Luke 18:9-14
In the Parable of the Pharisee and the Tax Collector, there’s a clear picture of the humble and repentant person we should emulate (the tax collector), but, if I’m being honest, the Pharisee’s perspective feels a little more familiar.
He also told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and regarded others with contempt: “Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. 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.’ But 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!’ I 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.” Luke 18:9-14 (NRSVUE)
A couple years ago I began an unintentional reevaluation of my younger years. To some extent it was a natural thing to do. For example, raising my own kids made me reevaluate many of the sacrifices my parents had made that I had taken for granted at the time. But many of those reassessments have been surprising and disturbing. Occasionally a flash of recognition will come over me—a memory seen in a new and more critical light. It might be something I said or did that, in hindsight, was insensitive or selfish.
One particularly unsettling example is a memory of visiting the grieving parents of a friend. My friend had died in an awful accident while we were in college, and about six months afterwards I was travelling through his hometown and decided to stop to visit his grave and see how his parents were doing. I think my intentions were fairly good, but I made the awful, cruel mistake of not contacting my friend’s parents in advance. I just showed up. They seemed fine at first, but when I told them I had visited the cemetery and couldn’t find the marker, they quietly left the room. One of their other children came out and said, “Sorry, they’re just not up to talking right now.”
When I left I knew that I had made a mistake and that I should have let them know I was coming, but I don’t recall thinking about it much beyond that. It simply felt like an awkward, uncomfortable encounter. Strangely, it’s only been in the recent past that I have understood that moment for what it was and how devastating it must have been for my friend’s parents to have that pain brought so sharply back to them. I hadn’t considered how it might feel for them to look at a young man living a life their son should be living or how my statement about not finding a marker probably meant that they hadn’t been able to summon up the acceptance to place one.
It’s also only recently that I’ve admitted to myself that visiting my friend’s family was something I did because I thought they would appreciate it, or, more accurately, appreciate me for doing it. I wasn’t being a Pharisee in expressing contempt for anyone, but a similar self-involvement kept me from feeling the proper empathy for people who truly needed it.
The good news of the parable is that Jesus tells it “to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous” (v. 9). One of the ironies of the story is that it’s easy for the reader to experience contempt for the Pharisee similar to the contempt he has for the tax collector. But our disgust with the Pharisee demonstrates that we have a similar need for grace, and Jesus holds that grace out to us in the story.
Questions for Reflection:
- How have you handled a major regret in your life? With avoidance, reflection, repentance, action, or something else?
Prayer:
God of Grace, it’s so easy for us to drift into self-involvement and even self-righteousness. Give us a spirit of humility and direct us outward to those who need our compassion and our help. Amen.
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