Transformed Lives

The topic today is Transformed Lives. And like all of the topics we’ve been discussing this Fall, this one relates to prayer. So as we look at this lesson from Luke, and consider the Pharisee and the tax collector, let’s let the idea of a transformed life linger for us. But let us begin by asking this question: are we Pharisees, or are we tax collectors? Or perhaps more appropriately, each of us could ask ourselves: am I a Pharisee, or am I a tax collector?

The Pharisees, we remember, are the ones with whom Jesus was constantly colliding. They are the standard bearers, the scholars of the law, the keepers of the faith, the arbiters of all that is good and right and honest and faithful. They keep butting heads with Jesus over things like healing people on the Sabbath: it may be a good thing to do, but does God allow it? Jesus’ answer would be yes, because for him, there is no distinction between doing something that God desires and doing something good. For the Pharisees, the law trumps all. Regardless of the moral value of a particular act, if Scripture says, “no”, then the answer is “no”.

That’s the character set that lies behind the parable today, the Pharisee who stands before God in prayer, certain that he is justified and righteous. He not only has great knowledge of the law; he is a keeper and a follower of it. And so he knows that he can stand before the God of laws and say, “I am doing the right thing”: he is a tither, he fasts, he does not break God’s law. And he goes one step further, giving thanks to God that he is much better than the rotten tax collector.

Tax collectors were, like most of the characters in the New Testament, and like Jesus and the Pharisees, Jews. But rather than serving God or law, they served the Roman Empire and themselves. They were the ones who carried out Roman taxation on the people of Judea, Samaria, and the Galilee. And they also considered this a great opportunity to line their own pockets, charging just a little bit extra than what the Romans wanted. Everyone knew it, and no one could do anything about it.

So this particular tax collector was right to beat himself up in the midst of prayer. Not only does he live with this brutal sense of having betrayed his own people for the sake of an occupying army; he has also violated God’s law by swindling his way into petty wealth at the expense of others.

So the question for us today is: am I a Pharisee, or am I a tax collector?

What would a Pharisee look like today? Well, I hate to tell you this, but a Pharisee would look an awful lot like many of us reading this. Pharisees would be good church folk, attending services every week, giving of their time and talents, devoting themselves to the Presbyterian way of doing everything “decently and in order”. Actually, you know, now that I think about it, he’d probably be standing up in front of the people, wearing a robe, even, espousing what it is that God wants us to do…

This is getting a little too close for comfort…

The truth is that the Pharisees were actually pretty righteous folk. And that’s the tough thing for us to decipher. We are so familiar with the stories of Jesus running afoul of the Pharisees that we automatically give them the “villain” title; when in fact, they were the status quo of good guys at the time. Where they went wrong, and where Jesus kept pushing them, was that they forgot the meaning of the law that gave rise to the need for it in the first place.

Does that resonate with you? Do you ever find yourself so immersed in habit that you’ve forgotten why you started the habit in the first place? Again, this isn’t all bad – we get into good habits like exercise and prayer, like regular worship and service. But do we ever get so far down the line with one practice or another that we forget what made us think it was such a good idea to begin with? Maybe it’s that glass of wine with dinner our doctor recommended because of the heart condition, which has now turned into a bottle or two. Perhaps it’s the new piece of technology that allows us to be out of the office and spend more time with the family, so that we can be together while we stare at the little glowing rectangle. What’s the famous phrase, “The road to hell is paved with good intentions”?

Maybe our lot is with the Pharisee. But not so fast…What about the tax collector?

At their core, the tax collector and Pharisee are not so different. It’s not that the tax collector has no knowledge of what morality looks like; in fact, he’s so aware of it that he breaks down in confession before God. The difference is that he has deliberately chosen to violate God’s law as he understands it.

Is there anyone among us who can say that we are any different? Is every area of our lives open to God and God’s desires? Or do we intentionally compartmentalize our lives – church over here, family over there, work right here – because not to do so would simply be more complicated than we can imagine?

I’m not talking about wearing your faith on your sleeve to the point that it begins to pull your shoulder out of joint. I’m talking about our faith being so deeply embedded within us that every decision we make is tempered with the question, “Is this the faithful thing to do?”

The uncomfortable truth is that each one of us makes deals with the world and the way it operates. And we do so most often when we know that it puts us squarely at odds with our own faith. Jesus may have said such and such, but “come on, now, we live in the real world. Let’s be practical here.”

Maybe we’re like the tax collector after all.

Wherever you think you might resonate with today’s story, the truth is that we all love to compare ourselves to others. How many of us, upon hearing the Pharisee say, “Thank God I am not like this tax collector,” thought to ourselves, “Thank God I am not like this Pharisee”? We use others as our moral barometers to let us know we’re doing just fine – or at least, better than them. Think about the news stories that populate our lives. At times it seems like a parade of one bad apple after another: Lindsay Lohan, Kanye West, an endless stream of celebrities, preachers, politicians, all of whom are flawed, no doubt, and in some cases have done grievous harm. But it’s almost as though they are being set up as straw men and women to be torn down by the court of public opinion, causing us to say, “I would never do something that!”

How many of us have ever said, “Now I’m not perfect, but…” And when are we saying it? Usually when we’re about to point out how imperfect somebody else is.

And here is exactly where the tax collector leads us to what God desires for us: he bares it all before God. He’s not looking to find someone else more miserable than him. Nothing is hidden at all. He’s a sinner; he has done wrong, and the weight of that guilt has become too much to bear. There’s no more pretense. He cannot hide behind self-righteousness or worldly sophistication.

And for Jesus, that’s exactly the point. Forget about looking at others for the moral justification that “we’re doing just fine”. Our righteousness stands before God, and God alone. And when that realization sinks in, that God already knows full well how imperfect we really are, then we can offer that imperfection to God.

What happened with the tax collector was the all-important first step, that turning to God and saying, “Have mercy. I’ve messed up. I’ve gotten it wrong. I don’t do what I’m supposed to do. I do what I’m not supposed to do. Help me, Lord. Help me.”

We have no way of knowing what happened next to that tax collector. But if we take the lesson to heart, we can find out for ourselves. Can we present ourselves to God with such openness? It is one thing to offer to God our good deeds and our triumphs. Can we also offer our own imperfections? Can we lift up our fears, our anxieties, our anger, our doubts to the one who loves us more than we can ever love ourselves?

What God does with that imperfection is up to God. The only way we’ll find out is to offer them up. What happens, ultimately, is transformation. We cannot but be changed by such an encounter with God.

So whether we come here as Pharisees or tax collectors, or some combination of the two, when we come with openness to the possibility of God being at work in our lives, we will be changed forever. And that transformation will resonate with everyone with whom we come in contact. We may not be perfect, but it is the broken vessel which lets light out. Can we open ourselves to let that light in?

Amen.