Ordinary 30
October 23, 2022
Jesus also told this parable to some who
trusted in themselves that they were righteous and regarded others with
contempt: “Two men
went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. 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. I fast twice a week; I
give a tenth of all my income.’ 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!’ 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.”
This is the kind of story we could expect to hear in the Gospel of Luke. Even if we were casually listening or not paying close attention, we would have heard three clues.
First, Luke never misses an opportunity to kick a Pharisee. The Pharisees were religious leaders in the time of Jesus. They were lay people, not clergy. They knew their Bible. They were the backbone of the movement to develop synagogues around the country. The Pharisees desired to apply the teachings of God to all of daily life, including matters of social justice. They were generous and faithful. And Luke, the Gospel writer, likes to give them a little kick. Not all of them, but a lot of them.
They questioned the ability of Jesus to forgive sins (5:21). They grumbled about his dinner companions (5:30). They criticized his observance of the Sabbath (6:2). They sat on the edge of their seats, ready to pounce on him (6:7). They didn’t believe Jesus had a strict enough morality (7:39). They complained he didn’t wash his hands before dinner (11:38). According to Luke, the Pharisees were always nitpicking at Jesus – and they were hypocrites (12:1). Luke says a few Pharisees were friendly (13:31), but all of them were greedy (16:14).
We hear his bias. So it’s no surprise to hear him recount a parable about an arrogant Pharisee. The holy man brags about his holiness. He separates himself to keep himself pure. It seems that, in all his superiority, he is in deep spiritual trouble. This is Gospel of Luke.
The second clue that it’s a Luke story comes in the tagline at the end: “all who exalt themselves will be humbled, all who humble themselves will be exalted.” Now, Jesus has said that before, back in chapter 14, as he watched the maneuvering for good seats at a banquet (14:11). His lesson was ignored, for the Pharisees soon grumbled again how Jesus kept company with sinners.
In a broader sense, this is a Gospel where everything gets turned on its head. Mother Mary says the arrogant will be pulled off their thrones and the lowly will be lifted up. The first will be last and the last will become first. Jesus preaches, “Blessed are the poor, woe to the rich.” (6:17-26). The least among you is the greatest (9:48). And he himself becomes the greatest parable of reversal: the innocent One crucified between two thieves is raised up as Lord of all.
Luke offers a Gospel where all the values of this world are flipped upside down. So we have the parable of a pious Pharisee, praying in the Temple, who is demoted as a bad example, and the pitiful tax collector who will not make eye contact with God who is saved by grace. Hear the scheme? Humbled, now exalted. This is Luke’s book, so this is Luke’s story.
The third clue is somewhat more subtle. But once we see it, it’s very clear. So let me back up and say a bit more about the Pharisee. By all estimation, he leads a moral life. He knows the commandments and all that they instruct us not to do. Thou shalt not steal. Check! Thou shalt not commit adultery. Check! Thou shalt not covet all the money that the tax collector has grabbed. Double check!
And his actions could be considered admirable. The Bible teaches him to fast from his meals for every holy day. He goes the extra mile and fasts twice a week. The Bible calls him to tithe, to donate ten percent of all the produce from his land. He gives a whole lot more – ten percent of everything he owns is given to God and God’s temple. (I want his phone number. It’s stewardship time and I’d love to put him in touch with our finance committee.)
As someone notes, "He is the faithful, dependable type (of person) who pays the salaries of ministers so they can preach on the parable of the Pharisee and the tax collector."[1] No doubt he’s a regular in worship. He goes to the temple all the time.
Yet for all his otherwise admirable qualities, something is off kilter. Some would say it’s his sense of superiority, or his arrogance, or his pretense. Others would say it’s his not-so-subtle nastiness; he really didn’t need to put down the tax collector in his prayer. Others would indicate that his prayer is skewed; he begins by thanking God and proceeds to talk about himself: how good he is, how holy he is, how much better he is than everybody else.” And yes, all of that’s true. But none of these are the critical flaw. They are merely symptoms of a greater issue.
The real issue comes into focus when we turn to look at the tax collector. He’s not standing up front. He’s way in the back. I understand that’s where all the sinners are. As someone once said, they want to be in the presence of God but not too close.
And he calls himself a sinner. “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.” That word “sinner” signifies somebody wicked. He has not made a simple mistake or two. He has wandered away from the commandments of God. He didn’t bother to try to keep them.
If you remember anything about New Testament tax collectors, they were Jews – fellow Jews – who collaborated with occupying empire of Rome. They collected the taxes that paid for the Roman army to occupy the land. And they were empowered to collect as much money as they could get, giving to Caesar what “belonged” to Caesar and keeping the rest for themselves.
The late great German scholar Joachim Jeremias uncovered first-century lists of those who engaged in despised lists, so that when children grew up, parents could tell them what not to do. These people were not permitted inside the Jerusalem temple. And who made the list? "Gamblers, usurers, pigeon-trainers, shepherds, and tax collectors."[2]
So what does it mean, “two people went up to the temple to pray…” and one of them was a tax collector? He is not welcome there. What kind of person is this? Slipping in the side door, hunkering down in the shadows, trying not to be seen, avoiding human contact, averting his eyes, calling out the words of Psalm 51, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.” What does he think he’s doing?
