Luke 18:9-14
9 He also told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and regarded others with contempt: 10 "Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. 11 The Pharisee, standing by himself, was praying thus, "God, I thank you that I am not like other people: thieves, rogues, adulterers, or even like this tax collector. 12 I fast twice a week; I give a tenth of all my income.' 13 But the tax collector, standing far off, would not even look up to heaven, but was beating his breast and saying, "God, be merciful to me, a sinner!' 14 I tell you, this man went down to his home justified rather than the other; for all who exalt themselves will be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be exalted."
"Two men went up to the temple to pray...” Isn’t that a lovely thing? Two men, entering into the sacred space understood and reserved as the “house of God,” and they’ve come to pray, to commune with the Almighty, to spend time in the focused presence of God. That’s a pretty good introduction to a parable if ever there was one. Jesus wants to teach his disciples then (and now) about the dangers of trusting in oneself to be righteous while looking down your nose at others in contempt. What a better way to teach about such things than through a parable of exemplary prayer? "Two men went up to the temple to pray...” It doesn’t take long, however, before the wheels on the parable start to wobble a bit.
Jesus says, "Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector.” Aha! So it isn’t just two ordinary men, two average, run-of-the-mill fellas kneeling in silent prayer in a candle-lit corner of the temple—it’s a Pharisee and a tax collector. Well, I suppose that may be another way to teach about the dangers of self-righteousness and the judging of others. After all, we know about Pharisees don’t we? Just the word itself conjures up all sorts of Sunday school lessons and images of ancient, uptight religious folks in the dark-colored robes, with scowls scratched across their bearded faces. Our minds quickly turn to images of those who go everywhere with their Bible tucked under their arms and their “Jesus fish” on the tailgate, yet act like angry children in private and behave as if they’ve never even read the Scriptures. Whenever we hear the word “Pharisee” we already have a pretty good picture in our mind of where Jesus is going with this story: this Pharisee is going to turn out to be a hypocrite, one who wears a public persona of piety, while privately parading his depravity. That’s how we know Pharisees. But before we rubber-stamp him like the rest of his kind in our created, Christian tradition, let’s hear him out; let’s at least listen to the prayer Jesus says this Pharisee prays in the temple.
Jesus says in: “The Pharisee, standing by himself, was praying thus…” Isn’t that a bit interesting? Jesus says the Pharisee was standing by himself (or perhaps “to himself”). This Pharisee isn’t standing on the street corner, on a soapbox, megaphone in hand, waving his signs of judgement at the passersby, no. He hasn’t tweeted out to all of his followers that he’s “Heading to the temple for some quality God time “#blessed #prayedup #Phariseeyouatthetemple.” No, there’s nothing of the sort; this Pharisee seems to be keeping quietly to himself in prayer, perhaps even modeling a bit of what Jesus teaches in Matthew’s gospel in the Sermon on the Mount, when he said in Matthew 6:6, “But whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.” This Pharisee is praying to himself. Isn’t it interesting the sort of things we’ll pray to ourselves, especially those things we wouldn’t dare pray out loud, with others around?
When others aren’t around to hear our prayers, when we think we’ve got the ear of God all to ourselves, isn’t it something the things we’ll pray for? “Lord, if it be thy will, I hope Suzy gets transferred next month; I’m tired of having to put up with her at work…God, I’m thankful for all the things you give me, but if you’d let my team make this field goal and go on to the playoffs…Jesus, I wish you’d kill the neighbors’ dog; I’m tired of that thing barking all night and digging up my yard…” Isn’t it something the things we’ll pray when no one’s listening, when we think we’re praying all to ourselves?
I’d like to say this Pharisee prayed some pretty egregious prayers while he prayed alone in the temple, but to be fair, his prayer isn’t all that terrible: “God, I thank you that I am not like other people: thieves, rogues, adulterers, or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week; I give a tenth of all my income.” Sure, he could have worded it a bit better, but it’s a fine prayer. After all, what’s wrong with being thankful for who you are and what you’ve been given? Sure, it sounds a bit harsh to pray, “God, I thank you that I am not like other people…” but it wasn’t like he was talking about his good neighbors across the street or those other Pharisees in his Torah study class or those other, good, tithing, fasting, God-fearing folks who gathered together to read the Scriptures and pray together. No, he was thankful he didn’t turn out to be a thief—who can fault him for that? How many of you parents have ever thanked God that your kids turned out halfway decent—not strung out, running around, broke, or locked up? That’s not a bad thing to thank God for, is it? This Pharisee is thankful that he didn’t wind up on the wrong side of the law, that God saw him through life to be a good, clean person. He’s thankful he’s not a “rogue,” an unjust, unrighteous person in opposition to that which is good and right in the world. Again, that’s not a bad thing, is it? He’s even thankful that he’s not an adulterer—an awful, hurtful sinner who has ruined his family and the lives of those in it.
