Two Went to Pray

October 23, 2022
St. John’s United Church of Christ, Union, Illinois

Luke 18:9-14[1]

Which of these do you see in yourself, a Pharisee or a tax-collector? I find myself in both people, at times. Which of us has not, at least once, felt self-satisfied on a Sunday morning in church? Thank God I am not like other people: my neighbor off playing a round of golf right now instead of attending worship; that person in the other political party who does not understand how wrong they are; that scruffy-looking bus driver sitting two pews over. I am here every Sunday, I pledge faithfully, and I have served on Church Council!

Maybe it’s pride. We work hard to be good people, to always do the right thing. Is it wrong to want a little recognition for being so wonderful? We know that other people don’t try hard, are sinful and worthy of scorn. Is it so wrong to bring attention to our noble endeavors?

For some of us, it is only when we mess up in a big way that we gain the humility of the tax-collector. Hitting rock bottom, losing a job, a friendship, or a marriage—major mistakes are sometimes the only way we see our need for God’s grace and forgiveness. Only when we have encountered the error of our ways do we pray: “God, be merciful to me, a sinner!” (v. 13). Even if we do everything right and follow the rules, we may still find ourselves in a cold, dark, lonely place where we are humble enough to accept that we need, truly need God.

I have always been uncomfortable in job interviews and writing resumes. I’m more practiced in humility, and find that listing my accomplishments doesn’t come naturally. Certainly, I feel pride in myself, and I may share that pride with my parents or my spouse, but I’m not one to say “look what I did!” I learned from my ancestors the habit of lifting up others, praising their accomplishments, rather than seeking ways to take credit. There are times when it is important to acknowledge my own successes, but I try to always recognize the ones who helped me on the way. I also acknowledge my failures and try to right my wrongs. That’s why the Pharisee in this tale rubs me the wrong way.

I see the Pharisee in the dishonesty of politicians who take credit for bringing money for a new highway to their constituents, even when they voted against the bill. I prefer the ones who acknowledge that it takes many people working together to do big things. I see the Pharisee in the athlete who claims victory alone, but blames others when they lose. I prefer the ones who take the blame for the loss on themselves, while taking the victory as an opportunity to give accolades to teammates, coaches, and assistants.

This parable isn’t really about pride and scorn, selfishness and contrition, however. It is really about the idea of justification. After the tax collector humbly prayed for God’s mercy, the text says, “this man went down to his home justified rather than the other” (v. 14). The doctrine of justification asks the question of how we reach a status of righteousness in God’s eyes. The Pharisee trusted in himself for his own righteousness, counting on his adherence to the law for his holiness. The tax collector trusted in God for righteousness. He did nothing to earn or deserve God’s mercy. God’s mercy was freely given to him. The Apostle Paul said that “God proves his love for us in that while we still were sinners Christ died for us” (Romans 5:8).

How seductive it is to trust in ourselves that we are righteous and to regard others with contempt (v. 9). We do our good duty and confess our sins on communion Sundays, we put our envelopes in the offering plate. We serve the church and the world in many ways. Hooray for us. Boo for those who don’t follow the rules like us, who aren’t worthy of our respect. Even if we don’t judge others to that extreme, we might still find ourselves looking down on others with contempt when they don’t conform to our standards of behavior, especially in regards to religious practice.

Jesus challenges us to avoid trusting in our own efforts at fulfilling the law or following the religious codes of our time and, instead, humble ourselves before a merciful and loving God. We should not trust in our self-righteousness, in our own ability to be holy, but trust instead in the mercy of God, recognizing that we all fall short.

In Ephesians 2:8 Paul writes, “For by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God.” Our justification, therefore, comes when we acknowledge our guilt and shame, allowing for God’s forgiveness and the gift of God’s righteousness. One of the key concepts of the Protestant Reformation is sola gratia, the idea that we are justified by God’s grace alone—being saved not by our own righteousness (impossible to achieve) and only through the righteousness of Christ. We can’t earn salvation; we can only receive it from God.

This is not to say that good works are not important. Jesus doesn’t say that we should ignore the law, that we should act with cruel hearts and evil intent. The commandment to love God and love our neighbor still stands. What we must remember is that our good works don’t earn us points with God. They are instead a response to the knowledge of God’s grace, acts of thanksgiving and praise. If we believe we are loved and forgiven by God, how could we hate what God loves? How should we respond to grace but with grace and gratitude?

There is a song by Amy Grant called “Better Than a Hallelujah”[2] that draws from this parable:

The tears of shame for what's been done
The silence when the words won't come
Are better than a Hallelujah sometimes.

We pour out our miseries
God just hears a melody
Beautiful, the mess we are
The honest cries of breaking hearts
Are better than a Hallelujah.

Tax collectors were known for grift, stealing a little off the top of the taxes they collected, accepting bribes, and collaborating with the powerful, the oppressors of their own people. However terrible this man might have been, he has come to the Temple to pray. He trusts only in the mercy of God. If a tax collector can find mercy from God, can’t we? Can’t we all?  Amen.[3]

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[1] The scripture quotations contained herein are from the New Revised Standard Version Bible, copyright © 1989 by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the U.S.A.  Used by permission.  All rights reserved.

[2] Amy Grant, “Better than a Hallelujah” on Somewhere Down the Road, Copyright 2010 Sparrow Records.

[3] This sermon draws heavily from the work of Laura S. Sugg, Robert Leach, and Marjorie Proctor-Smith, commentors on Luke 18:9-14 in Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary, Year C, Vol. 4, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, General Editors (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), pp. 212-217.