out for a few months. It may be scary at first, but give it 10 sermons and see what you think (and see what others think). Haddon was a master at preaching without notes. He had a prodigious memory and was a gifted storyteller. He was also incredibly disciplined at gathering memorable illustrations, something I’ve never been good at.
I should clarify that preaching without notes is not the same as impromptu preaching. We are not talking about preaching on the fly. We are talking about diligent study throughout the week, maybe even writing out your sermon in full, and then going into the pulpit with just your Bible and your brain. Maybe you memorized the sermon word for word (as many preachers used to), or, more likely, you have the main points tucked away and the rest is ready to come out from a week’s worth of thinking and praying. In any event, we are talking about working hard through the week so that you can walk the high wire without a net on Sunday.
The advantages and disadvantages of preaching without notes are what you might think. On the plus side, it keeps you relentlessly engaged with the congregation. Unless you and the audience are looking at your Bibles, you are looking at each other. There is freedom in preaching with nothing but a Bible in your hand.
Preaching without notes also forces you to simplify your message. It’s no coincidence that the proponent of Big Idea preaching was a big proponent of preaching without notes. Complicated sermons with quotations and footnotes and the intricacies of Hebrew grammar don’t lend themselves to preaching without notes. But if you have one big idea, with three supporting ideas, plus five illustrations along the way, you can pull it off, and often with good effect.
On the other hand, preaching without notes can lead to some bad habits. If you aren’t writing out a manuscript ahead of time, it can leave you pulling things together on the fly as you preach. I remember one well-known preacher telling me, a few years ago, that he was tired of hearing these pastors who seemed to be finishing their sermon prep in the pulpit. “Don’t test out your sermon on me,” he said. “Work out your transitions and know how you are going to land the plane before you get into the pulpit.” Cutting corners in preparation is a danger.
Making your sermon too basic and too general is another pitfall, as is homiletical meandering. No one wants to listen to 15 minutes of content stretched into a 40-minute message. Haddon Robinson made it look easy. He delivered all his class lectures without notes, and I never remember a wasted word. But most of us will end up wasting a LOT of words unless we really labor to preach effectively without notes.
For me, the time spent in memorization was the biggest drawback to preaching without notes. I’m pretty good at memorizing things, but after a couple of years of preaching without notes, I couldn’t justify the time spent on stuffing outlines into my short-term memory. Maybe I needed to stick with it longer, but once I started preaching every week, and then twice on Sunday, I couldn’t make the time to cram all the information in my head. I was spending hours on Saturday evening and Sunday morning just trying to make sure I remembered my three points and didn’t forget the important stuff I needed to say. After a while I thought, “Why not just bring a few notes into the pulpit and stop all this cramming?”
Some Notes
So I started out preaching without notes. Then I tried preaching from a manuscript. And now, for most of my ministry, I’ve preached from an outline. At first, it was quite a full outline—six pages or more. Then I went down to five pages. Now I try to make sure I don’t go past four. Sometimes it’s a little more than three pages. I usually write out my opening prayer, write out particularly important sentences or paragraphs, write out quotations, and write out my major points. The rest of the outline may consist of sentences, phrases, Scripture passages I want to turn to, or simple prompts reminding me to tell “the Krispy Kreme doughnut story.”
Preaching from an outline works for me. I don’t have to memorize everything, but I don’t have to be tied to a manuscript either. I can plan for a few rhetorical flourishes, while still maintaining eye contact. I have the road map in front of me without sacrificing the freedom to speak more or less extemporaneously. I think I sound more conversational and more passionate when I’m not reading a manuscript. At the very least, I feel more comfortable.
Don’t get me wrong, there are still downsides to my approach. I often fear that I go too long, that my transitions were wobbly, and that my content was not as crisp as it should have been. Sometimes I get into the pulpit and realize the points that seemed clear in my mind, and looked good on paper, sound awfully muddy coming out of my mouth. I also find that it’s harder to preach from an outlined sermon months or years later.
If I could find the time, I think my ideal would be to write out a full manuscript (for clarity and for posterity) and then whittle that down to a half-page of notes that I could tuck in my Bible. In general, I know that my preaching errs on the side of too much information, so simplifying almost always helps my messages.
