Thank God I’m not like
that Pharisee! Oh… wait… oops. It’s hard not to find some of him in each of
us. You see, that Pharisee was a good
person, a generous person. He fasted
twice a week, much more often than was required. He ignored all the various exemptions
concerning what kinds of income you didn’t have to pay tithes on and tithed on
his total income. He fasted, gave alms
and here he was in the Temple to pray – a model believer! Well, almost.
Because he goes through the motions of addressing a prayer to God –
beginning it “O God, I thank you…” – but our narrator, Jesus, tells us
what’s really going on: “he spoke this prayer to himself.” And while he says “thank you,” his
prayer merely lists his good deeds (genuine good deeds!) and the misdeeds of other
mortals: entirely lacking is any mention of God’s deeds. All the good that God has inspired him to do…
all that should be a living icon reminding him of the goodness of God, of God’s
gracious acts of creation, of deliverance from captivity and exile, of God’s
care and providence, God’s mercy. But
no, this Pharisee takes his own good deeds and instead of letting them serve as
an icon of God’s goodness, he makes them into an idol. “These good deeds of mine, these are
what I put my hope in, what I treasure, what I worship.” What must have started as love of God, and
still bears the marks of an impulse towards that, has become idolatrous
self-love. The gift has been seized as a
possession, and the giver given no more than lip service.
The tax
collector’s prayer is utter simplicity and truth. “O God, be merciful to me, a sinner.” He acknowledges that he can only take refuge
in the goodness of God. He knows that
his deepest need is to be cleansed of his sin, to be right with God. And he knows that God hears prayer; that God
is merciful. He has humbled himself, or
maybe to put it better: he has let God humble him. Being humbled is oh-so different from being
humiliated, even though the words sound similar. To be humiliated is to be pushed down, often
by someone smaller than you, so you are forced to crank your neck to see
them. To be humbled is to stand tall,
willingly straining your neck to gaze upon something much bigger than you.
God never
humiliates us. God humbles us. And to skip straight from that to “God will
exalt us” without resting with God humbling us is to short-change the beauty of
that action. Being humbled isn’t the
price for exaltation, as if we could enter into a bargain on even terms with
God. God takes our virtues and shows us what they look like in their fullness,
in his mighty hand. To strain your neck
to gaze at that is to be humble. He takes
us when we finally realize we have slipped up and fallen down and offers us
that hand. To be humble is to take it,
to grasp that loving hand, that wounded hand, because we know that only by
clinging to that can we stand.
Paul knew
the mercy of God’s mighty hand. And that’s
what’s reflected in our second reading.
We read of a Paul whose active ministry is at an end. The time of his departure is at hand. And he’ll talk of what he’s done right in his
life, that he has competed well, shown perseverance and kept the faith. He has, doubtlessly, fasted, tithed and
prayed. But he doesn’t boast like the
Pharisee. Because he knows God’s mercy. He knows that the crown is God’s to give him,
and he doesn’t seize that reward as his possession. He knows God’s mercy. He knows the crown is for all who long for
the coming, whether or not they’ve run the race as well as he has. The standard is not accomplishment or
achievement; we’re not saved by our C.V: the standard is desire, longing, thirsting
for God’s mercy. “O God, have mercy on
me, a sinner.”
Paul knew
what it was like to be let down. When
faced with some adversity, he tells us “everyone deserted me.” We can picture how the Pharisee from Jesus’
parable would respond to this, he’d look down on them, despise them, “thank God
I am not like these deserters!” Paul has
no interest in looking down on them; his gaze is fixed up, gazing lovingly at
the mighty hand of his redeemer. Like
Christ who prayed on the cross that his tormentors would be forgiven, Paul prays
for his deserters: “May it not be held against them!” Deserted by every mortal, he gains a keener,
surer sense that he is never alone, that God is present with him.
Christ,
on the cross, quoted Psalm 22, “My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?” The Psalm continues; it asks God to rescue,
and ends confident that He will. At one
point, the psalmist asks God, “Save me from the lion’s mouth.” Paul has conviction because he has known
first hand God’s mercy. He tells us: “I
was rescued from the lion’s mouth.” He
grasps the mighty merciful hand of God and reassures us that God will keep on
rescuing. This is humility. This is how God exalts us. O God, have mercy on us, sinners.
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