But For the Grace of God

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 [Luke 18:9-10].

In last week’s meditation, I allowed that Jesus’ parables are affirmatively unlike Aesop’s fables. They aren’t straightforward little vignettes, each with a clear lesson at the end to help us along in our everyday life. As Rick Lischer taught me so many years ago, if we seriously examine a parable, we’ll usually find that it tells us something we might not want to hear. Rather than smooth our feathers, Jesus’ parables usually ruffle them.

For example, the Parable of the “Good Samaritan” [Luke 10:25-37], which is Jesus’ response to a question—“Who is our neighbor?”—begins with an oxymoron. In the mind of the Palestinian Jew of the first century, there was no such thing as a “good” Samaritan. They were outsiders who had abandoned the true worship of Yahweh. And so, if you were hurt and lying in a ditch and you were approached by a priest, you’d think, “I’m in luck.” If instead the one who approached you was a Samaritan, your thought would be, “This is it. I’m done for.”

If Jesus was speaking to one of our congregations today, I think He’d likely substitute some other type of person for the Samaritan—perhaps a homeless derelict, a single mother who has delivered four children via three (or is it four?) baby daddies, or, heaven forbid, a young man in a MAGA hat.

When we come to the Parable of the Pharisee and the Tax Collector [Luke 18:9-14]—the Gospel reading appointed for this upcoming Sunday [the Twentieth Sunday after Pentecost, RCL, Year C]—we need to be careful. On its face, this parable seems to be the exception to the “Lischer rule.” That is to say, this parable seems so straightforward that even a Duke Divinity School graduate could dissect it and find its true meaning.

We see that two men have come to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee, the other a tax collector [18:10]. Most of us identify Pharisees as some of Jesus’ most strenuous opponents. He’s likely the villain in Jesus’ story. We may know less about tax collectors in that day and time. Rumor has it that the tax collector was one of 85,000 or so new agents that King Herod had hired to audit self-employed fishermen and the like.

The Pharisee has diligently studied the Torah and other holy writings. He’s spent considerable time in theology classes. He is diligent in his Sabbath protocols and other religious activities. He knows, for example, that if it’s the Sabbath and you spy a flea on your outer garment, that you can flick it off onto the ground without violating the Sabbath. Now, if you were to grind it into the ground with the heel of your shoe, that would be work and a violation of the Sabbath rules. The Pharisee is, using the standards that even Jesus and/or Luke would use, righteous [see Jesus’ Parable of the Lost Sheep, particularly Luke 15:7, for the use of that word].

In contrast, the tax collector, is an outsider. He rubs shoulders with Herod’s crowd. He has to do so; it’s his job. Bending the rules is his specialty. He understands that he has done nothing through which he might claim righteousness. When it comes to Mosaic law, the tax collector is a malfeasant. That’s why he stands in the Temple’s shadows. It must have been a struggle for him even to have entered the holy place.

And so, as Luke himself sets up Jesus’ parable [18:9], we have opposite ends of the human spectrum. One claims righteousness based upon his own merit; the other has no merit and must throw himself upon the mercy of the One who will judge us all. The Pharisee shows little appreciation for the Grace that he enjoys. He seems put out that he must share sacred space with the likes of the tax collector. The Pharisee is self-righteous; the tax collector is desperate. The former is sure of himself; the latter stakes his hopes not on merit, but on God’s mercy.

It is at this point that Jesus presents us with the first of two twists, or perhaps, traps. You see, if we aren’t careful, looking at these two men, our off-hand prayer might be something like this: “Heavenly Father, I resonate with humble tax collector. Thank you, God, that I’m not like that Pharisee.” If that is our prayer—and I’ll confess that I have prayed it from time to time—our motivations are identical to those of the Pharisee? At the risk of redundancy, the Pharisee is glad he’s not like the tax collector; we’re glad that we’re not like him. The picture is the same.

My notes from a New Testament class of many years ago add an important point worth mentioning here. Jesus sets the scene of His parable in the Temple. In and around the Temple, one was constantly reminded of who you were. The inner area was for priests only. The next favored court or area was for the adult men. Still further from the altar was the Court of the Women. Still further away was the Court of the Gentiles, where the moneychangers set up shop.

At the time of the crucifixion, of course, all that changes. Scripture records that at that time, the curtain in the Temple was torn from top to bottom [Luke 23:45]. All the carefully crafted divisions separating the “worthy” from the “unworthy”—and separating the unworthy from God—were obliterated. Of course, the first century folks hearing Jesus’ parable don’t yet know how the crucifixion story ends. We do.

Earlier I mentioned that in His parable, Jesus gives us two twists—or rather, sets two traps. I experienced the second trap last Friday in Wegmans. I had slipped in quickly to pick up three or four items. As I walked through the produce department, stopping to look at the bananas, a young woman, probably in her early 30s, walked over to me and said, “Sir?”

Not a little puzzled, I responded, “Yes.”

She handed me a small piece of paper. In carefully crafted penciled words (probably written on her behalf), was something like the following:

My family and I have just come to the area. We are trying to build a life. I’m looking for work. I speak very little English. Might you be able to help me with some food for my three children?

I said, “I’m sorry, I don’t carry any cash” (I don’t).

Her blank stare told me that she didn’t understand. As I looked at her, I thought to myself, “Why did you chose me?”

I opened the little wallet I carry, pointed to a credit card, motioned for her to wait there, and tried to communicate, through some rather odd arm motions, that I needed to get three things, and that I’d be back in a few minutes.

I collected my bananas, a carton of Half ’n Half, and a few red potatoes. I motioned for her to follow me to the self-checkout area, motioning also that we’d handle her transaction first. I looked in her cart and started scanning. She had a small ham, a chicken for roasting, some bread, some zucchini, carrots, some celery, a couple of onions, and one last item.

I wonder if at that point I rolled my eyes at her. I likely did shrug my shoulders, at least a little bit. The other item was a cake with fancy frosting. I passed the cake over the scanner and winced when the screen registered, “18.95.” I silently scanned my Apple Card for her groceries—you know you get 3 percent cash back at Wegmans. I said to myself, “There, but for the Grace of God, go I.” I thought about the young woman several additional times in the day that followed.

Two days later—I try to choose my mediation texts each Sunday afternoon—I encountered our Lord’s parable. It saddened me to recognize that I’m very much a Pharisee.