There I Go but for the Grace of God: A Sermon for 20 Pentecost, Proper 25

Parables oftentimes hold up two extreme opposites in order to communicate a point. Last week, we looked at justice through the perspectives of an unjust judge and God. This week, we are looking at prayer in the temple through the perspectives of a tax collector and a Pharisee. Jesus doesn’t employ much nuance in today’s parable. It is easy for us to hear this story and discern that we do not want to be like the self-righteous Pharisee, nor do we want to associate with anyone who acts like that. It is easy for us to discern that humility is better than arrogance, pride, or self-righteousness. So beyond this helpful reminder, what else are we to make of this parable? 

Episcopal priest and spiritual director Martin Smith does a good job of observing that our gospel lesson and psalm both “reflect on the temple as [being] the symbol of religion’s goal.” In the parable, both the tax collector and the Pharisee have gone to the temple to pray. But that is where their similarities end. Smith points out that the “Pharisee’s prayer is to keep things the same. No transformation is required or expected, so prayer can piously, reassuringly, review the status quo…[On the other hand], the tax collector has no spiritual assets, but comes to the temple needy for transformation. God could change his state through the power of grace and mercy. But that yearning for transformation is the faith that God recognizes, and so the tax collector is changed by forgiveness. The Pharisee, wedded to the status quo of his own success, has unknowingly divorced himself from God.”

Again, the way this parable is told, it is easy for us to see who the “good guy” is and who the “bad guy” is. But in all reality, most of us here are not as righteous and pious as the Pharisee or as despicable as the tax collector. So what do we make of this parable when most - if not all - of us land somewhere in between?

I think that wherever we fall on the spectrum between the Pharisee and the tax collector, we do well to heed Martin Smith’s emphasis on transformation. When we engage in the act of worship, we are being invited into that liminal space that involves openness and vulnerability. And through this daring – dare I say dangerous - act of prayer and praise, we are making space for us to be transformed by the power of the Holy Spirit. But we must approach this sacred act and space with a willingness to be changed. Otherwise, we end up being like the Pharisee in the parable – only here to affirm what we already believe about God, others, and ourselves…and only here to maintain the status quo in ourselves and the church.

The tax collector in our story comes to worship in the temple with contrition in his heart – seeking to be transformed by the God’s grace, love, and mercy. It doesn’t appear that he feels entitled to such forgiveness, but rather, he feels a desperate need of it. And that is exactly what he received. What might it be like for us to approach prayer and worship with the same hope for transformation? Perhaps the transformation won’t always come in the form of forgiveness. Sometimes it might be in the form of clarity on a vocational call or important decision. Other times it might be a deep sense of adoration and awe when the bread and wine are transformed into Christ’s body and blood. Maybe the passing of the peace ends up being an authentic moment for reconciliation rather than just a handshake. But we must be willing to be vulnerable enough to be transformed. If our prayers are limited to only thanking God for our blessings – for the way things are and the way we are – we become frighteningly close to the Pharisee. We must, like the tax collector, be willing to approach God with the humility - even fear and trembling - in our hearts, so that we can fully experience the transformative power of the Gospel. We must access the courageous vulnerability and faithful humility of the hemorrhaging woman who touches Jesus’ cloak, the Samaritan woman at the well, Cornelius the Centurion, and the Apostle Paul. We must be willing and able to be transformed by our encounter with the living, loving God in Jesus Christ.

I have recently witnessed such transformation through the program that my wife Emily facilitates, which, oddly enough, is called Communities of Transformation. This group meets every Tuesday evening and is designed to be a means for journeying with people who have decided to make positive change in their lives. Each season, there are around 30-40 people involved in the program. Anywhere from 6-10 people are there as “participants” – they are the ones who are there to turn their lives around in some tangible way. The issues they are dealing with and the goals they are setting include financial, vocational, personal/relational, spiritual, and physical. The other 20-30 people who are involved with the program also work on goals in these areas, but they are called “volunteers.” They are there to shepherd and mentor the participants. We have had between 15-20 members of Christ the King participate in this program – myself included – and it is absolutely remarkable. But the truly remarkable thing to me has to do with the blurring of the categories between “participant” and “volunteer.” The caricature between participant and volunteer is that the participants are the ones who “have it all together,” and they are there to help the participants, who for one reason or another do not currently “have it all together.” But as it turns out, we have come to recognize that there is very little that separates the two groups. None of us have it all together. None of us are all entirely squared away and though all of us have our struggles and issues, none of us are totally lost or irredeemable. In other words, none of us are the Pharisee or the Tax Collector in terms of our piety. We are all somewhere in between. And that realization has been truly remarkable, and made the space for deep transformation to occur for all of us who are involved.

The times that have not gone so well have been when folks have gotten involved to help fix other people. One such person had accomplished a lot in his life, mentored a lot of people before, and was there to help others. But he struggled with the structure of the program because the volunteers are required to set and work on their own goals and issues. He said he didn’t have any issues and therefore didn’t need to set any goals. All the goals he had set for his life had been accomplished, so he was there to help others do the same. On one hand, we were truly grateful for his willingness to be there and to be a part of the program. But in the end, it simply didn’t work out, because he – like the Pharisee in our parable today -  wasn’t able to see his own need for growth and transformation.

Prison ministry is very similar, in that most who get involved do it initially to minister to others. After all, we who are not incarcerated clearly have our lives in order more than those who are behind the bars. But sure enough, every time I have participated in prison ministry, God has always found a way to blur those lines between civilian and inmate – between tax collector and Pharisee. I always find myself being humbled, grateful, and the recipient of God’s grace, mercy, and love when I have ministered to those in prison.

The context of our parable today is prayer in the Temple, and my first examples dealt with worship in Church. What attitude do we bring with us when we come here to pray and worship? Are we the tax collector or the Pharisee? But this parable isn’t only a parable for worship and prayer. As I have pointed out, this parable extends beyond the temple and the sanctuary and out into the world. How might we be open and vulnerable enough to receive God’s grace, mercy, and love today in worship, and then go out into the world to share it with others, knowing that in God’s economy, we are likely to be the ones who are most transformed.