Honest Limitations
Here’s the bottom line: Be honest about your own limitations, but don’t give up on an approach until you’ve tried it. See what works best for you and your context. Don’t let someone else’s style or method determine how you can best communicate God’s Word.
And if you are in a rut, why not try one of the other approaches for a month or two and see how it feels? There are certain “rules” to preaching. It’s not anything goes. But there is flexibility too. In whatever approach they use, preachers should work hard to grow in the skill of preaching. Ultimately, we need the Spirit to blow, but the gifts and labors of the preacher are usually the kindling he uses to light a spark.

Kevin DeYoung (PhD, University of Leicester) is senior pastor of Christ Covenant Church in Matthews, North Carolina, Council member of The Gospel Coalition, and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary (Charlotte). He has written numerous books, including Just Do Something. Kevin and his wife, Trisha, have nine children: Ian, Jacob, Elizabeth, Paul, Mary, Benjamin, Tabitha, Andrew, and Susannah.

What can we learn from Jesus—from one interaction in particular—about God and government? More than we might think. Here’s the familiar story from Mark 12:13-17:

And they sent to him some of the Pharisees and some of the Herodians, to trap him in his talk. And they came and said to him, “Teacher, we know that you are true and do not care about anyone’s opinion. For you are not swayed by appearances, but truly teach the way of God. Is it lawful to pay taxes to Caesar, or not? Should we pay them, or should we not?” But, knowing their hypocrisy, he said to them, “Why put me to the test? Bring me a denarius and let me look at it.” And they brought one. And he said to them, “Whose likeness and inscription is this?” They said to him, “Caesar’s.” Jesus said to them, “Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and to God the things that are God’s.” And they marveled at him.

This is the third confrontation Jesus has with the Sanhedrin in and around the temple. And this is the second time they’ve laid the bait for Jesus. At the end of chapter 11, the chief priests and scribes and elders confront Jesus about his authority. After avoiding that ruse, Jesus tells a parable against them, which makes them hate Jesus all the more. So here they come, yet again, with another plan to get Jesus in trouble. When in doubt, ask him about politics.
“Is it lawful to pay taxes to Caesar?”
The question they is not sincere. Rather, like Admiral Ackbar says in Return of the Jedi, “It’s a trap!” If Jesus says, “Pay your taxes,” then he’ll be unpopular with the people. They resented the once-a-year poll tax. They hated the Romans. They thought it was idolatry to pay the tax and submit themselves to Rome and do anything that would help further the Roman cause. The tax was despised by the people. But on the other hand, if he says, “Don’t pay your taxes,” he’ll be in trouble with Rome. They’ll squash him as a revolutionary. It’s a “heads I win, tales you lose” kind of question. Answer one way, and the Pharisees are there to get the crowds fired up and turn against you. And the support of the crowd is the only thing preventing the Sanhedrin from arresting Jesus. But answer the other way, and the Herodians are there to go tell the Roman officials, who will seek your arrest.
But Jesus is the master at springing traps. He’s the Messianic mouse that manages to swipe the cheese and live to see another day. So he asks to see the denarius.
A denarius was equivalent to a day’s wage for a working man in Judea. It’s like a hundred dollar bill. He asks to see the coin. We know what this coin looked like. People have found them. The denarius was a silver coin with the head of Tiberius Caesar on it. He was the Roman Emperor from AD 14–37, which fits with the chronology of the Gospels. The coin had a picture of the emperor on one side with these words (in abbreviated form): Tiberius Caesar Divi Augusti Filius Augustus (Tiberius Caesar Augustus, Son of Divine Augustus). The flip side had the inscription Pontifex Maximus (High Priest). You can understand why the Jews hated this tax. Not only did it go to Rome, but the coin itself contained blasphemy. It hailed Caesar as divine.
Look at what Jesus does. He asks to see the coin and then asks whose likeness, whose image, is on it. Obviously, everyone can see whose face is on the thing, so they answer, “Caesar’s.” Which prompts Jesus to utter one of his most famous sentences: “Render [or give] to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and to God the things that are God’s.”
This pithy response says a lot more than you might think. This one sentence gives the beginning of a Christian view of politics and religion. It’s a foundational statement for the Christian way of looking at issues of church and state, issues of God and government. There are at least six implications for our view of church and state in this one sentence—six statements about God and government that flow from this response.
