Luke 18:9-14 · The Parable of the Pharisee and the Tax Collector
Our Most Common Sin
Luke 18:9-14
Sermon
by Maxie Dunnam
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What do you think is humanity’s most common sin? What do you think is your most common sin?

There’s an old story about three preachers—a Baptist, an Episcopalian and a Methodist—who lived in the same community and became rather close. They played golf together and met for coffee. One day they decided that they’d spend two days together just to share and get acquainted, to study a little, to talk about their preaching, and to pray.

During the course of that time they evolved in their relationship to the point that they began to confess to one another; to share deeply their inner life.

The Baptist preacher said, “I must confess, fellows, I’m really wrestling with the sin of greed. I never seem to have enough, and I hate to admit it, but for months now, I’ve been taking money out of the collection plate every week. Pray for me.”

The Episcopalian priest said, “I understand that kind of uncontrollable urge—my problem is lust. I simply can’t keep my eyes off of a beautiful woman, and I’m afraid that my lust is going to come to fruition.”

The Methodist preacher was very quiet, thinking deeply, and the two other fellows looked at him, waiting for him to share. Finally, he broke down, “I’m sorry guys, my sin is gossip and I just can’t wait to get back home.”

Our most common sin—what is it? I believe it’s self-righteousness; or, if you want to put it another way, we allow unhealthy pride to smother out any spark of humility that is within us.

The parable in today’s scripture points to this very thing. This story of the Pharisee and the tax collector in the temple paint a vivid picture of the sin of self-righteous pride and of the redemptive virtue of humility.

We can’t miss the meaning of the parable if we notice how it begins. The reason Jesus told the parable is expressed in verse 9: “He also told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and despised others.”

The New International Version of the Bible translates the verse this way: “To some who were confident of their own righteousness and looked down on everybody else, Jesus told this parable.”

The New English Bible has it, “It was aimed at those who were sure of their own goodness and looked down on everyone else.”

The story is simple and straightforward. Two men went up to the Temple to pray.  One boasted to God of all his good qualities; the other simply asked for God’s mercy. The proud man, the Pharisee, was a respected pillar of the church. The humble man was outside the church—almost a religious untouchable. However, he showed his deep humility before God by his attitude in prayer, “he would not even lift up his eyes to heaven.” He showed his heartfelt repentance by beating his chest in mourning, as he prayed, “God, be merciful to me a sinner.” Jesus said that the favor of God would be upon the one who showed humility, while the judgment of God would be upon the self-righteous one.

I hope that we will allow this parable to be a mirror into which we look to see our lives reflected, because I believe we will see here the nature and the result of our greatest sin.

I. 

Let’s briefly look at one important facet of this parable. Note the first part of verse 11: “The Pharisee stood and prayed thus with himself.” In that terse word you get the notion that even in prayer the Pharisee was focused on himself.

Preoccupation with self infects the deadly disease of pride into our prayer life and makes our praying ineffective.

The battle between humility and pride is as old as the battle between heaven and hell, and that battle is often fought in our prayer life.

In C. S. Lewis’ classic volume, The Screwtape Letters, Lewis offers 31 imaginary letters from Screwtape, the primary personality of Hell, to his nephew Wormwood, a junior devil just starting his first assignment on earth. The purpose of the correspondence is to show—and it’s done very humorously—how Hell seeks constantly to divert would-be Christians from following the ways of Heaven. In one note, Screwtape tells Wormwood the most productive way to overcome good people is to not only work on their pride, but infect them with a sense of false pride…

“Catch him at the moment when he is really poor in spirit and smuggle into his mind the gratifying reflection, “By jove! I’m being humble,” and almost immediately, pride—pride at his own humility—will appear. If he awakes to the danger and tries to smother this new form of pride, make him proud of his attempt—and so on, through as many stages as you please. But don’t try this too long, for fear you awake his sense of humor and proportion in which case he will merely laugh at you and go to bed.” [1]

Now, being aware of the danger of pride doesn’t mean that we don’t look at ourselves, that we don’t examine our consciences and confess our sins. That’s a very important part of praying. To scrutinize our life, to look at ourselves in relation to others, to look at ourselves in relation to God, and to confess our sin and shortcoming is at the heart of prayer.

But Jesus was sounding a different kind of warning. He was warning against being preoccupied with ourselves—the Pharisee looked and prayed thus with himself, and pride prevailed. No man who is proud can pray. “The Gate of Heaven is so low that none can enter it, save upon his knees.”

II.

The searching light of Jesus’ teaching reveals the contrast between self-righteousness and humility—and this parable is clearly a condemnation of self-righteousness and a call to humility. It may be difficult for us to get the full impact of the contrast Jesus is drawing.

“Because we’ve grown up familiar with the New Testament stories, we’ve come to accept the Pharisee as a villain. The Publican’s status is not always clear to us, but we generally assume that he was a fairly decent sort. This was not the feeling of the people who first heard this parable. To them it was a shocking thing to have a religious teacher speak a good word for the Publican and criticize the Pharisee. The Publican was regarded as a grafter and a crook. He had sold out his people for a profit and he made his money by oppressing the poor. The Pharisee was taught in the law and punctilious in keeping it. Some listeners no doubt felt like calling out: ‘Just a minute, Teacher. Did you mean what you have just said? Did you not get the characters reversed?’ If a modern preacher should tell a story with a gangster as the hero and a priest as the rascal, the congregation might wonder at his sanity.” [2]

But that really is the contrast Jesus is drawing, dramatic as it may be.

