When I was in seminary, we were required to take a course on a non-Christian faith tradition. I chose “Introduction to Judaism,” which was taught by a local rabbi. In class one day, he made the observation that, from his point of view, the Gospel writers portray the Pharisees in an unfairly negative light. I think his words were something like, “The Pharisees get a bad rap.” I think of that comment when I read Jesus’ parable in this morning’s scripture passage from Luke. It occurs to me that maybe the rabbi has a point!

You know the Pharisees. They are members of the strict sect of Judaism who carefully adhere to the religious laws and are known for their piety. They are the most religious people of the day, and their very name, meaning “separatists,” hints at their desire to rise above normal behavior.

But we preacher types tend to heap an array of pejorative qualities onto the Pharisees: rigid, oppressive, inflexible, and more concerned with the letter of the law rather than its spirit. The Pharisees have become, for us, symbols of all that is wrong with religious piety, and it is easy to cast them as villains, especially when contrasted with Jesus, who criticized their showy forms of legalism as diverting attention from God.

But before we break out in boos and hisses, it is important to remember that the Pharisees were considered to be "the best and the brightest" of their day. They were educated and completely committed to living a good, Jewish life. They strove to be holy, which meant to be pure, and to ensure that purity, they followed the commandments – not just the ten commandments, but the 613 laws found in Leviticus and Deuteronomy. These commandments helped them understand the holiness of their everyday life, and to be a Pharisee was an effort in righteousness.

Consider the Pharisee in Jesus’ parable from this morning’s Gospel lesson. He lives an upstanding, righteous life, and he tithes. Let me tell you, we could use this guy here in our congregation! He is practically perfect. There’s only one problem. He knows it. After all, listen to his prayer:

“God, I thank thee that I am not like other men, extortioners, unjust, adulterers, or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week, I give tithes of all that I get.”

We can imagine the Pharisee sweeping into the temple with his head held high, standing in the center of the sanctuary and loudly proclaiming his words of thanksgiving for all to hear. And isn’t interesting that in this prayer of thanksgiving to God, the word that occurs most often is “I.” – "I thank," I am not like the others," "I fast," "I tithe" from what "I possess."

But if you look a little closer – and giving this Pharisee some room for grace – what he seems to be saying is that everything about himself – everything good, everything faithful – is because of God; that God is alive and at work through him. If he’s boasting – and, let’s face it, he is – it’s because he knows how wonderful God is. And he knows how wonderful God is because he, the Pharisee, is so wonderful! To be fair, the notion of considering God to be the primary operative in all the good we do – and thanking God for that – is faithful in any context. So we should probably give the Pharisee a break.

Except… except that Jesus doesn’t. This is a parable, remember, a story with a point. And this is a tale of two pray-ers. There is the Pharisee, and there is also the tax collector.

If the Pharisees are the embodiment of righteous living, then tax collectors are the epitome of sinful living; they are quintessential crooks. The tax collector and those like him work for the Romans, the despised occupying force, and they make a fortune by skimming off of their own people, who consider them not only mercenaries and thieves, but also traitors for collaborating with the enemy. If right relationship with God requires right relationship with neighbor, then this tax-collector is blatantly unrighteous.

But listen to his prayer: “God, be merciful to me, a sinner!” He’s a sinner, and he knows it.

If he were putting on this display of humility for show, he’d get up and pray loudly like the Pharisee. But instead, the tax collector stands far off with his eyes cast down. His is a deep prayer from a broken heart, and he dares to hope that God will respond with compassion. And this crook becomes an example of faith because he is willing to cast himself on the mercy of God.

Jesus concludes his parable with this ironic twist: “For every one who exalts himself will be humbled, but he who humbles himself will be exalted.” In other words, the Pharisee – who keeps the Torah, who worships God, who fasts and tithes – Jesus says this Pharisee will be humbled. The Latin root of the word “humble” is humus, which means earth. The Pharisee will be brought down to earth.

But that miserable low-life tax collector, who makes his living by cheating his own people, he will be exalted.

The other day, Tom Kent mentioned how comforting he found last week’s sermon about the lost sheep and the lost coin and God’s relentless, gracious love. And I told him, “Last Sunday, I comforted the afflicted. This Sunday, I’m going to afflict the comfortable.” And here it is:

Most of us are Pharisees. We think we’re pretty faithful. Afterall, we go to church. We’re part of a family of faith. We worship and pray and sing hymns to God. Thank you, God, that we’re not like those heathens who don’t go to church.

Oh dear, did you hear that? I think I sounded like that Pharisee in Jesus’ parable. And it’s so easy to slip into the shoes of a Pharisee. All it takes to stand with him is to trust in one’s own righteousness and to regard others with contempt. You know what I’m saying --

If we’re liberals, we say “Thank you, God, we’re not like those conservatives.” If we’re Christians, we say, “Thank you, God, we’re not like those Muslims.” If we’re mainline Protestants, we say, “Thank you, God, we’re not like those lunatic fringe fundamentalists.”

“Thank you, God, I’m not like those _______” – you fill in the blank. Do you hear yourself in these kind of prayers?

The picture Jesus paints is familiar because we continue today, like the Pharisee in the temple, to put others down as a way of making ourselves look good. If we shine the light on someone else's problems, we don’t have to look at our own. But Jesus tells us that our sins grow from tiny specks to blinding logs, which trip us up on our journey home to God.

Here’s more affliction for you – most of us are tax collectors, too. Yes -- we are, like him, sinners. But he knows the humbling truth about himself. He knows he is in need of the mercy and love of God -- and so are we. The tax collector is our vulnerable self, our despairing self; the tax collector in each of us stands before God seeking mercy, because we know that our hearts and our lives must change. And like him, we yearn, in our despair, for God’s forgiveness, for God’s healing, and for the fresh start God offers.

“God, I thank thee that I am not like other men.” That is the prayer of a person who doesn’t think he needs changing.

“God, be merciful to me, a sinner.” That is the prayer of a man who knows he does, and opens his heart to God’s transforming love.

There is a Pharisee and tax collector in each of us; but we can be thankful, because God loves Pharisees and tax collectors too, and that means God loves each one of us.

And for that, let us say, “Amen!”

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