Goodness Grace Us: A Sermon on the Pharisee and the Tax Collector (Luke 18: 9-14)

[I preached this at Northminster Presbyterian Church in Pearl River on August 20, 2017. It is based on a sermon by my friend Dedie Kelso. I recorded the video the day before while I was practicing.]


Goodness Grace Us: A Sermon on the Pharisee and the Tax Collector (Luke 18: 9-14)

The opening number of the Broadway musical Wicked has the citizens of Oz celebrating the death of the Wicked Witch of the West. “No one mourns the wicked,” they sing.

Later, they sing, “Goodness knows, we know what Goodness is.”

But do we?

I’m sure there are people who would disagree, but I think the Bible, and Jesus, take life as we know it and turn it upside down.

In the Bible, and particularly in the teachings of Jesus, it’s often true that the people most of society thinks are wicked and bad are in fact good, and the people that most of society thinks are good and righteous are anything but.

Jesus frequently points out that our idea of “bad” and “good” simply aren’t God’s ideas.

Consider the Sabbath. According to law and custom:

• You could walk only so far on the Sabbath and no further.
• You could not light a fire on the Sabbath or cook.
• You could only do things like read scripture and learn God’s word on the Sabbath.

In other words, and with very few exceptions, you were not supposed to do anything anyone would consider “work” on the Sabbath.

You weren’t supposed to, say, walk through a grain field and pick the grains and eat them. That would be bad.

So, one Sabbath, Jesus and his disciples walked through a grain field, picked the grains, and ate them.

As you might expect, the Pharisees jumped all over Jesus for profaning the Sabbath.

Jesus reminded them that even David (of David and Goliath and King David fame) went into the house of God and took from the most holy bread at the altar. David, revered by the Pharisees, knew that what was most important was human life, not laws that confine and constrict.

On the Sabbath, with very few exceptions, you were not supposed to do anything anyone would consider “work.” You weren’t supposed to, say, heal a man with a withered hand.

So, one Sabbath, ... Jesus healed a man with a withered hand.

Jesus didn’t say to the man, “I’m sorry, but to be good and follow the law I can’t heal you today. Ask me again tomorrow.”

Instead, Jesus asked the scribes and Pharisees (who were ready to be shocked and appalled), “...is it lawful on the Sabbath to do good or to do harm, to save life or to destroy it?”

They didn’t answer because they couldn’t figure out how to say it was good to keep all the rules, even when it means needless loss of life.

Goodness knows, we know what Goodness is. Don’t we?

Jesus tells the tale of a man who fell among thieves. The man finds life-saving help not from the “good” people, the priest and the Levite. Those men walk around him, possibly because there were rules about touching dead bodies, and the man might die any moment.

The man only finds life-saving help from the Samaritan, and at that time, the words “good Samaritan” went together as well as “kind terrorist” or  “righteous racist” do today.

The “good” would let the man die without help, while the “bad” goes to extraordinary lengths to see the stranger healed and whole.

Goodness knows, we know what goodness is. Don’t we?

The parable for this morning, about the Pharisee and the tax collector, brought back to me the radical character of Jesus and his proclamation.

Jesus didn’t come to pat the local religious folk on the back, and tell everyone how great the scribes and Pharisees were doing.

No, instead, Jesus told them a story that seems innocent enough at the start, and even at the three-quarter mark, but has an M. Night Shyamalan twist at the end that probably made them wish we were still talking about picking grain on the Sabbath.

It turns out that the lousy, good-for-nothing tax collector, the greedy traitor to his country, receives God’s approval ahead of the Pharisee, the God-fearing family-focused purpose-driven Holy Man of Integrity.

This offends people even today. Some have tried to show that the Pharisee was really a “no-good” kind of guy, and the tax-collector really was a wonderful man underneath a crusty exterior.

That’s a good story, I guess, but it’s not this one. The Pharisee followed the law. In fact, he did more than the law required. He was only required to fast once a year (on Yom Kippur), but he fasted twice a WEEK! He only had to tithe from income from agriculture, but he chose to tithe from ALL of his income. And, on top of all that, he was grateful for being allowed to perform such religious duties.

We’d also miss the point of this parable if we doubted the sincerity of his gratitude. The Pharisee found great joy in the performance of his religious duties. He thanked God that he was born into a station of life that made it possible for him to perform them. He would have taken no pleasure in a dishonest profession (like thievery, or, well, Roman tax collecting) , or one that would have interfered with his religious duties. He took great pleasure in his life in praise of God.

