20th Sunday after Pentecost Sermon

We’ve got two different characters in this story: the pharisee and the tax-collector. They’re polar opposites. One is utterly self-absorbed and self-righteous. The other is beating his chest, overwhelmed by his sense of guilt. And as I’ve read and re-read this story, I’ve found their extreme behavior a little hard to relate to. I don’t see either extreme to be particularly descriptive of our parish.

But if we turn the volume down a little bit, I think we’ll begin to see ourselves in this story a little more easily– especially in the pharisee.

The problem with him is that the things he says in his prayer are presumably true! He’s not a thief, rogue, or adulterer. He does fast twice a week and give away a tenth of all his income. And these are no small things. They require conviction and discipline and, all things considered, they’re respectable. Likewise, for most of us, we’re solid, upstanding citizens. There probably aren’t that many thieves or adulterers among us (although I’m sure there are some). Most of us give money to the church and other charities (maybe not 10%, but we do give). And although we probably don’t spend our prayer time enumerating to God all of our virtues, we do maintain a certain self-regard as being decent people – especially – in comparison to others.

And that’s the problem. That’s the problem with the pharisee and that’s the problem with us. Our human inclination is always to keep a periphery glance at those other people who bug us, who don’t do things like we do, which means (of course), they don’t do things the right way.

I can’t stand the dawdlers at Costco – those barely-meandering people with their big carts right in the middle of the aisle, who then stop – right there (!) – to eat their free sample or check their list, with no regard for the person behind them. I never do that. I walk swiftly at Costco. When I need to pause, I courteously move my cart to the side. And you wouldn’t believe how petty and pissy your priest can be at Costco. It doesn’t happen at Albertson’s; just Costco! And it never ceases to horrify me how unchristian I become in that place.

And although my Costco attitude is a relatively insignificant example, I mention it because 1) I’m sure you’ve all got your equivalent issue (well – “issues” – let’s be honest and make that a plural) and 2) because that attitude of mine is precisely the problem with the pharisee – this conviction of how right I am, and how wrong they are. And, if I am being really self-aware, how good I am and how bad they are. When I start getting agitated like this I really do begin presuming my superiority to them.

And when that happens, I completely cease to see them as anything other than the problem in my life at the moment. They have no being beyond their irritating behavior.

And this is a real problem. That same problem appears in the parable. The way we read it in our translation says that “the pharisee, standing by himself, was praying thus…” and the story goes on. The grammar for that phrase is a little awkward in the Greek (the language in which it was written). It could just as well be translated, “He prayed to himself (rather than to God)” or “he prayed with reference to himself.” The nuance of this grammar is telling – because all of these options accurately reflect our spirits when we have this “Costco Attitude” towards one another:

It is isolating.

It is self-congratulatory.

It is de-humanizing to our neighbor.

And it has nothing to do with God.

And we all do it, all too often: In little things like grocery store etiquette and big things, like politics and religion and economics. It’s such a paradox, that the very place of our moral certitude can so regularly become the occasion of our moral failure. As soon as we become convinced of how we’re right, it usually leads to alienation from our neighbors and alienation from our God.

And then we make it worse. We band together with like-minded people, rehearsing the accuracy of our positions and our outrage and disgust at theirs. I don’t know of a single Christian denomination that doesn’t suffer from this plight (to say nothing of our Facebook feeds).

So what are we to do? From whence shall our salvation come?

Then Jesus said, “The tax collector, standing far off, would not even look up to heaven, but was beating his breast and saying, ‘God, be merciful to me, a sinner.’ I tell you, this man went down to his home justified…[for] all who humble themselves will be exalted.”

The heart of our gospel is the truly good news that, when we choose to be honest and vulnerable before God, God will always meet us there with mercy. Always. “A broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise” (Psalm 51:18).

It’s very hard to stop bad thoughts from entering our minds and spirits. Without any warning we can instantly find ourselves in that place of moral superiority to those fools who are disrupting our happiness. But when this happens, and if we are taking our commitment seriously to become like Jesus, we do have the choice of how to respond. And the first step is to stop, to recognize what’s just entered our spirit, and then to confess that sin before God, appealing for God’s mercy:

I have believed in my superiority. Lord, have mercy.

