The Memorial of Saints Marcellinus and Peter
Looking for and earnestly desiring the coming of the day of God, which will cause the burning heavens to be dissolved, and the elements will melt with fervent heat. But, according to his promise, we look for new heavens and a new earth, in which righteousness dwells.
Therefore, beloved, seeing that you look for these things, be diligent to be found in peace, without defect and blameless in his sight. Regard the patience of our Lord as salvation; even as our beloved brother Paul also, according to the wisdom given to him, wrote to you,
You therefore, beloved, knowing these things beforehand, beware, lest being carried away with the error of the wicked, you fall from your own steadfastness. But grow in the grace and knowledge of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. To him be the glory both now and forever. Amen.
They sent some of the Pharisees and the Herodians to him, that they might trap him with words. When they had come, they asked him, "Teacher, we know that you are honest, and don't defer to anyone; for you aren't partial to anyone, but truly teach the way of God. Is it lawful to pay taxes to Caesar, or not? Shall we give, or shall we not give?"
But he, knowing their hypocrisy, said to them, "Why do you test me? Bring me a denarius, that I may see it."
They brought it.
He said to them, "Whose is this image and inscription?"
They said to him, "Caesar's."
Jesus answered them, "Give to Caesar the things that are Caesar's, and to God the things that are God's."
They marveled greatly at him.
Saints Marcellinus and Peter were a priest and an exorcist who faced martyrdom together in Rome during the persecution under Diocletian, their courage in the face of death becoming a witness to the unshakeable hope that anchors our faith.
The tension between earthly and eternal loyalties runs through both readings like a steady current. Peter writes about looking toward new heavens and a new earth while remaining faithful in this world, and Jesus navigates the trap of competing allegiances with that famous coin. What emerges is not an either-or choice, but a both-and wisdom that speaks directly to our daily juggling act.
Consider how Jesus holds the denarius—Caesar's image stamped on metal, temporary and passing. Yet we bear God's image, eternal and unshakeable. The movement here is from seeing ourselves as caught between competing demands to recognizing that our deepest identity transcends every earthly claim upon us. This doesn't mean we ignore our responsibilities as citizens, employees, or family members. Rather, it means we approach these roles from the secure foundation of knowing whose we are.
There's something profoundly liberating in this perspective. When we're stressed about work deadlines or political divisions, when we feel pulled in different directions by family expectations and personal convictions, we can return to this fundamental truth: we give Caesar his due, but our hearts belong to God.
Peter's call to "grow in grace and knowledge" happens precisely in these moments of tension—not despite them. The ordinary Wednesday afternoon when we're deciding how to respond to a difficult colleague, how to engage with political differences, or how to balance competing priorities becomes the very place where grace takes root.
What does it mean for you to bear God's image in your specific circumstances today? How might remembering whose you are change the way you approach the tensions you're facing?