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. And the people around him, who should be
objects of his love, in whom he should be able to see the original spark on the
image of God, in whom he should be able to see God acting, from whom he should
be willing to learn; he simply reduces them to flat images of what not to do.
It’s an
arrogance that perpetuates itself by criticizing others and shutting out God,
refusing to see God’s hand in all the good that has happened. And that’s sad,
because so closely, so tenderly accompanies us, that when people can’t see
that, when they shut God out even of their prayer, of their gratitude, when
they refuse to see God in another, including in imperfect others, they’re
missing out on the most wonderful relationship imaginable. When that happens in the midst of crisis, I
at least get it; and I also get that it’s our job as church to help people find
God’s vulnerable wounded healing presence in whatever mess they find themselves
in. But, it so much harder to do that, if God is ignored in the good times.
Obviously,
Jesus wants us to contrast the Pharisee’s prayer with the tax-collector, but
before we go there, I want to go to what we heard about Paul in our second
reading, because his comparative wordiness actually helps us learn. 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. And we can talk about the good things we’ve
done, to each other and to God. 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 doesn’t set himself apart from the rest of
the people, but he knows the crown is for all who long for the coming, whether they’ve
run the race as well as he has or not.
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.
He’s
prepared himself for awareness of God’s presence well enough that during those
dark times, he doesn’t despair, but can have confidence that God will continue
being there for him. He celebrates and
give thanks for what God has done for him, that God has saved him from the lion’s
mouth, and that’s what gives him confidence for the future. We build up our
hope for the future by remembering, with thanksgiving, God’s mighty deeds of
the past: the big global ones, and the little daily ones in our lives.
The tax
collector’s prayer shows us another part of this trust. “O God, be merciful to me, a sinner.” 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 trusts God enough to share with God his
sorrow at his sin, that he doesn’t have to hide in fear. We don’t know where that trust came from for
him, but unlike the Pharisee he doesn’t enter prayer on the offensive, trying
to justify himself to God. No, he trusts
God to justify him.
We need
that. Not just the justification, we need the trust, we need the hope, we need
the ability to see God in others, because that’s the only way we can fully love
them, and prepare ourselves for an eternity of heavenly love. And we build up
that trust, that awareness of God’s presence, in small ways. By daily giving
thanks, asking for help, sharing our sorrow at our wrong and our world’s. Lord,
have mercy on us, sinners.
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