Luke 18:9-14 · The Parable of the Pharisee and the Tax Collector
Pride Is a Noxious Weed in the Garden of Life
Luke 18:9-14
Sermon
by R. Robert Cueni
Loading...

The gospel reading for this week is the parable about two very different men, a Pharisee and a tax collector who went to pray at the Temple in Jerusalem. It is a familiar story. In fact, it is so familiar that some of the surprising edge has worn smooth with the retelling. To grasp its meaning more fully, we need to listen again with fresh ears and open hearts. A little background information might be helpful.

In the first century, tax collectors were considered the dregs of society. Taxation in the far-flung Roman Empire was not regulated by a system of fair and agreed-upon rates. Rome wanted to wring as much money from their conquered people as possible. Those who collected taxes were not IRS-type civil servants struggling with an unpopular, demanding, and difficult responsibility. Tax collectors got their jobs by promising to collect more money for Rome than others who had bid on the job. The local citizens hated tax collectors because they were considered lackeys of the Romans and oppressors of their own people. The Romans didn't trust them because they fit a stereotype of lying, stealing, conniving cheats. Jesus' first-century audience did not expect him to say anything positive about a tax collector.

On the other hand, Pharisees were esteemed religious leaders. They may or may not have been particularly popular, but they were highly regarded because they were serious about their religious faith and practice. The most reported flaw in these pious, morally straight people was that they believed too strongly in their flattering press clippings. The public considered them good people but the Pharisees thought even more highly of themselves. Consequently, in addition to piety, the Pharisees had an equally deserved reputation for being overbearing, pompous, arrogant, know-it-alls. Today we would be reluctant to invite a Pharisee to dinner lest he suck the available oxygen from the room.

Jesus was frequently critical of Pharisees. That was not, however, because the Master thought them evil. Jesus was critical of Pharisees because he saw them as well-intentioned, good people with enormous unrealized potential for doing better. Even though they had the potential to be the hope for the nation, their potential would never be realized because they thought too highly of themselves.

That, of course, is the theme of the parable of the Pharisee and the tax collector who go to the temple to pray. Because the Pharisee wants to be certain that everyone has the opportunity to see and hear him, he stands away from the crowd, yet within sight and hearing of a newly arrived wagonload of tourists from rural Galilee. He wears the robes and finery that identify him as a Pharisee. He prays in a loud, yet mellifluous voice that echoes off the temple's stone walls.

“I thank you God that I am better than the thieves, rogues, adulterers, and garden variety riff-raff who gather here on Temple Mount. I am confident that I believe all the right things and I try to be over the top in doing the right things. The Law requires I occasionally fast, but I fast regularly. Twice a week I put on sackcloth, pour ashes on my head, and go the day without eating. I admit I perform this religious duty only on Tuesdays and Thursdays. After all, those are the heavy tourist days. I know you understand how important it is for me to set a proper and impressive example for the country bumpkins visiting Jerusalem. By my behavior I send a message on how to be pious and faithful. I really don't mind this extra responsibility. In fact, I rejoice in being better than others. Lord, I appreciate you making me nearly perfect. Especially, I want to thank you that I am not like that tax collector standing over there in the shadows.”

Indeed, the tax collector is off by himself. He is too embarrassed by his behavior to lift his face to the heavens. With downcast eyes, he mumbles, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner!” (v. 13b).

Jesus concludes the story by saying the tax collector went home justified that day and not the Pharisee. As Jesus puts it, "For all who exalt themselves will be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be exalted" (v. 14). This particular day, in that particular way, in the eyes of God, the behavior of the tax collector was superior to the behavior of the Pharisee.

Don’t read too much into that. The tax collector's humility did not make him the story's hero. His prayerful confession did not transform him into an ideal citizen and person of abiding faith. The tax collector was simply a lying, conniving, cheat who happened to have had an insight into what he was really like. The peripheral message from this story touches the righteousness of the tax collector. The story's center of meaning focuses on the flaw in the Pharisee, that is, his pride. That religious leader simply did not grasp the significance of Paul's admonition: “Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility regard others as better than yourselves” (Philippians 2:3). The Pharisee had a massive, untreated infestation of pride.

Pride is more than a feeling of self-worth. It is more than feeling pleased about what one has accomplished. It is more than enjoying one's success. Pride is to be so overly self-confident that you believe you can do no wrong. It is to believe your equals in the human race are rare. In its most destructive form, pride goes beyond self-assurance to equating self with God. Pride is generally regarded by theologians as “the root of all sin.”[1] That is to say, it is an originating sin.

Pride is one of those sins that leads to other forms of sinning. For that reason, pride ranks at the top of the list of Seven Deadly Sins. Not only is pride destructive of persons and relationships, it leads to other forms of destructive behavior. Like a noxious weed in the garden, pride grows, spreads, and chokes out the best in life.

