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, a “play-actor,” 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: “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 posted on social media
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 Q
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 do something
about 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, isn’t it? 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—maybe, if you’re honest, you
might have given him an “amen” yourself. 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 times
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?
You know why. Because we don’t have to interpret the Pharisee’s words all that
much. Yeah, maybe he’s thankful, maybe he’s sincere in thanking God for not letting
him become like those he despises. But I know this Pharisee’s heart. I know
it, because too often it’s my own heart, too often I’m the one praying to
myself, “God, I’m glad I’m not like them.” Of course, it’s not always in
the temple, in the sanctuary in a moment of called prayer. Sometimes, it’s in
the car, windows rolled up, waiting in the line of traffic trying to merge on
to the interstate. He’s standing there with his sign I hesitate to ever read,
because I know if he sees me look his way he’ll come over to my car: “God, I’m
thankful I’m not like him.” Sometimes it’s in the parking lot, waiting for my
wife to come out of the store, when I see a woman, back bent, searching the
pavement for half-smoked cigarettes. She lifts the lids of ash cans, looking
for more small tokens to slake her habit: “God, I’m glad I’m not like that.”
It’s when I hear about another crazy politician, another sleezy criminal
arrested on charges that would make my stomach turn, another image of a family
fleeing for their lives, and I pray, “God, I’m thankful I’m not like those
people.”
Because
we all have those people in our lives, those tax collectors we’re
thankful we’re nothing like, and when we’re praying to ourselves, when no one
else can really witness our confession, we say, “God, I’m thankful I’m not like
that.” But here’s the thing, here’s the thing I’m coming to learn more and more
every day: do you know why the tax collector was justified and the Pharisee
wasn’t? Because the tax collector isn’t play-acting; the tax-collector knows
the truth: we all stand in need of the mercy of God. We are all sinners in need
of grace of God. We are all—each and every one of us—no better than the next.
The tax collector recognized his need for God’s mercy. The Pharisee looked
around for someone he was better than. The tax collector “went down to his home justified
rather than the [Pharisee]; for all who exalt themselves will be humbled, but
all who humble themselves will be exalted." Amen.
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