“A medieval monk said that everyone who gets to heaven will be surprised by three things. First, he will be surprised to see many he did not think would be there. Second, he will be surprised that some are not there whom he expected to see. Third, he will be surprised that he himself is there.” [3]

Certainly we have a surprise here in this parable—the most outcast of persons, as far as religion is concerned, is accepted; the most likely candidate for heaven, as far as religion is concerned, is condemned. And all because of our most common sin—self-righteousness. So let’s focus on that core problem.

III.

The first warning about self-righteousness is that it separates us from our brothers and sisters in the human family

There is a story of a Sunday School teacher, who after telling this story of the Pharisee and the Publican, said, “Now children, let us thank God that we’re not like the nasty Pharisee.” You see, she was guilty of the same sin as the Pharisee who said, “Thank God, I’m not as that Publican.” Self-righteousness separates us from others because it causes us to seek to establish worth and judgment on the basis of comparison. We determine our worth and/or the worth of another by comparing them to us and us to them.

One of my favorite stories is about the two college freshmen in an Ivy League University who considered each other their chief rival for valedictorian after the first semester’s grades were posted. They did not meet each other, but they read their names, one above the other, on the bulletin board. Each semester, as the grades were posted outside their professor’s doors, they carefully monitored their progress toward their goal. And each semester, one of them would be on the top, the other barely below. Now, though they recognized each other, they never met. Neither of them ever made a gesture of friendship. When the time came for graduation, sure enough, one of them made valedictorian and the other salutatorian. Each walked across the stage and received his certificate, and each disappeared to take up his chosen profession.

Forty years later, one of them was a portly and balding gentleman, dressed in the elaborate robes of the church and the purple hat that signified he was a Cardinal. This portly and balding gentleman entered Grand Central Station and immediately spotted his collegiate rival. He was tall and ramrod straight, dressed in a snappy military uniform with four stars across his shoulders—a General. The Cardinal, in his flowing robes, thought, “Here we are, former college mates and leaders of our respective professions, and we’ve never even met one another. The least I could do as a man of the cloth is to take the initiative and speak to my rival. So he crossed the busy Grand Central reception room, faced his collegial arch rival and said, “Conductor, can you tell me when the next train leaves for Chicago?”

The four-star General responded, “I don’t know, Madam, but should a woman in your condition be traveling?”

Self-righteousness leads us to establish worth and judgment on the basis of comparison and competition. It does not take into account the obstacles others may have faced and overcome. It doesn’t take into account our indebtedness to others for all that we have and are, and thus it separates us from our brothers and sisters in the human family.

There’s a story about a mountaineer who established a great reputation for himself as a marksman. Whoever followed him around found target rings on trees and fences, with a bullet hole in the center. Asked to explain the secret of his skill, he answered, “It is easy. I just shoot and draw a circle around the hole.” [4]

That’s the method of the Pharisee. Pharisees make themselves look more saintly than they really are, and that’s why the Greek word used for sin in the New Testament means literally, “to miss the mark.”

Jesus is telling us that only those who are humble enough to admit that they have missed the target are going to be accepted.

IV.

The second and ultimate warning of this parable is that self-righteousness separates us from God.

You may remember that Jesus told a sister parable to this one, recorded in Luke 11—a parable about humility and pride and self-righteousness. It’s the parable of the seat we take at the banquet table. In that parable Jesus said when you are invited to a wedding feast, don’t sit at the place of honor. It may be that a more important person than you has been invited—though your host has invited you both, he might have to come to you and say, “Give place to this man.” If that happened, then you would have to take the lower place in shame. Save yourself from that he said. Go and sit in the lowest place, so that when the host comes, he can invite you to come up higher and that will bring honor to you rather than shame.

Jesus was not giving us an Emily Post lesson in etiquette. He was teaching about the Kingdom, and the Pharisees could not miss the point. He was telling them as plainly as possible that there is no place for their pride and status, their assumption of honor, in the Kingdom of God. In God’s Kingdom, God, the host, is going to seat people as he thinks they deserve, and the humble person is going to fare far better than the proud one. So Jesus closed that earlier parable with this word: “For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted.”

Self-righteousness separates us from God.

The story is told that during World War I, the emperor of Austria  died after ruling for more than 60 years. He was carried as his forebears before him, to the crypt of the Church of the Capuchins in Vienna. When the escort knocked at the gate, a voice from inside offered the traditional challenge, “Who is there?” The reply came, “His supreme Majesty, the Emperor of Austria.” The graveside liturgist responded, “I know him not. Who is there?” Again, the answer came, “the apostolic king of Hungary.” Once more the voice inside responded, “I know him not. Who is there?” The escort this time declared: “Our brother, Frans-Joseph, a sinner.”

At those words, the gates opened.

And so it always is—not the self-righteous, not those who go around putting the circle around the shot they’ve made to prove it was a bull’s-eye—but those who know that they’ve missed the mark, those who know that they’re sinners and are willing to confess and seek mercy. For them the gates are opened, and they go away from God’s presence justified.

So that’s the parable—revealing our most common sin. It’s a tough story, but if we deal with it honestly, if we face the lessons it teaches us, it will drive us to our knees. That’s the necessary position for us—on our knees—if we expect to enter the Kingdom of God.


1. The MacMillan Company, 1943, p. 63

2. Gerald Kennedy, The Parables, New York: Harper & Brothers Publishers, 1960, pp.116-117

3. Gerald Kennedy, Ibid, pp.118-119

4. Kennedy, Ibid., p.123

ChristianGlobe Networks, Inc., Collected Sermons, by Maxie Dunnam