1. Be good citizens, even if you think the government is bad.
In a few days, after this incident, Romans will kill Jesus. In AD 70, they will wipe out the temple. In the years ahead, they will kill the apostles and thousands of other Christians. Before Jesus, Rome had squashed a number of Jewish rebellions. Rome was the ruler, and Judea was a vassal state. The Romans weren’t Nazis. They did a lot of good things and made tremendous accomplishments. They didn’t persecute the Jews nonstop, but they did when they had to. They swindled when they could. It’s safe to say, no matter how much you may dislike American politics (or politicians!) or how much you may think the government is stupid or unjust, Rome was worse. And yet Jesus said to pay your taxes. Caesar’s face is on the coin. He had a right to levy tribute. So pay up the denarius.
2. Allegiance to God and allegiance to your country are not inherently incompatible.
Sometimes Christians talk like you should have no loyalty for your country, as if love for your country is always a bad thing. But Jesus shows it’s possible to honor God and honor Caesar.
This is especially clear if you know some Jewish history. The tax in question in Mark 12 is the poll tax or census tax. It was first instituted in AD 6, not too long before Jesus’s ministry. When it was established, a man by the name of Judas of Galilee led a revolt. What was his motivation? Later, Josephus wrote about Judas of Galilee, “He called his fellow countrymen cowards for being willing to pay tribute to the Romans and for putting up with mortal masters in place of God.” See, Judas and the Zealots believed allegiance to God and allegiance to any earthly government were fundamentally incompatible. As far as they were concerned, if God was your king, you couldn’t have any earthly king. Theocracy was the only way to go.
But Jesus disagreed. By telling the people, “Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s,” he was saying there are duties to government that do not infringe on your ultimate duty to God. It’s possible to honor lesser authorities in good conscience because they have been instituted by a greater authority.
If you read all that the New Testament says about governing authorities in places like Romans 13 and 1 Peter 2, you see that the normal situation is one of compatible loyalties. The church is not the state and the state is not God, but this does not mean the church must always be against the state. Calvin said about this passage, “It lays down a clear distinction between spiritual and civil government, in order to inform us that outward subjection does not prevent us from having within us a conscience free in the sight of God. . . . In short, Christ declares that it is no violation of the authority of God, or any injury done to his service, if, in respect of outward government, the Jews obey the Romans.” In general, then, it’s possible to be a good Christian and a good American (or good Canadian or good Kenyan or whatever). Patriotism is not bad. Singing your national anthem and getting choked up is not bad. Allegiance to God and allegiance to your country are not inherently incompatible.
3. It is acceptable that there be some measure of separation between church and state.
Church and state occupy overlapping spheres, and government is always ultimately accountable to God. But if we can render some things to Caesar and render other things to God, it must be the case that they are not one and the same, that it is possible to have some separation between the realm of organized religion and the realm of government (see, for example, Andrew Melville’s “two kings and two kingdoms”).
I keep saying “some” because there are all sorts of difficult issues that aren’t going to be solved by Mark 12:17. On the one hand, we shouldn’t pretend that civil legislation is somehow divorced from all moral or religious categories. It can’t be done. If you forbid murder, you are legislating morality. So I’m not saying Christians shouldn’t bring many of their convictions to bear on public policy. But on the other hand, it seems that from this passage, Jesus did not have a vision for the state that meant it had to be ruled by all the laws of God. Jesus was not a theonomist.
In his book Christ and Culture Revisited, D. A. Carson argues that the state and religion (as an organized institution) occupy “distinct, even if overlapping spheres.” This does not mean Christ is not Lord of all, but it means he rules over the different spheres in different ways. After all, Jesus says in John 18:36, “My kingdom is not of this world.” It won’t be until the end of the age that we will be able to say, “The kingdom of this world has become the kingdom of our Lord and of our Christ” (Rev. 11:15). We are more like Israelites in exile in Babylon, maintaining a kingdom within a kingdom, than we are like the Israelites in the promised land where God’s rule and the nation’s rules were identical. That’s the foundational reason theonomy is wrong. We are not Israel in the promised land; we are Israelites as strangers and aliens in the world.