I have despised my neighbor. Lord, have mercy.

I have alienated myself from them and from you. Lord, have mercy.

And the Lord does have mercy. Right there in Costco, or on Highway 16, or on Facebook, or wherever we are when we repent. It is God’s good pleasure to forgive us and to restore us to our rightful place – which is a peaceful union with God and with one another, even with those we disagree, even if they never knew the damage we had wrought between us. This is the Good News. We can be children of peace.

Our sisters and brother in the Eastern Orthodox Church have fostered over the centuries a profound practice of prayer that is rooted in the wisdom of this parable. They pray what’s called “The Jesus Prayer,” Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner. It’s a repetitive prayer that may well be prayed hundreds or thousands of times a day. For those who are deeply formed by this piety, it can actually become a living expression of Paul’s exhortation to “pray without ceasing,” a constant spirit of prayer that accompanies the normal pace of living.

I can’t claim anywhere near that depth of experience. But with the little I’ve experimented, I can testify to the effectiveness of the Jesus Prayer. There have been times when I discover that my heart’s heading south (so to speak), that I’m working up a bad attitude against someone, and – try as I might – I can’t get out of that loop. So I choose to start praying the Jesus Prayer, over and over. If I’m driving I might turn off the radio and determine to pray it for the remainder of the drive. Sometimes it’s helpful if I chant it. A friend taught me a variation of it:

Lord Jesus Christ, Son of the living God, have mercy upon me, a sinner.

Lord Jesus Christ, Son of the living God, have mercy upon me, a sinner.

And what I find happening when I start to pray like this, is that it slowly begins to dislodge my bad attitude. My heart begins to shift its allegiance. I’m not necessarily focusing intently on every word of the prayer. I get distracted and stop praying without even being aware of it. That’s okay. I just pick it up start again. ‘Cause there is some deep wisdom in determining to feed our soul with a steady desire for humility and mercy. And as we are met with God’s mercy, we ourselves become merciful.

I often use this prayer at night – during those stretches of wakefulness when I can’t fall back asleep. Jesus Christ, son of God, have mercy on me a sinner. It becomes a soundtrack of sorts, the refrain that sets the tone for however long my waking must last.

It is a choice for us to orient ourselves towards the better path of humility and mercy. It can involve a prayer discipline like the Jesus Prayer. But it is also a discipline we must choose to enter with one another.

So I’d like to with another Costco story:

A friend of mine was at stage in his life when he was beginning to come to grips with just how selfish he was – which is akin to the pharisee’s behavior, right? this kind of self-centered attentiveness that has no real regard or value for someone else. So he’s in the parking lot at Costco and sees an open spot that another woman is heading for. But he’s got the better position, so cuts her off and takes it. But right as he’s doing so, he makes eye contact with her and it was, as he says, like she saw into his soul.

And then she was gone, off to find another spot. But he’s totally convicted. He knows it was selfish. He knows it was wrong. And because he’s at a season of life where he’s making deliberate choices to live better, he decides to go looking for her in the store. She was an African-American woman, which isn’t too common here in Gig Harbor, so he was pretty sure he’d be able to identify her.

And sure enough, way in the back near the paper towels, he finds her. He walks up to her, identifies himself, names his selfishness for what it was, and apologizes. And she looked at him and said, “I knew you were selfish. I could see it in your eyes. And I forgive you.” And then she went on to say, “Thank you for finding me. You are the first man who has ever apologized to me in my life. And you are the first white person who has ever apologized to me in my life.”

And I tell you what, the Kingdom of God was alive at the Costco Gig Harbor in that moment. My friend was changed forever. She was changed forever. And why? Because they had the courage to choose honesty, humility, repentance, and forgiveness. This is what the gospel is all about. And when we are ready, it will be right there waiting for us. For all who humble themselves will be exalted.