In his study of the parables, Ken Bailey tells us what he’s doing. He’s doing what hundreds of other people are doing at the same time. He has come to the temple for the daily sacrifice. Twice a day, at dawn and at three in the afternoon, the priest on duty at the Jerusalem temple would sacrifice a lamb to atone for the sins of the people. It was a big deal. There was liturgy, there were drums and chants, there was a blazing fire, and a good bit of blood. Then the priest would go into the chamber marked “Holy of Holies” to light incense and pray that God accepted the sacrifice. That’s why the tax collector is there. That’s why the Pharisee is there. That’s why the crowd is there.
Bailey says what the tax collector’s prayer is really saying is this: “God, let my sins be forgiven. Let my guilt be taken away. Let that sacrifice for everybody’s sins also work for me.” And Jesus says his prayer is granted.
Now, why is his prayer granted? Because it is a prayer of repentance. This is the third and greatest clue that this story is given to us by the Gospel of Luke – because Luke is all about repentance. In Luke’s book, Jesus is always teaching repentance, about coming home to God, about returning from our empty wanderings, about waking up our souls from their dullness, about standing before God with nothing in our hands – our hearts cracked open, our spirits hungry to be me.
Earlier this fall, we heard Jesus tell the parable about the one sheep who wanders away. Remember that one? He “nibbled himself lost,” as someone describes it. The shepherd – the Good Shepherd – goes after him. He leaves behind the ninety-nine other sheep to search for the lost one. When he finds it, he carries it back on his shoulders and throw a party for the village. You’ve heard that one.
But don’t forget the zinger that Jesus tacks on the end of that story. He says something that applies directly for the parable for today. “Even so,” he says, “there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner that repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance.” (15:7)
“One sinner” – there’s that word again. “Ninety-nine righteous persons” – just like that Pharisee.
Now, I know, I know. This is just a parable. And the two characters are caricatures. They are made of cardboard, overdrawn to make a point. And I confess to you, in the sight of God, that there are days when I am uncomfortably familiar with that Pharisee. I think highly of myself. I’m proud of my moral achievement (at least, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it). I don’t veer off course very often. Granted, I rarely fast from any meals, which you’ll be able to tell if I turn sideways. But let me tell you I have already gone to the church’s website and increased my electronic pledge by ten percent; that will begin this Tuesday. Why wait until January? And please notice: just like the Pharisee, I have a really nice robe.
But do I need God? That’s the issue. I tell it to you straight: there are moments while the rest of you are praying the prayer of confession on Sunday, and I am bored. I look over that prayer (which by the way, I selected). I look over that prayer and say to myself, “Oh, I didn’t do any of these bad things this week.” And when that happens, when I wake up and catch myself in that posture, that is the moment when my soul faces its greatest peril. I do need God, every hour of every day. But there are moments, some of them long moments, when I forget.
It reminds me of a book title from way back in the 1970’s. Written by Will Willimon, retired United Methodist bishop who never had an unpublished thought, the book is called, The Gospel for the Person Who Has Everything. As I recall, it’s an extremely thin book. There’s not much content, and that is another parable. Because if you think you have it all, you certainly don’t need God. If you alone are the source of your own good news, you have no room for the good news of Jesus Christ.
So I’m chewing on the parable for today, resembling the Pharisee, punctured by tax collector. And of all the details that I learned in my study of the text this week, one specific fact sticks with me. It’s where Ken Bailey, the Bible scholar, says the Jerusalem Temple held sacrifices for sin twice a day, at dawn and at three p.m. Three p.m.? And then I remember another lamb of God, an innocent man, crucified between two thieves, giving his life as a sacrifice to take away the sins of the world. Remember the time of day when he died? 3:00 in the afternoon.
So here’s another parable. In a certain church on the first Sunday of the month, the faithful Presbyterians gathered for worship. They sang the hymns, listened to the sermon, prayed the prayers, passed the offering plate, and then they had the Lord’s Supper. “This is my body broken for you… This is the cup of salvation, poured out for you.” They do this regularly. Same crowd, same day. They stood to sing, get the benediction, and leave.
Except on that day, a stranger didn’t stand for the final hymn. Those around him stood, but he stayed hunkered over in a pew near the back. While everybody else sang, he seemed to be murmuring something. It seemed disturbing for the regulars around him, and they left. When the minister came in from shaking hands at the door, he recognized the stranger as a man who had recently been released from prison. The case had been all over the news. He had done some terrible things, served his time, and today, somehow, he had found his way to the back of that church.
He was still leaning over, eyes closed, murmuring words the preacher could now hear, “again, again.” All this time, he was still holding the piece of bread and the cup of wine. Suddenly he opened his eyes, ate the bread, drank the cup. With moist eyes, he slowly stood up and pulled on his jacket.
He turned to see the minister, who asked him, “Is everything alright?” The man replied, “Beginning again. I’m beginning again.”
And that man went home, at peace with God.
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