The spectrum that matters more

Luke 18:9-14

9He also told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and regarded others with contempt: 10“Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. 11The 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. 12I fast twice a week; I give a tenth of all my income.’ 13But the tax collector, standing far off, would not even lift up his eyes to heaven but was beating his breast and saying, ‘God, be merciful to me, a sinner!’ 14I tell you, this man went down to his home justified rather than the other, for all who exalt themselves will be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be exalted.”

I’ve seen several surveys over the years which aim to get at the question of what causes people to doubt or reject Christianity.  They typically reach more or less the same conclusion, including one from 2023 produced by the Barna group surveying US adults which found that the top reason - especially among those who claim no faith, another faith, or nominal Christian faith - was the hypocrisy of religious people.  Perhaps you’ve heard this before.  Perhaps you’ve thought or felt this before.  

What really makes people angry is the hypocrisy of self-righteousness, when religious people condemn others for failing to live up to a standard they themselves fail to meet, who use religion as a means of exalting themselves and belittling others and who, in the process, betray the very ideals they claim to uphold.  What drives people crazy is when folks claim to be the ones who please God even as they wantonly do the opposite of what actually pleases God, who claim to be defenders of Christ but then make no effort toward Christlikeness.  You know all this.  

The point of saying is not so that we can all feel self-righteously indignant at these kinds of people - so that we can give thanks that we are not like them - but rather to invite us to consider if we might, to some extent, however small, be those people. 

Instead of talking about you, maybe I should talk about myself.  Obviously I decided to start a new church, and I did so ultimately because I really did think it could be justified, but it’s also impossible entirely to remove from the equation my own sense that I could do it better.  And, of course, now that we exist I’m eager to tell myself a story about how we really are doing it better, that where others fail, we succeed, that we’re qualitatively superior, that we are the kinds of Christians with whom God is especially pleased, that our small number indicates we’re an exalted bunch.  I hope that you’re better than me, but I wouldn’t be surprised if these kinds of thoughts were in the mix for you as well.  

Jesus told a little parable about a Pharisee whose prayer amounted to giving thanks to God that he was not like bad people, including the tax collector who was there praying as well.  And then he presents his righteousness CV to God.  Everyone deserves charity, even a fictitious Pharisee, so we might point out that at least he is giving thanks to God, and who among us fasts twice a week or donates a tenth of their income?  But then what is the point of this prayer, really?  The entire purpose seems to commend his righteousness to God, to elevate himself by denigrating others, which is classic human behavior.  In his prayer thieves, rogues, adulterers are catching strays, as I believe the kids still might say.   He comes to God to justify himself.  

The tax collector is the opposite of the Pharisee, not a faithful religious adherent but one aligned with empire to extract from his people.  It’s not a profession where you can keep yourself pure and undefiled.  He probably didn’t fast or give a tenth away.  In fact, me might’ve been a morally unscrupulous person.  It’s possible that the worst thoughts people had about tax collectors were indeed true of him.   But that’s more or less irrelevant.  In fact, perhaps exactly because he knows he cannot be favorably compared to others, because he knows he’s done wrong, he can’t even look up to heaven but beats his breast and cries out,  “God, be merciful to me, a sinner!”  He was under no illusion that he could justify himself, but he came in the hope that God might still lift him up.  

Why do we come to church?  What do we want to happen here?  I’m happy to say that I’ve never heard any of you utter a prayer that sounds anything like that of the Pharisees (but who knows, maybe in your hearts!?) but I think we should still be wary of the possibility that we can make this an exercise in self-justification, of telling ourselves that, while maybe we’re not the best kind of people, we’re pretty good.  It’s been my experience that church can easily become a place where we go, not not become better than we are, not to live deeper into the truth, but to convince ourselves that we’re just fine, that there’s nothing that needs changing.   

The tax collector presents an alternative to that, but one which we respond to ambivalently.  We don’t want to be like the Pharisee, but we don’t really like thinking of ourselves as sinners either, or of endorsing self-flagellation.  This doesn’t seem entirely healthy, especially for those of us who have had experience of Christian communities that emphasize human wretchedness, which routinely recite catalogues of sins, which make it sound like we’re lucky Jesus stands between us and a wrathful God.  Church should’t be misanthropic.  

Every Sunday in worship we, as Christians have done for centuries, sing the kyrie eleison, Lord have mercy.   Perhaps you know shorthand definition of mercy as “not getting what you deserve”, which makes it sound like we deserve God’s condemnation or punishment, that mercy is a kind of subversion of justice.  We sing this to remind ourselves that though God certainly loves us just the way we are, that we are not just fine the way we are, and, even more, to take a humble posture before God, not because we fear God’s wrath but because it’s only then that we can be truly changed, that we can be lifted up.   And really it wouldn’t hurt the prideful among us to be taken down a notch or two.  

Jesus conclude his parable by declaring, “all who exalt themselves will be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be exalted.”  A few weeks ago I preached a whole sermon about how more and more I take this to be the core of Jesus’ teaching, something he not only taught with his words but put into practice, humbling himself even to the point of death so that God might lift him up.  People like Jesus because he was the furthest thing from a hypocrite; there was no disparity between his teaching and his life.  

The Pharisee is concerned not with his status before God but his status relative to other people; as long as he can tell himself he’s more righteous than them, he’s happy.  The tax collector knows he can’t win this game, so he doesn’t try to play it; he knows that the only status that matters is before God.  If you want to dominate a status game, you try to lift yourself up.  If we really want to please God, if we really want to live the most “authentic” life, if we want to be lifted up, then the consistent teaching of Jesus is that we must humble ourselves.  This means neither false humility nor thinking of ourselves worse than we ought, but of seeing ourselves - as Jesus saw himself - not as someone who desires to be served, but who desires to serve others.

Occasionally I get asked by folks both inside and outside our community where we’re located on the theological spectrum.  Are we the “liberal church”?  I have to confess that I find this kind of question less and less interesting or important.  I hope it’s obvious that this is not because I think the content of the faith doesn’t matter, but rather I think it’s very easy for churches to assume that because they’ve got the right theology, that they read the Bible correctly, that they take the right positions, and then to become self-righteous about it. And while this is perhaps especially tempting for more conservative or fundamentalist churches, the same desire easily manifest itself in more liberal churches as well.  We think that if we locate our little dot at the right place on some imaginary line then God will be pleased.  

The spectrum matters that to me is less conservative to liberal, but rather the one that extends between the Pharisee and the tax collector, between self-righteousness and humility, between believing we’re the best and desiring to be more than we are, between seeking status and seeking God.  Jesus’ parable suggests that what matters most is not where we think we stand in relationship to God, but in the posture we take toward God.