Luke 18:9-14 · The Parable of the Pharisee and the Tax Collector
I ... Oh ... U
Luke 18:9-14
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It all started with Ol’ Zeke in some prehistoric dinosaur patch, foraging for food, having things pretty much his own way, and feeling a bit superior when his ape family relatives dropped in to visit on weekends. Then we are told mythically that the Lord God said, "It is not good that the man should be alone. I will make him a helper fit for him." And by whatever early beginning story you subscribe, the end-product was very much the same. Ol’ Zeke was no longer the only dude in the dinosaur patch, and man faced a disturbing discovery. His list of vowel sounds would have to be expanded. "I" no longer was going to cover all occasions. There was still "I" all right, but "Oh" in addition there was U ... and U ... and U. This called for a whole new strategy on the part of "I". Now that "I" no longer ruled the roost, he had to make some major adjustments in his thinking - how to coexist with this new batch of equals who had just arrived on the scene and looked as though they were here to stay. One thing was clear. It would take some real doing, and a smooth coexistence program wasn’t going to happen overnight. Might even take a month!

But what Ol’ Zeke didn’t know then was that none of this new batch was just like him. And furthermore, each of these new folks had the letter "I" in his own mind. If he had known all that, he may have predicted that a smooth coexistence program was never going to happen. Perhaps what Ol’ Zeke didn’t know was a blessing for him.

Well ... time passed. And things went well in the development branch of the enterprise. The numbers increased geometrically, and soon the global head-count had come to 3,706,000,000 with a prediction of 6,494,000,000 by the year 2000. That’s a staggering number of "I"s around having to learn coexistence with all the other "U"s, and we can’t help wondering what coexistence strategies were used in that fantastic expanse of past generations. Current population statistics being what they are, we need all the information we can get from prior experience.

Nothing much comes down to us from the dinosaur patch. Apparently there wasn’t much time for on-the-scene reporting, and hands were kept fully occupied with the business of combing the countryside for the next meal’s main course. What little time remained after food-hunting had to be spent in protection and defense from huge, strange-looking creatures and less-than-ideal weather conditions. Even though "I" no longer stood alone, most of one’s time and attention still had to be devoted to the "I" side of things - feeding, protecting, maintaining. Being long on the "I"-side had to be a way of life. Without this constant attention and vigilance, "I" might quickly become "I was."

But as more time passed, and decades and centuries took their places among the millenia, it became apparent that in later years the pattern of the long "I" and the short "U" would not be confined to the pronunciation section of Webster’s Dictionary. It had become a way of life which, in its own peculiar fashion, brought together in common experience countless generations who had never shared either the same calendar lifespan or the same geographical real estate.

We could stop at any point in this huge expanse of years and find more instances of the long-"I" phenomenon than we could hope to review in a lifetime. Like Coca Cola in the world today, this phenomenon would seem to turn up everywhere in our chronological travels. To spare us blistered feet and extensive examples, I turn to one of the classic descriptions from the third decade A.D.

In brilliant, sweeping brush-strokes, Christ paints a vivid, scenic word-picture. Morning in Jerusalem ... not a particularly unusual morning. Folks were up and about, checking their job lists for the day and going about the business of doing what had to be done. Down there in the heart of town a not-very-unusual something was going on, and all of us would have missed it, no doubt, unless we had ducked into the temple for a minute to get out of the scorching sun.

Two men had gone to the temple to pray. And as we looked in on them we could see right off that there was something very different about them. One stood rather prominently up in front just left of the altar, as though he wanted to be seen. The second man, it took us a while to spot. Even if we had seen him go in, we’d have had trouble finding him once he got in the sanctuary. He was back behind that last row of seats on the far side. In a rather dark sanctuary he was in even darker shadows, as though he did not want to be seen.

Neither man was praying aloud, but the acoustics were good and we could hear their whispers - very different whispers. That whisper up front seemed strong on the pronoun "I". In fact, it’s the only one we could hear him use. "God, ‘I’ thank thee that ‘I’ am not like other men." And he continued on in this vein: " 'I' fast twice a week, ‘I’ give tithes of all that ‘I’ get."

The most bothersome part of his whole prayer, though, was his giving thanks that he wasn’t like this tax collector. I kept wishing he hadn’t said that, but fortunately the man in back didn’t seem to hear. He seemed very engrossed in his own meditation and it was very difficult to hear his words. All we could hear him say was "God, be merciful to me a sinner!" Very simple, very short, but you could tell he was feeling every word of it.

