Joel 2:23-32; 2 Timothy 4:6-8; Luke 18:9-14
Ordinary 30C; Proper 25
I come back to this parable of the praying Pharisee and tax collector over and over again.
Brief and straightforward, the story of the self-righteous, publicly pious Pharisee contrasted with the wailing, contrite tax collector draws me in with its honest depiction of human beings. Of course, I do not want to imagine myself the Pharisee. I know where most Pharisees stand in the eyes of Jesus: religious rule-followers who fail to see God right in front of them, judgmental, aloof, Godly know-it-alls who exploit the vulnerable. By this point in Luke’s Gospel, I know enough to know I do not want to be equated to the Pharisee. However, if I am being honest, I am not often where the tax collector of this tale is either.
I may not think of myself as following God’s law to perfection, as utterly righteous and set apart, but neither do I go to worship and bare my soul to God and in front of others. If I don’t have it all together, I at least want to look like I have it all together. Rarely do I confess, even to God, how desperately I need grace and forgiveness, mercy and divine intervention. As much as I appreciate our well-crafted liturgy and carefully worded prayers of confession, there are Sundays when in my heart of hearts I just want to cry out to God: “I’ve got nothing. Help.”
Looking at others with contempt comes easily in our culture. In this fractured time, judging the offenses of those around us is second nature. We roll our eyes at the political leanings of our neighbors. Those in leadership delight in roasting opponents on social media. We get giddy over clever Twitter wars and apparent cosmic karma directed at those we hold in disdain. We may know enough about the Gospels to know we ought not relate too well to the Pharisees, but often our behavior reveals our kinship to the one in this story who gave thanks for not being like those despicable others.
But if we refuse to recognize our resemblance to the Pharisee and we do not want to be as utterly vulnerable as the tax collector, where does that leave us? Do we come to worship and go through the order of service with never an authentic exchange with God or one another? When are we honest about how we perceive ourselves and other people? When do we pour ourselves out for God’s sake in order to be filled with the Spirit and sent out to serve?
In a tradition like ours where few get slain in the Spirit and corporate, scripted confession is the norm, how do we say to God and in the presence of fellow believers “Help — I’ve got nothing”?
I am not advocating public confession of the sort we see when famous people get caught in a scandal. Nor do I imagine that public emotional displays of deeply held feelings are the only means of receiving God’s grace. What this parable tells me is that God will not turn us away when we confess our need, whatever that need may be. Perhaps I come back to this story repeatedly because I need to be reminded that in our weakness, at our worst, God responds with compassion, not condemnation. I suspect I appreciate this parable because I want to know that when I am far off from all that God may will or want for me, Jesus comes near. I need to encounter the Pharisee and the tax collector often so that I am certain that I can never justify myself, nor do I need to, because I am justified by Jesus. I need to know that even though I am not righteous, the righteousness of God is all I need to keep the faith and keep going. In other words, this simple compare-and-contrast pericope tells me that when I privately or publicly say to God “Help — I’ve got nothing,” God hears and I am not alone. God will pour out the Spirit on all flesh, even me, at my worst. When I am empty and without the ability to see a way, Jesus comes and never fails to be the Way.
The beautiful gift that comes with confessing our need not only to God, but to and with one another, is that grace and mercy comes to us through fellow sinners. When we admit we’ve got nothing and need help, those on this journey with us who also know what it is like to be in that lonely, painful place come to our aid and the Spirit of God surrounds us in the form of Christ’s Body, the church. Now I know, we fall short, we let people down, we gossip and judge, but often, we show the mercy of Jesus Christ in ways that matter.
Recently, I experienced this truth yet again. A group of colleagues and friends got word that I was in the midst of a painful situation with a beloved family member. Health challenges resurged and I felt defeated, frustrated, unable to intervene in ways that would make a difference. In my silent prayers to God all I could articulate was: “I’ve got nothing. Help.” A text came, a simple, brief text expressing compassion, offering assistance, telling me, “We are here. We are praying. We’ll do whatever we can.” The Spirit speaks through others and via text, apparently.
That communication came with a powerful reminder that I am not alone, no matter how poured out or empty. That text, and so many other acts of care shown to me countless times throughout my life, communicated the mercy of God when I needed it the most. Yes, God’s grace and mercy have come to me even when I stood apart and thought myself righteous because God is just that good. However, when I admit my need, acknowledge my finitude, recognize how far from grace I have fallen, Jesus’ Body embraces and upholds me in tangible, merciful ways that enable me to keep the faith despite the fact that I’ve got nothing.
This week:
- When have you prayed a prayer like the tax collector of this parable? Did you experience God’s mercy as a result?
- If you are being completely honest, who do you think yourself better than? When and why have you judged others? How can you refrain from such judgment?
- When do we share our deepest needs and concerns with God? Do we share them with others?
- How is our weekly, corporate prayer of confession akin to the tax collector’s prayer in this parable? How is it different? In our tradition, where is the space for personal, specific confession and subsequent absolution?
- When have you been upheld, supported or helped when you had nothing? When have you done so for others?
- What does God’s righteousness mean to you?
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