This is one of the big differences between Islam and Christianity, and why it remains to be seen if pure Islam can work in Western nations. I recall an anecdote from D. A. Carson about a Muslim man who said, “I find nothing in the Qur’an that tells us how to live as the minority, and I find nothing in the Bible that tells you how to rule as the majority.” Now that may be a bit of an overstatement, but it’s getting at something profound. Islam developed with the state and religion intertwined, while Christianity was, at the beginning, a persecuted minority religion that accepted the distinction between a spiritual kingdom and a civil kingdom. The rights protected in the First Amendment are not just a nod to tolerance; they are consistent with Christian convictions.
4. God’s people are not tied to any one nation.
When Jesus says, “Go ahead and give to Caesar what belongs to him,” he is effectively saying, “You can support nations that do not formally worship the one true God.” Or to put it a different way: true religion is not bound with only one country. This means the church will be transcultural and transnational.
I like how Mark Dever puts it in his sermon-turned-book on the same text: “Jesus’ approval of paying taxes to Rome was revolutionary. By this, Jesus shows us that the legitimacy of a government is not determined by whether it supports the worship of the one true God, or even allows for it. By Jesus not requiring those who follow Him only to support states which are formally allied to the true God as Old Testament Israel had done, Jesus unhitches His followers from any particular nation” (God and Politics, 27).
Some of you are from a different country. And some of you may have heard or may think that Christianity is just a Western religion or maybe an American religion. But it’s not. It never has been. It started in the Middle East and was always meant to be international. Today there are more Anglicans in church in Nigeria than in England, more Presbyterians in South Korea than in the United States. The promise to Abraham way back in Genesis is that, through his family, God would bless the whole world. The scene around the throne in Revelation is of people from every tribe and language and culture. Christianity is not tied to just one certain nation. Following Christ is not an ethnic thing. You can be from any country and worship Jesus.
5. The state is not God.
So far we’ve been looking at the first half of Jesus statement: “Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s,” but now we need to look at the second statement: “Render to God the things that are God’s”. You may think, Well, Jesus certainly is pro-government. He may have given a cute answer by looking at the coin, but all he’s done is side with the Romans. But look more carefully.
By saying, “Give to Caesar what belongs to him, and give to God what belongs to him,” Jesus is making clear that he believes the two are not identical. Remember the inscription on the denarius, “Tiberius Caesar Augustus, Son of Divine Augustus?” Jesus doesn’t buy that at all. If people were listening carefully to his answer, they would have heard him say, “Look, give Caesar his taxes. But Caesar is not God, and God is not Caesar. Tiberius is not divine. Augustus was not divine. They are not what they want you to believe.”
Human government is always run by humans. And as such, there will always be a gravitational pull toward idolatry. Governments, unless there are checks and balances, tend to accrue more and more power. And, if we are not careful, we start to believe that Caesar really may be God, the state really may have all the answers, government may be able to give us everything we need. But Jesus not only tells us to respect the government, he also tells us quite clearly that the state is not ultimate. The government has authority but not comprehensive authority. It doesn’t matter what country you are from, America, China, or Guatemala, your government is not God.
6. We owe our ultimate allegiance to God.
The state’s power is limited. Our allegiance to country or government is never absolute. But our allegiance to God is comprehensive. Do you see the word “likeness” in verse 16? It’s the Greek word eikon from which we get icon. The word can mean image or likeness. It’s the same word used in the Greek Old Testament in Genesis 1:26. Let us make man in our eikon—in our image, after our likeness. What are the things that belong to Caesar? Taxes, respect, honor—that’s what belongs to governing authorities. But what belongs to God? You. Your whole self. Your life. Your existence. Your everything.
Imagine standing before God, and he says, “Come up here. Let me take a look. Whose image, whose likeness do I see?” You are made in the image and likeness of God. You are like a coin—you may be dirty, rusted, nasty looking—but a penny is still worth a penny. And you are still worth something to God, because his likeness has been stamped on you. You belong to him. So the only way to render to God the things that are God’s is to give to God your whole life.

Kevin DeYoung (PhD, University of Leicester) is senior pastor of Christ Covenant Church in Matthews, North Carolina, Council member of The Gospel Coalition, and associate professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary (Charlotte). He has written numerous books, including Just Do Something. Kevin and his wife, Trisha, have nine children: Ian, Jacob, Elizabeth, Paul, Mary, Benjamin, Tabitha, Andrew, and Susannah.