We may want to find fault with his wording that he’s “not…even like this tax collector,” but the truth is such a sentiment would have likely received more than one “Amen!” from those listening to Jesus’ parable. You see, tax collectors were despised (more so than they would be today if such a profession existed); they were seen as collaborators with the oppressor, Rome; they took advantage of those from whom they collected taxes, often taking far more than the law required in order to keep the balance for themselves, and Jewish tax collectors (those who themselves were Jews hired by the Romans to collect taxes) were seen as especially egregious in their betrayal of their own people, so when he prays, “God, I thank you that I am not…even like this tax collector,” it may have been a bit rude to say so, but most folks would have thought nothing about it. They would have simply nodded their heads in agreement; it’s a good thing not to be like that tax collector, wretched traitor he is!
After offering his thanks to God, the Pharisee winds up his prayer with a little bit of a…let’s call it a “check in” with God: “I fast twice a week; I give a tenth of all my income.” This Pharisee has his ducks in a row! He’s not just fasting once a week, or on the prescribed fast day, no, he’s fasting twice a week (he’s clearly not a Baptist then!). He’s one of those folks who doesn’t just come to worship on Sunday mornings: he comes to Sunday school, Wednesday night prayer meeting, Tuesday Bible Study, Thursday visitation, and every day of Vacation Bible School! And, on top of his stellar fasting schedule, he’s a regular tither. I suppose we have to take the Pharisee at his word (after all, he is just a character in Jesus’ parable), but it has generally been my experience that whenever someone talks about how much they do, give, or attend, they tend to be lying through their teeth in order to cover up some other insecurity.
But if we take the Pharisee at his word, he’s a standout man of faith: he’s at prayer in the temple, to himself, without making a show of it, and he’s thankful to God as he recognizes that God hasn’t let him fall into a life of “ill-repute,” while also blessing him enough to faithfully fast and consistently tithe. Isn’t that great? So why does the tax collector go “down to his home justified rather than the [Pharisee]?” How is it that the Pharisee has “exalted himself” if he’s just thanking God for what God has done for him? What is it about the tax collector’s prayer that’s so much better than the prayer of the Pharisee?
Jesus tells us, “But the tax collector, standing far off, would not even look up to heaven, but was beating his breast and saying, ‘God, be merciful to me, a sinner!'” This tax collector hardly finds himself worthy to be in the same place of the temple as the Pharisee; he’s “standing far off.” Perhaps he knew the weight of his betrayal, the soul-crushing costs of swindling folks out of their money in order to line his own pockets. Maybe he knew his righteousness could never even come close to that of one like this Pharisee—I suspect that tax collector didn’t even fast once a week and the few ties he did show up for service he let the plate pass right by him! Perhaps he recognizes his lowliness, brought on by his terrible vocational choices. He beats his chest (a sign of extreme mourning and repentance) and cries out to God: “be merciful to me, a sinner!” It’s a simple prayer, a prayer of confession, a pleading for mercy in the light of one’s realization that one has strayed from God. It’s the prayer we will all make at some point in our lives, a prayer we will all say (hopefully) more than once. It’s the prayer that grounds us, reminds us that we cannot do or be anything on our own, and it is the prayer that reminds us that we are truly in need of God’s mercy and grace because no matter how hard we may try on our own, no matter how many schemes we may devise or lies we may tell ourselves, each and every one of us will fall short of God’s perfect love, and we will over and over again. Such a prayer calls us back to the realization that while we may always fall short, God’s mercy is sufficient to fill us with God’s love all the more.
The Pharisee prays and thanks God for the ways God has provided for him, kept him free from a life of treachery and debauchery, and the tax collector prays for mercy, yet Jesus says only the tax collector returns home justified. Why?
Why?
Two men went up to the airport to catch a flight. They were heading south of the equator to a remote village somewhere in the jungles of South America. They were from the same church and both skilled in medical missions. They spent seven days serving the peoples of that little village before catching a flight back home. When they returned, their church had asked if they’d share their experiences one Sunday morning in worship. They put together a presentation, and the two of them stood before the congregation one Sunday morning.
The first man talked of how difficult the trip was, how they landed in a small airport, then loaded into trucks to ride for hours on rough roads only to have to mount up on donkeys to make the last two hours of the trip into the village. He spoke about the children of the village, how none of them had shoes, most of them were malnourished, and how they didn’t go to school because the closest one was miles away. He showed pictures of the little huts they all lived in, with the dirt floors and the thatched rooves, with the scorched spot in the corner where they burned a fire to cook whatever that could call food. He showed pictures of the people they saw in their temporary, makeshift clinic, pictures of infections and long-untreated diseases. He showed image after image of horrible conditions and heart-breaking poverty, and when he concluded his portion of the presentation, he looked out at the congregation and said, “If I learned anything on this trip, I learned just how blessed we are—how blessed I am. We have clean, running water, shoes on our feet, and plenty of food to eat. We ought to be thankful for all that God has given us.” Tear-streaked faces nearly shouted, “Amen!” Then the second man spoke.
He showed a few of the same pictures, told some of the same stories, and before he was through, he looked out at the congregation and said, “If I learned anything on this trip, I learned that I ought to be ashamed and that I am in need of repentance, because I have so much—enough to even waste—while so many don’t even have enough. We ought to be doing something with all that God has given us.” Not a single “Amen.”
Two prayers. Two lessons. A Pharisee and a tax collector. Thankfulness and repentance. I wonder what God wants from us more: thankfulness or repentance? Hmmm…
