Luke 18:9-14 · The Parable of the Pharisee and the Tax Collector
An Encounter With Two Old Friends
Luke 18:9-14
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We need to exercise our sensitivity today as we encounter two old friends, the Pharisee and the Publican. When I first learned this story in my childhood from the Bible storybook and when I told this story in the early years of ministry, the issue was already cut-and-dried. The righteous Pharisee became the scoundrel whom one loves to hate, while the Publican became the hero.

Recently, however, in the tenor of the times, there has been a subtle shift of accent. The up-front Pharisee is getting better press. The lowly Publican is being more honestly appraised. The story has more depth than it was recognized, and I am less inclined to roller skate across it in my reading of Saint Luke, as though encountering these two old friends could be a casual meeting. Both of them, surprisingly, have taken on new life, and they appear as mirror images of someone whom I know quite well, although not well enough. So as I introduce you to these two old friends again today, you will recognize them, too, though not as bearded characters from Bible days, nor even as contemporaries in your life scene now, but as reflections of the man, the woman, whom you are. In introducing them again, I face the danger of re-creating all the old simplicities and false impressions, or presenting them as tin can targets to be shot at.

First, let me clarify. While the new translations of the Scriptures shun the use of this term "publican," I have a personal problem with the simple title "tax collector." Publican says more than tax collector. For several of my recent years I lived across the street from one who was a tax collector, and while he may have been Republican, he was surely not a publican. He was respected on our block, loved his family, worked hard on the landscape of his property, and was a faithful member of his church. And several years ago when summoned for an audit of 1040, while I went through the jitters, entertained the vision of a hard-nosed auditor, and felt the anger and disgust of having to dig up old records, I found another gentleman of the IRS to be congenial and completely human, tolerant of my ill-kept records, kind and even humorous. So I prefer to use the better term "publican" instead of tax collector, even though the publican collected taxes. The image of the tax collector in our time needs all the help it can be given, for if it is lawful to pay taxes, it is also lawful to collect them.

Plainly Stated

The lesson of the parable is plainly stated, that whoever advertises personal splendor, his achievements and accomplishments, his civility and charity, his righteousness and rightness is likely to fall flat on his face, while one who hangs his head in self-effacement will be crowned. "Everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, but he who humbles himself will be exalted."

But one can carry it too far, of course, and this isn’t always true, although we have a few exhibits we enjoy, especially individuals in whose collapse our own self-righteous indignation found delight. One senses an unholy passion that refuses to let up on Watergate or Chappaquidick or, more recently, on fallen televangelists. Each morning one turns on the news to hear what scandalous event the righteous titillate about today.

The lesson can’t be understood without the parable. It is more than mere promotion of humility and condemnation of conceit. "Two men went up into the temple to pray, the one a Pharisee and the other a publican."

This is a bit like saying that in our company at worship, two persons in particular are singled out for notice, one whose presence is no strange experience reserved for smelling evergreens and Easter lilies, but who has a reservation in the same pew every week, and the other, one who slyly sneaks into the back seat of our worship bus, who has not been aboard of late. The first one will be noticed as he leads the aerobics of the liturgy in sitting, standing, kneeling, and in many ways conveys a sense of leadership. If we could see the records, we would probably discover, too, that he is top contributor.

The other is an individual whose name is on the visitation list for special admonition. But no one wanted his name on a list for visitation. No one wanted to assume responsibility for bringing this man back to church or for restoring him to this respectable assembly. Rumor has it that his character is highly questionable, and that although we boast of our inclusiveness, inclusiveness can go too far. Furthermore, they feared that he might blister them a little with a word or two about the righteous pose of this exclusive company, like Mama at the Harper Valley PTA.

What Were They Really Like?

What were they really like, this Pharisee and publican? Would the story ring true in a society today when terms like "righteousness" or "sinner" have been dropped from our vocabulary, when group therapy provides a better outlet from our guilt trips than confession, when dieting is more in style than fasting, and when approval of ourselves and others is more coveted than God’s approval?

Both the Pharisee and publican were in the temple as their personal expression of relationship with God, even as we are today. They came to worship, to give thanks, to praise the Lord, just as each one of us has done, I trust. But as we watch them carefully and tune in on their conversation with their God, some differences emerge that tempt our passion for instant analysis.

What happened, for example, to this Pharisee in childhood that he felt the need to list his virtues in the presence of the Lord. Was this the mark of an inferior emotion, an attempt at bold bravado to convince himself, to justify himself? Have we misread him, or is this, in fact, a pride that has been cultivated by so much applause that he believed he was a cut above the rest? Was this hypocrisy, a pious cover-up, or was he actually as blind to need for mercy as he seems?

He was a man who represents what we would like to see in every member of this church. He took religion seriously. He was intent on being a reflection of the glory of God. He would not bring disgrace upon the holy name. He would not be listed on page one among the cheats and chiselers, extortionists and rapists, or in a column on page seven under DUI. He honored the establishment. He obeyed the rules. He was disciplined, his character beyond reproach, and best of all he was a tither. Think of that! What could we do if every member of this church would tithe as he did, not only on his wages, but on all possessions, even dividends and capital gains? We could reach out to the highways and the byways for the lost to bring them in, and we could touch the lives of sufferers whose pain is at our doorstep. We welcome Pharisees as members of the congregation, and might even write a special paragraph in our newsletter as we proudly introduce them to the rest of us. Are we not fortunate to number folks like this among our own?

