Luke 18:9-14
9To some who were confident of their own righteousness and looked down on everyone else, Jesus told this parable: 10“Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. 11The Pharisee stood by himself and prayed: ‘God, I thank you that I am not like other people—robbers, evildoers, adulterers—or even like this tax collector. 12I fast twice a week and give a tenth of all I get.’
13“But the tax collector stood at a distance. He would not even look up to heaven, but beat his breast and said, ‘God, have mercy on me, a sinner.’
14“I tell you that this man, rather than the other, went home justified before God. For all those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.”
Jesus Sinners Does Receive
“To some who were confident of their own righteousness and looked down on everyone else.”[1]
Do you know anyone like that? We’re talking high horse, holier than thou, hypocritical, condescending narcissists. People who are quick to point out shortcomings in others, but are too oblivious to see their own. They always have an excuse, a reason to justify their behaviour. It’s never their fault; it’s always someone else’s. They work hard to project a certain image, but if you really know them, then you know that it’s just a show.
As it happens, I have a picture of one right here. I thought I’d put it in a frame tonight to show you. I look at this person with a mixture of disgust and disappointment. I would have thought more of them. I would have hoped that they could have done better. I think about all their ambitions, their stated goals and dreams – and if they would have accomplished half of them I would have been proud. But that’s a pretty big “if.” As it stands, I see just the kind of person Jesus is talking about in his parable.
Obviously, the Pharisee is the one who fits Jesus’ description – confident of his own righteousness; looked down on everyone else. It’s really a pretty disgusting display. And that’s exactly what it is, right? A display. He’s putting on a show. He’s standing up for everyone to see and saying out loud:
“God, I thank you that I’m not like other people – robbers, evildoers, adulterers – or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week and give a tenth of all I get.”[2]
I mean, if you’re a parent of children that is the kind of person you’d want your kids to grow up to be like, right? You don’t want them to be robbers, evildoers, or adulterers. You want them to be healthy and active and faithful in their worship-life. These are all objectively good things, right? So, what’s wrong with what the Pharisee is saying?
I suppose you could argue that it’s not so much what he’s saying as it is how he’s saying it. There’s certainly truth to that. There’s an arrogance in everything that he says that undercuts any positive messaging that might be there. There are context clues and even implied physical gestures that he makes that reveal his heart. But I do think there’s one element of what he says that doesn’t require context or tone to prove him to be in the wrong. Look again at his prayer. What word does he use the most?
“I thank you that I’m not like other people… I fast twice a week and I give a tenth of all I get.”
This really isn’t a prayer at all. It’s a monologue. He’s not really thanking God; he’s invoking God’s name to thank himself. It’s bald-faced, self-aggrandizing narcissism. He’s showing off and making an effort for other people to see how good a person he is.
But let’s be fair to the Pharisee. He may be a narcissist who only thinks about himself, but it’s not like he’s a megalomaniac. He doesn’t put himself on par with God. There is clearly a difference in hierarchy, otherwise he wouldn’t fast or tithe. He admits that he owes God something. But this is precisely where the Pharisee goes wrong. He thinks he can supply what he owes.
The Pharisee will readily admit, “I’m not a perfect person,” but then he’ll always add the caveat: “…but at least I’m not like other people;” “…at least I do all the things I’m supposed to.”
That’s where I fear we get this parable wrong. The Pharisee didn’t think he was a perfect person; he knew he had sinned. The Pharisee just didn’t need God. And that’s what this guy gets wrong far too often too.
Do you want to see the picture of the person who is confident of their own righteousness and looks down on everyone else? Who did you think it was going to be a picture of? The leading politician for the party you don’t support? The hockey player who was supposed to support his own country but gave a thumbs up to the other team instead? The actor who gave the most self-righteous acceptance speech at the Oscars? Did you think it was going to be a picture of me? Isn’t that exactly the problem?
Our sinful hearts are so quick to deflect the blame, e.g. “If you want to see sinful, self-centered hypocrites, I can rattle off a list of names!” Our selfish minds find it so easy to rationalize and justify our behaviour, e.g. “It was someone else’s fault; what else was I supposed to do under the circumstances?” We are so slow to own up to our own wrongdoing, and we’re even worse at admitting there’s nothing we can do to make up for it.
We like to believe that our attendance at church, our contributions to the offering, our participation in Bible study, volunteerism in the community, evangelism with the Gospel in some way bridges the gap between us and the God we daily sin against. But here is the hard truth of Ash Wednesday – unless you come with no hope in your heart that there is anything you could do to make up for what you’ve done, then you are the Pharisee; then you are the one who will be humbled and not go home justified before God.
The Pharisees are not some ancient sect or some phantom organization that works behind the scenes to undermine Christianity from within. The Pharisees are who every one of us is by nature. It is the natural inclination of our sinful hearts, and ultimately the enemy of God’s mercy. Pharisees have no use for God. Pharisees aren’t perfect, but at least we’re not as bad as other people; at least we do the right thing after we mess up, right? Wrong. There is nothing that you or I or any other Pharisee can do to solve the problem of sin, to pay off the debt we owe God.
Which is exactly why the tax collector is the one who went home justified before God, who was exalted. Because he humbled himself. That’s what repentance is, and that’s what Ash Wednesday – and all of Lent – is all about.
How different that tax collector’s prayer was. Obviously, he didn’t boast about all the good that he had done, the way the Pharisee did, but notice that he didn’t even take the time to list out his sins, because he didn’t have to. It’s not as if God didn’t know. God knows our sin better than we know it. What did the tax collector do instead? He owned up to his sin.
Do you see the difference? It’s one thing to say, “I sinned.” It’s another to say, “I’m a sinner.” To say, “I sinned,” can be incidental, episodic, accidental. To say, “I’m a sinner,” gets to the core of who I am as a person; acknowledges my complete inability to do anything about it; throws myself at the mercy of God. And as hopeless as that may feel, it’s the best place for us to be, and it’s the beautiful reality of repentance.
You don’t have to come here pretending to be someone or something you’re not. You don’t have to compare yourself to the other people in this room or in this world. You get to come here exactly as you are – warts and all – and know not that you are accepted by God, but that you’re forgiven by him.
That’s why we do what we do on Ash Wednesday. We smear soot on our foreheads for everyone to see that we are unclean. Our sin makes us dirty – in God’s sight, but also in reality and in our relationships with other people. This black mark is not a pharisaical way to show that we’re better than anyone else because we’re doing what “good Christians” do. It’s the honest admission that we’re not worthy and we need God’s mercy.
And that’s also why it’s the shape that it is, i.e. a cross, to remind us where we meet God’s mercy. We don’t make up for our sin by doing good things. God doesn’t forget our sin or overlook it for the sake of his love. He dealt with it by the sacrifice of his Son. He took it away and blotted it out forever. And only by wearing our sin on our sleeves and admitting our complete unworthiness can we ever receive the mercy God so freely gives. Or as Jesus puts it,
“Those who humble themselves will be exalted.”[3]
This Lent, hold the proper kind of hope in your heart – not the hope that comes from caveats and qualifications, not the hope that comes from making reparations for sin, but the hope that only comes from the salvation of our God that springs his merciful heart that gave his Son to be our Saviour. This Lent, take a page out of the tax collector’s playbook and offer your repentance without justification, excuse, or explanation, but simply acknowledge who you are and therefore also who God is – a sinner and our Saviour, i.e. unworthy recipients of unlimited mercy, humbled but exalted, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Praise be to God! There is forgiveness for your sin. Jesus sinners does receive. Amen.
[1] Luke 18:9
[2] Luke 18:11,12
[3] Luke 18:14