Goodness knows, this man is good. He’s the kind of guy who ends up giving inspirational talks at church conferences.

We must not soften the blow of this parable’s ending by saying that the Pharisee was something other than good.

Neither must we soften the blow of this parable’s ending by saying that the tax collector was somehow a great guy who just looks evil until you get to know him. He wasn’t. He knew that his profession was extortionate by nature and probably sacrilegious. He made no effort to reform. To have done so would have deprived him of a business in which he had made a LOT of money. And, since all of his profit was graft taken from his own people, he would have had to refund that with 20 percent interest. He did not promise to do that.

As uncomfortable as it is, we have to see the Pharisee the way he was -- a sincere, religious man. And, the tax collector too -- a man in a dishonest profession who did not go out and mend his ways.

Yet the tax collector kneels and beats his breast in despair, knowing that he has no call on God’s mercy. He is totally empty, and knows it. He has absolutely nothing to offer God -- no repentance, no change of profession. He doesn’t say, “God, if you’ll hear me this once I’ll do such-and-such.” He doesn’t try to bargain with God. He stands before God, or rather, kneels, not at the altar but long before he could make his way to the front of the temple, and says, “God, be merciful to me a sinner!”

Jesus said that this man went down to his house justified rather than the other. This man, the one who came with nothing to offer, no joy in his worship and relationship with God, no repentance, is the one who went away justified.

Luke says that Jesus told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous. They trusted in themselves that they were righteous.

You see, the Pharisee was really a pretty good guy. But instead of trusting in God, he trusted in himself to be righteous. He thought that what he did made him OK with God.

He didn’t understand that before God, we all have nothing.

He didn’t understand that before God, we all come empty-handed.

He didn’t understand that before God, we all rely on the grace of God.

None of us, no matter if we follow every law and rejoice in our relationship with God, none of us can come before God with anything but the emptiest of hands. Even though the Pharisee was sincere and even grateful, he still thought that he should and could bring something to God that would show how good he was.

But Jesus says NO. He shouldn’t. He can’t. He has nothing to bring to God to prove his righteousness.

And that, believe it or not, is a blessing.

Even Jesus brings nothing before God. On Good Friday, Jesus had nothing. Jesus didn’t say, “God, look at all I’ve done for you.” No. He died with nothing, not bringing anything to prove himself or to make himself righteous before God. He was totally empty. He had nothing to offer. As Philippians puts it, “he emptied himself.”

Jesus. Emptied himself.

Like a tax collector kneeling and beating his breast.

I don’t think Jesus told this parable in order for people to walk around praising themselves because they have nothing to offer. I don’t think he wanted tax collectors to march to the front of the church and pray, “God, I thank you that I am not like these Pharisees.”

I don’t think he wants us competing with each other and ourselves to show how much humility we have.

Instead, we can rejoice together because when Jesus had nothing, when he was totally needy, he knew he could go to God. Nothing he did made him OK with God. But in his emptiness, in his neediness he went to God, and God heard him and was with him.

This is true for us. Just when we think we have nothing to offer, God accepts us, takes us in, and makes us his own.

Maybe some of you are here today feeling like the Pharisee. You’re having a great weekend; you helped lots of people; folks told you how much they look up to you, and trust your wisdom. Maybe you’re thankful that you get to do the kind of things you do, and maybe you think all this gets you just a little bit higher up on the righteousness leader board.

You’re wrong, and I don’t tell you that to upset you, but to help you when you’ve had a not-so-great weekend: a weekend when all the good you’ve done seems like nothing, when you can’t make the changes in your life you know you should, when your addictions hit back hard, when people you love need your help and you can’t or won’t help them, when the loss of someone hurts like a bullet wound. When the world seems like such a terrible place where white people hold torches and shout hate and worse at those whose skin is darker from theirs, where men brutally beat children and make them believe it is somehow their fault, and you know that there’s nothing in your hands, no way to help in any real way.

Maybe some of you feel that way right now. Maybe that’s where you are all the time. Maybe you can’t find your “comfort zone” with a GPS. Maybe you think that your life is worthless, and that maybe it should end.

Know this. KNOW this. You are right now, as you are, God’s beloved child, blessed beyond your understanding. KNOW that. That is the truest thing I can tell you.

Goodness knows, we do know what Goodness is: It is that God is good, and God loves you all, just as you are, with your empty hands.