The contrast was striking and it was tough to forget. That man in front seemed to be praying more to himself than to anyone else. There was no doubt that he was pious in religious acts. Jewish law didn’t require private fasting, and he was only expected to tithe agricultural products. So he was going far beyond expectation. But why the elaborate cataloguing of his merits, and why the buildup of his own esteem at the expense of this tax collector?

Christ didn’t plan to provide pat answers to such questions, but he did expect his word-picture to make us think and to raise questions like this. Like most of his parables, it’s an example story to make a point. In his character descriptions, he is setting up two extremes - the very pious, self-centered ... the very penitent, God-centered. And he wants us to keep a mental picture of each as we go about our daily living.

Certain thoughts in this parable can be illustrated through two renderings of our sermon title: I ... Oh ... U - a sound of surprise, as though we had been so wrapped up in "I" we hadn’t noticed someone else was there. Here we are, in fastpaced, competitive lives ... sprinkled with folk-sayings like "If we don’t look out for ourselves, no one else is going to look out for us." And it’s very easy to lengthen the "I"-involvement and shorten the "U"-involvement as though it were an essential self-defense, survival strategy.

As some of you recall in the early and mid-sixties, such strategies led the bomb shelter set to spend time wondering how to ethically kick out their neighbors in case of attack, since the foodstuffs would only be sufficient for their own survival. As such concerns take our thought time, it’s easy to see how much more difficult it becomes to notice others and to listen attentively - not just on the street or at work, but in families as well. Then, too, we can understand the need for posters like the series which hung in Sunday School hallways - vivid pictures of abject poverty and despair, captioned with the title "Listen, Christian." The long-"I" makes it more difficult to notice.

And when we do notice, another rendering of the sermon title may come into operation: I ... Oh ... U! - in sounds of disgust, as though it’s a waste of time and attention to notice. This fellow is a real loser, and it would not be worth our time and energy to notice except for one thing ... running him down and degrading him does something for us. It enhances our image and we can feel that much more superior. I wish I had a nickel for every time someone stepped on someone else verbally in the interests of self-image building. If such verbal enterprises could build empires, I suspect every one of us would have one by now. There is probably no more common international pastime.

But the fact that it is common doesn’t make it healthy. In his book entitled I’m OK, You’re OK, Dr. T. A. Harris comments that the desired level of individual well-being has not been reached when our own self-esteem is dependent upon belittling others. Harris feels genuine individual well-being has only been reached when we can say both "I’m OK" and "You’re OK".

In the aftermath of the Attica Prison riots, network television news correspondents were conducting a series of interviews. News coverage had revealed that the Lion’s Club of Attica had distributed flags to the local businessmen which they had placed on the street in remembrance. A news reporter interviewed the Lion’s Club president, and one of his first questions was, "Are the flags being hung in memory of the guards who died?" And without hesitation the response came, "They’re all dead. The flags are in memory of all of them." At that moment one could see a tiny bright spot in the overall tragic gloom. Here was a person unwilling to distinguish one group of bereaved families at the expense of another.

From what I’ve said, it could easily be concluded that I’m encouraging all of us to run out and establish very long "U"s and very short "I"s. After all, the parable says, "He who humbles himself will be exalted." And Biblical words such as this often come across with the connotation that he who feels basically worthless and inferior will be more pleasing in the sight of God.

As I think of this connotation and how it gets preached repeatedly to some of the Christian faithful, I try to visualize what it might have been like to see a man walking through Galilee, meeting people and saying, "My name is Christ. I’m not worth much. Pardon me for living." It wouldn’t be a very pretty sight. And professionals in the mental health field can tell us that the plight of troubled people (Christian or nonChristian) who have received heavy doses of this connotation isn’t a very pretty sight either. If our personal ships are only half-afloat, we can’t expect to be any help to others in turbulent waters. Genuine, meaningful outreach can come only after we have genuinely accepted ourselves. Such acceptance can’t come from a long-"U" and a short-"I".

Christ in his life and in this parable would seem to be calling for a kind of reasonable balance - self-acceptance balanced with genuine outreach. The words of Dustin Hoffman’s Indian grandfather in "Little Big Man" come to mind. Grandfather said, "There’s an endless supply of white men, but a limited number of human beings. A world without human beings has no center to it."

Perhaps we can change the title from an expression of surprise or an expression of disgust, to a promissory note - our promise to pay attention to others. But like any other promissory note, such attention would have to be paid with interest.

CSS Publishing, Lima, Ohio,