Sermon for the 23rd Sunday after Pentecost, October 23, 2016. We had the joy of about 30 Sunday School children singing in worship on Saturday night, and then baptizing infant Hank at the 11:00 service on Sunday morning.
This week’s sermon focused on the Gospel reading, Luke 18:9-14, Jesus’ parable about a Pharisee and a tax collector in the temple
Let me begin by saying a few words about how glad I am to be here with all of you today. And I don’t mean here among you. I mean up here, in the pulpit, preaching to you.
I’m glad that I’ve put in the work of going to college, and then to seminary, so that I can be here to share my learning with all of you, you poor folks who need to hear the wisdom of this sermon.
I’m not boasting; it’s perfectly true. Believe me, I’ve spent a lot of money for this education. I’m sure God loves farmers, and insurance agents, and bankers, and teachers, and medical people, and waitresses, but, well, I’m a pastor.
Here I stand, following my calling from God, ready to guide all of you. After all, I’ve given up more than any of you to be here today, and I’m sure God knows that.
The Pharisee, standing by himself, was praying thus: ‘God, I thank you that I am not like other people: thieves, rogues, adulterers, or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week; I give a tenth of all my income.”
I hope you know how ridiculous what I just said is. If I really felt that way, I wouldn’t be here, and you wouldn’t want me here. And yet, technically, I didn’t say anything that’s a lie.
One of the fascinating things to me in this story is that the Pharisee is not wrong. He really does fast twice a week. Unlike some people Jesus criticizes, he’s not a hypocrite; he puts his money where his mouth is. He gives away a tenth of all his income. He does exactly what the commandments tell him to do.
This is a righteous fellow. Kids, do you know what “righteous” means? It means he’s following the law, the commandments, the way he should. He’s doing what he’s supposed to do.
Now, following the law, living a good life, is not a bad thing. Following the ten commandments, giving away your money to help the poor, coming to church, volunteering, these are good things!
He probably doesn’t even think he’s exalting himself! He’s just telling the truth and giving thanks to God.
But there are two problems with the Pharisee here.
Oh, and remember that being a Pharisee is not a bad thing either. The Pharisees have this bad reputation because Jesus criticizes them a lot, but they’re really just a particular religious sect, sort of a denomination of Judaism. They’re a group who take following God’s commands seriously. There’s probably a lot we could learn from them.
But in this story, there are two problems with the Pharisee.
First, and this is a common problem for people who obey the law well, he starts judging other people.
I know that person hasn’t put as much time into learning the details of the law and obeying every letter of God’s commands, otherwise he’d be a Pharisee, or maybe a rabbi, not a tax collector.
I know you haven’t put as much effort into reading scholarly articles about the Bible as I have, or you’d have a seminary degree. So what?
Elsewhere, Jesus talks about the folly of judging others. The apostle James puts it like this: Whoever speaks evil against another or judges another, speaks evil against the law and judges the law; but if you judge the law, you are not a doer of the law but a judge. There is one lawgiver and judge who is able to save and to destroy. So who, then, are you to judge your neighbor?
It’s not our job to judge our neighbors; God can handle that. Our job is to love each other and serve our neighbors.
So that’s one mistake the Pharisee is making, taking his own righteousness as an excuse to judge others.
His second mistake is to take credit for his own righteousness. He thinks he’s a good person because he tries hard to do the right thing.
The tax collector, the one the Pharisee’s comparing himself to, might be a more sinful person. In fact, I think it’s safe to say he is. But the tax collector understands that he needs God’s mercy. He understands that he needs God’s help. The Pharisee doesn’t get that.
The core of our understanding as Lutheran Christians of the way God works is grace. We can never do enough good to get to God; God always comes to us. If we wanted to be good enough to get to God, we’d have to be perfect, and none of us are perfect.
Of course, some of us are probably bigger sinners than others, some of us give more to the church, come to worship more often, have more Bible verses memorized, but none of that matters, because we rely on God’s grace. The Pharisee has done a pretty good job, but by taking credit for himself, he’s not leaving any room for God to work. He’s not leaving room for God’s forgiveness, for God’s grace.
And despite obviously not being Lutheran, he should know better. The point of coming to the temple is to ask for forgiveness. That’s why you make the trip to Jerusalem. It’s not like just going to church on Sunday morning; they had synagogues for that. Going to Jerusalem for most people is more of a pilgrimage, a special opportunity to repent, to ask for forgiveness.
The Pharisee doesn’t seem to understand why he’s there. He’s there to do what he’s supposed to do, to make his sacrifice, pray, and go home, but he’s missing the point.
He can’t be truly grateful to God, because he won’t admit what God’s done for him, because he thinks he’s done it all himself.
I suspect that’s true for many of us as well. We begin worship each week by admitting our sin, so we can hear again and again of God’s forgiveness, but how often do we really hear those words?
How often do we really grasp the depth of God’s grace, the magnitude of what Jesus has done for us?
I know I catch myself taking God’s grace for granted all the time. Let’s not leave here giving thanks that we’re not like the Pharisee, because all too often, that’s exactly who we’re like.
Meanwhile, 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.”
This guy gets it. He knows how much he’s done wrong. He knows how great the forgiveness he needs is, and he confesses his sin, throwing himself on God’s mercy.
The question is, does he stop sinning then? Does he actually change his life? Or does he go home and keep being a tax collector?
I want to say he goes to the temple, God’s home, recognizes his sin, and has a big conversion experience. I want him to go home, give away his money, repay everyone he’s defrauded, and devote his life to helping the poor. Earlier this week, I was all set to preach about that. And then I read the story again, and realized I was thinking of a different story. That’s the story of Zacchaeus, or Matthew, or a variety of others.
In this story, the sinful tax collector asks God for mercy, and that’s all he does. Jesus leaves this ending ambiguous. He says the man humbled himself, but it doesn’t say he stopped sinning. It’s a parable, a made-up story Jesus is using to make a point.
If Jesus wanted to talk about the man going home and changing his life, he could have. So why didn’t he?
I’m not saying you should do as much sinning as you can so that you’ll give God more opportunity to forgive you. But God’s forgiveness for you and me isn’t dependent on whether or not we stop sinning. It wouldn’t be grace if it was; it would be a transaction.
It’d be us earning God’s love, and that’s not how God works.
If God’s grace depended on us, then baptizing a baby like Hank would make no sense, because a baby has done nothing to deserve God’s love. A baby can’t repent, or change his life. Instead, baptism is a tangible symbol of God’s grace. The baby doesn’t have to understand it, because God is the one doing the work.
Of course we hope he will grow up and follow the law, follow God’s commands, be righteous. But if he doesn’t, God will still love him. God will still love you. God makes us righteous.
At the end of Jesus’ story, the man who recognized his sin went home justified, rather than the one who followed the law better and tried harder. Thanks be to God.
Amen.