In his prayer, the Pharisee thanked God for what he was, and if Saint Paul’s word had been around, he might have quoted it: "We are God’s workmanship, created ... for good works." He thanks the Lord that he was not as others in the gallery of rogues. And should he not have done so? Should he have denied the good that he had been and hidden his light beneath a bushel? Should he have given the impression that there are no differences between the honest and the cheat, the faithful and the faithless? "God, I have to thank thee." Who else would we thank?

The contrast in the publican is obvious. He represents a fact all too familiar, the obsession of a bad self-image, a total lack of self-esteem. Analysis might suggest that as a child he was controlled at home by guilt, a favorite mechanism of control that parents use. His older brother may have used the putdown to create the atmosphere of inferiority in which he lived and that stayed with him through the years. Perhaps this is the reason why he had sold out to the hated Romans and had become an agent of the enemy. Or was he suffering a depression? Or was his prayer a ruse to cover the bad name that he had gained among his countrymen who saw him as a traitor?

The publican voiced our confession, did he not? "I, a poor, miserable sinner ..." Is this our genuine self-estimate? Does it honor the God who created us in his own image?

A pastor friend of mine once said to me that when the worship liturgy compels us to the repetition of that statement of confession every week, the people will soon be convinced, and we will have a congregation that is poor, and miserable, and sinful. Was he right?

Who Is a God Like Thee

The story makes it obvious that God is not an analyst, but that he knows our hearts. The ancient prophet Micah, amazed at grace, put it into words like this: "Who is a God like thee pardoning iniquity and passing over transgression?" Would we justify a God who freely pardons, who passes over iniquity, closes his eyes to sin, deals so unjustly with us that he ignores the virtues of the Pharisee and commends the confession of the publican?

Suddenly the focus of the parable shifts from these two worshipers to the God whose temple they had entered. "Who is a God like thee?" We begin our worship always, not in our own name, but in the name of God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit. We cannot saunter down this aisle and take our place before the Lord, tell him who we are and what we have achieved, as though he should enjoy the privilege of our presence. The error of the Pharisee was that he came in his own name, reminding God of lawful obligations that he had fulfilled, behavior which ought to bring God’s approbation. To him God might have said, "Indeed! Does that entitle you to something? What do I owe you?" Is there anyone among us who is not familiar with that error?

The error of the Pharisee is that his worship focused on himself. He measured others in the lights of his own righteousness, displayed himself in contrast to the fellow in the rear. "I thank thee, God, that I am not as others are ... or even as this publican." We call it Pharisaic pride, the easy-but-deadly sin of making odious comparisons between ourselves and others, or, at times, between what we once were and what we now have made of ourselves. Just look at me now! It comes out in gossiping another’s failures and in singing the old gossip carol, "Do you hear what I hear?" We are masters of the art.

But the Pharisee and publican, together with us all, stand in the light of God. We are measured by a standard none of us has ever reached. We stand in need of mercy. In the holy Presence Peter cried, "Depart from me. I am a sinful man, O Lord." In the smoking temple of the Lord, Isaiah wept, "Woe is me! For I am lost: for I am a man of unclean lips." And here comes the publican’s petition: "God, be merciful to me, a sinner!" As he stood a solitary figure in the presence of his God, the glory was beyond him. Only mercy was within his reach. He, too, admitted who he was, but his credentials were deficient. He took refuge in the Holy Name, the God who comes to us with his credentials, love for the loveless, mercy for the merciless, pardon for iniquity.

Justified

"I tell you, this man went down to his house justified rather than the other."

Why is that word "justified" so difficult? We do it all the time. We justify ourselves, excuse ourselves, defend ourselves, point up our virtues, cover up our faults. We justify the most obtuse behavior, not in others certainly, but in ourselves. We scan the antics of society and say, "That’s how it is these days, I guess," but no one ever calls out "Stop it! You are in sin." The unacceptable becomes acceptable as we are conditioned from within and from without to love what God hates, or at best to be indifferent.

God looks us over, but God does not overlook, nor does he wink. God delights in mercy. God forgives. He heals, restores, and reconciles. He justifies. The verdict on the publican is "Justified!" It came not because he used the right words, groveled in the grease, but because in his self-searching he had recognized his need. Mercy!

When we remember who it is who spoke this parable, we learn that these are not mere words. Forgiveness in the Word is forgiveness by an act of God, his act in Jesus Christ on whom God loaded our iniquity, whom he wounded for our transgressions and bruised for our iniquities, and in whose stripes we are healed. The act is Easter and the resurrection when God raised him from the dead and shouted to the world, "Forgiven! Justified!"

In the glitter of our own self-righteousness and in the noise of our achievements, we can blind our eyes and close our ears. Or we can see and hear, and accept forgiveness in his mercy from the hands whose wrists bear the nail prints and the heart that spilled compassion over all the world.

Justified! The old has passed away. All things are new. The unforgiven Pharisee had justified himself, but God ignored the verdict. The Pharisee transferred his guilt to the publican and went home in isolation. But the publican was justified, and went home in joy and newness.

Now talk about self-image! There is none higher. To have one’s name inscribed in God’s book as a member of his household, to live within the shelter of his mercy, to know that my name has been bound together with the strong name, what more can we ask? To know that he has re-created us in his image, what better image could we covet? God cares for us, and that can only mean that we care, too. God forgives, and, that can only mean that we forgive - forgive ourselves and others. God defends us, and that means that we need not defend ourselves. He justifies in mercy, and that can only mean that there is no more need to justify ourselves in pride. It is a gray and tiring business anyway, trying to downgrade our sin and upgrade our righteousness.

This is old stuff, I realize, and God forgive us, we grow weary of this manna. But for those who bring the sacrifices of a broken heart and contrite spirit, this is new. Mercies new each morning! We have his promise for that.

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