Girolamo Savonarola, the great fifteenth-century Florentine priest, was said to have noticed an elderly woman worshiping at the feet of the statue of the Virgin Mary outside the city's cathedral.[2] When he realized she came every day, Savonarola said to a colleague, “Look how devout she is. She so reveres the Blessed Mother.”

“Don't be deceived by what you see,” the other priest replied. “Many years ago the artist commissioned for the statue chose that woman as his model. She was a lovely young woman with a look of innocence on her face. The statue was completed decades ago and every day that woman has come to worship her own image.”

Pride has an insidious quality. It germinates a healthy self-confidence. Then, if left to grow, unchecked and unexamined, it spreads and transforms into the worship of self. In doing so, pride masks reality. No matter how capable we might become, we remain mortals, subject to all the faults and frailties of humanity. Pride deludes us into thinking we are God's equal. In his work, Ozymandias, the great English poet, Percy Shelley,[3] writes of the traveler who returns from an “antique land” to tell of a crumbling statue he saw in the desert. Only the legs now rise from the sand. The stone body worn almost unrecognizable and the broken head nearly buried in the sand.

And on the pedestal these words appear:
“My name is Ozymandias, King of kings;
Look on my works, ye mighty and despair!”
Nothing beside remains, Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

Every pride-obsessed ruler who thinks of self as “king of kings” meets a similar fate. Only a few today can name many emperors, kings, and assorted rulers who thought themselves descended of the gods. History is littered with broken monuments to

Ozymandias, King of kings.
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

Pride is a temptation for powerful world leaders, but it also tempts the ordinary of everyday life. Pride can grow like a noxious weed in our lives and keeps us from getting the help we need.

“I don't need a counselor for this marriage. I can do it.”

“I don't need advice on raising these children. I know what is best.”

“A doctor? Why would I need a doctor?”

As the “root of all sin,” this growing, noxious weed undermines and ruins relationships by hindering the infested from being open and honest. In Arthur Miller's Death of a Salesman,[4] Willy Loman anxiously tries to convey the impression that he is a successful salesman who knows how to handle people. His con job conceals from his wife and family how frightened and lonely he really is. His pride compels him to live out his days in quiet desperation rather than offer the honest self-revelation that might build meaningful relationships with others.

Pride not only hinders us from being open and honest, it damages the lives of those we love. Sometimes that happens when parents try to live out their lives through their children. Pride shows itself when a father makes a fool of himself by yelling at his son for striking out in a Little League game.

Pride shows itself when a mother, who didn't have the confidence to do it when she was young, pushes an unwilling daughter into entering a beauty contest.

Pride further undermines our relationships by making reconciliation more difficult. Because we are human, there are always ups and downs, pitfalls and pratfalls. Our humanness insures frequent need to forgive one another. But when we are filled with pride, we believe that we are incapable of doing wrong and others are inferior to us. That makes it very difficult to forgive. Hurt and anger grow unabated until they choke the joy out of the relationship.

The most common danger of pride, however, is that it makes us vulnerable to temptation. Pride insists “I could never do that.” Unfortunately, the moment we think we are incapable is the moment we are the most susceptible. Parish ministers frequently hear comments like: “I didn't think I was capable of having an extra-marital affair.” “If you had told me a few years ago that I would steal money from the business, I would have said, ‘you are crazy. I could never do a thing like that.’”

Every Sunday morning, well-educated, well-intentioned, hard working, moral people come to church without giving much thought to the fact that self-confidence and success make a near perfect soil for the noxious weed of pride to germinate, take root, and grow. The very moment we believe ourselves incapable of being tempted is the moment we are most vulnerable.

Two people went up the temple to pray. The prayers of each were answered. The first told God how good he was. He asked for nothing and that is what he received. The other was deeply aware of his sin and he cried out for mercy. And mercy was given him for the asking.

Every one of us is free to go and do likewise. While asking for and receiving nothing, we can tell God and the entire world how good we are. Or we can admit our shortcoming, look for God's grace, and be given the mercy to be strengthened, uplifted, and forgiven.

The choice is ours. And thanks be to God for that. Amen and Amen.


1. Van A. Harvey, A Handbook of Theological Terms (New York: Touchstone Press, 1997), p. 118.

2. This story is so frequently told by preaching ministers that its source as been lost.

3. Ozymandias, Percy Bysshe Shelley, 1792-1822.

4. Arthur Miller, Death of a Salesman, premiered New York, February 10, 1949.

CSS Publishing Company, Inc., When walls shift and the ceiling collapses : cycle C sermons for Pentecost 3, Proper 23 through Thanksgiving based on the Gospel texts, by R. Robert Cueni