A Year Held in His Hands| A New Year Sermon
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Matthew chapter 22 is one of those chapters where you feel like Jesus is standing in the middle of a storm, you know, people questioning Him from all sides, traps being set, and He answering with such wisdom that you almost have to sit back and say, wow. Sometimes when I read it I can picture the sound of the crowd murmuring, sandals scraping against the temple courtyard floor, the smell of dust and maybe roasted lamb from nearby homes drifting through, while the religious leaders tighten their robes and whisper with each other.
It’s a chapter loaded with parables, challenges, confrontations, and finally a profound question from Jesus Himself that turns the tables on everybody else.
Let’s walk through it bit by bit, but in a way that feels like we’re sitting together, maybe with some tea (I drink mine with ginger, though last time I made it too strong and it nearly burnt my tongue) and we’re just opening the Bible to see what God is saying through this chapter.
So right from the beginning Jesus tells a parable. And if you been reading Matthew up to now, you know whenever He opens His mouth with “The kingdom of heaven is like…” something is about to shake people up. This one’s about a king who prepared a wedding banquet for his son.
He sent invitations, but those invited refused to come. Imagine that for a second. A king—this is not just your neighbor calling you for dinner—this is royalty. A banquet full of music, long tables, roasted meat, spiced wine, laughter, maybe dancing. And the invitees shrug and say nah, too busy. Some even mock the messengers, others mistreat and kill them.
And here the king responds with judgment—he sends his army, destroys the murderers, burns their city. Hard stuff, but it reflects Israel’s history of rejecting the prophets, ignoring God’s call.
Then the king opens the invitation to everyone, the “bad and good alike,” so that the hall is filled. That always touches me. God’s invitation is wide, open, generous. You don’t have to be perfect to come, just willing.
But then comes the twist. One man shows up without wedding clothes. The king confronts him, and the man is speechless. He’s thrown out into darkness, “where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.”
I used to struggle with that part. Why so harsh? But over time I’ve come to understand—it’s not just about being invited, it’s about being transformed. The wedding garment is like righteousness, the covering God provides. You can’t just casually stroll in on your own terms.
Sometimes I think about church today. We got folks filling pews, singing songs, maybe even preaching sermons, but are they clothed in Christ or just attending the party without the garment? I remember once, back in my teenage years, I went to a wedding underdressed by accident. My shirt wasn’t ironed properly and I wore sneakers. I felt out of place, like everyone’s eyes were secretly on me. Now magnify that a thousand times in the presence of a holy King. It makes sense now why Jesus put that detail in.
Next scene: the Pharisees plot against Jesus. They send their disciples along with the Herodians, and already you know this is messy. Pharisees and Herodians normally didn’t get along, but funny how enemies will unite if they both dislike the same person.
They come with flattery—“Teacher, we know you are a man of integrity…”—ugh, whenever someone starts with sweet words like that, I get suspicious. And sure enough, it’s a trap. They ask, “Is it right to pay taxes to Caesar or not?”
Now, this is a genius trap from their perspective. If Jesus says yes, He looks like a Roman collaborator, betraying the Jewish people who resented the tax. If He says no, He could be reported as a rebel against Rome.
But Jesus sees through their hypocrisy. He asks for a coin, the denarius, and He asks, “Whose image is this?” They answer, “Caesar’s.” Then Jesus replies, “So give back to Caesar what is Caesar’s, and to God what is God’s.”
Boom. They’re amazed and leave Him.
That phrase has echoed for centuries. It makes me think about how we live in the world but also belong to God. We pay taxes, respect governments, but ultimately our lives bear God’s image, not Caesar’s. If the coin has Caesar’s face, my soul has God’s fingerprint.
One Sunday morning, while I was filling out some boring tax paperwork (ugh, numbers always give me a headache), I paused and thought about this verse. Even in the mundane, I’m reminded that my ultimate allegiance isn’t to paperwork or governments but to the One whose image is stamped on me.
Then come the Sadducees. They didn’t believe in the resurrection, which always felt ironic because they were the religious leaders but denying one of the core hopes of faith.
They pose this strange question about marriage: if a woman marries seven brothers in succession (each dying without children), whose wife will she be in the resurrection? It sounds almost like a riddle, but really it’s mockery.
Jesus answers powerfully. He says in the resurrection people will neither marry nor be given in marriage but will be like the angels in heaven. Then He reminds them of Scripture they claimed to know: God said, “I am the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob.” Present tense. Not “I was.” He is the God of the living, not the dead.
When the crowd hears this, they’re astonished.
I sometimes wonder, what would it be like in heaven without marriage? As a kid I thought, oh no, that sounds lonely. But as I grew older, I realized it’s not loss but fullness. Earthly marriage points to something bigger, a union with God Himself.
I remember once an older lady in church, widowed for many years, smiled and said, “In heaven, I’ll see my husband again, but I won’t need him the way I did here, because God Himself will fill every need.” That stuck with me.
Now the Pharisees regroup and send in an expert in the law to test Jesus. “Teacher, which is the greatest commandment?”
And Jesus gives that beautiful summary:
Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, and mind.
Love your neighbor as yourself.
On these two commandments hang all the Law and the Prophets.
That’s breathtaking in its simplicity and depth. You could study theology for decades, wrestle with rituals, debate minor laws, but here Jesus boils it down to love. Love God. Love people.
Sometimes I scribble notes in my Bible margins, and here I once wrote: “If I don’t get love right, I’ve missed the point.”
I think of my grandmother. She wasn’t a scholar, barely finished school, but she loved God with her prayers every dawn, and she loved neighbors by cooking meals for anyone who came by. She embodied this verse more than some people with seminary degrees.
Finally, Jesus turns the tables. He asks the Pharisees, “What do you think about the Messiah? Whose son is he?” They answer, “The son of David.”
Then Jesus quotes Psalm 110: “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 can He be his son?
No one could answer Him. And from that day no one dared to ask Him any more questions.
It’s like the ultimate mic drop. Jesus shows the Messiah is not just a human descendant but divine. The Pharisees, experts in Scripture, are silenced.
When I first read this as a teenager, I didn’t fully get it. Only later did I realize—Jesus is revealing His identity. He’s greater than David, more than just a kingly heir, He’s the Lord Himself.
Matthew 22 is a chapter of confrontation and clarity. People come at Jesus with schemes, and He responds with truth that cuts deeper than their traps.
The wedding banquet reminds us God’s invitation is generous, but also serious. We can’t come on our own terms.
The coin to Caesar reminds us we live in two kingdoms, but God’s claim is ultimate.
The resurrection debate shows that God is about life, not death.
The greatest commandment brings everything back to love.
And Jesus’ own question points to His divine authority.
Whenever I sit with this chapter, I feel both comforted and challenged. Comforted that God’s invitation is open to me, challenged to make sure I’m clothed with Christ, not just showing up.
Sometimes I imagine being in that crowd, hearing Jesus’ words firsthand, the way His voice might have carried across the stone courtyard, a mix of firmness and compassion. Some people left silenced, others left amazed, but nobody left unchanged.
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