Sermon Archive

There are only nine more shopping days until the election, so I can’t let a sermon go by without saying something about it, no matter what the lectionary is. I’ll start by noting, that, like other years, no candidate, at least no debating candidate, will fess up to being a liberal. Republicans use it as an epithet, and at least twice in the debates, if I heard right, Kerry said he wanted to be like Ronald Reagan. I’m not sure why liberal has become a dirty word. (Although I’d like to point out I’m not a liberal either. I’m to the left.) Maybe it’s because there’s a fine line between being a plain liberal and being a “bleeding heart” liberal. No one wants to be considered a bleeding heart. I looked up “bleeding heart” in the dictionary. It’s defined, first, as a perennial herb with pink or red heart shaped flowers, and second, as “a person who is considered excessively sympathetic to those who claim to be underprivileged or exploited.” So many politicians take pains to show they are only appropriately sympathetic to those who claim to be underprivileged or exploited, which means not very sympathetic at all. On the rare occasions when they talk about poor people, it means saying, or at least implying, that they’re poor because they aren’t trying hard enough, or they watch too much television, drink too much or take drugs, which they could stop doing if they really wanted to. Globally, it means saying, or implying, that the folks in Haiti or Afghanistan or Zambia are not exploited (as some may claim) but tribal peoples, unfortunates who have not yet learned American style democracy or development. It means looking at those who claim to be underprivileged and exploited, as well – other people. People not quite like us, people with some character defect or cultural handicap or historical misfortune which makes them different. And although we may be ashamed to admit it, we may sometimes agree, and thank God we’re not those other people.

But other people aren’t always poor. Sometimes they’re rich. Sometimes they’re the ones responsible for global warming. Yes, it’s other people driving around in SUVs and heating those McMansions in the suburbs that are so materialistic and shallow they’re destroying the planet. It’s true we each may be using 18 times the fossil fuel of a person in India, but at least we’re taking public transportation and recycle twice a week. Thank God.

But other people aren’t only in homeless shelters or the suburbs or across the ocean. Sometimes other people are in our own household. I may be working for a corporation that I fear does more harm than good, but at least I’m not like that ne’er do-well-brother of mine who fences CDs and still lives with Mom. Or maybe I’m cross and inconsiderate with my partner but at least I haven’t had an affair like my sister in law. Or maybe I do spend too much money in restaurants but at least I don’t have credit-card debt like my roommate. Thank God.

I hope you got my drift because I’m going back to the text now. But before I talk about the prayers of the Pharisee and the tax collector, I’d like to say something about Luke. When it comes to the Pharisees, the gospel writers – Matthew, Mark and John as well as Luke – are a little like the Swift Boat Veterans for Truth. They were also in a tough election campaign. They were trying to persuade their fellow Jews and interested Gentiles that following Christ, rather than the teaching of the rabbis, was the way of God. So when they describe the Pharisees, some who were opposed to Jesus, we shouldn’t assume they’re accurate. We don’t know a lot about them, but it’s unlikely they were as self-righteous, arrogant and hypocritical as they’re made out to be. We know they were learned and concerned with following the law of Moses under the difficult circumstances of Roman occupation. So I’m going to look with a sympathetic eye at the Pharisee; perhaps excessively sympathetic, but I’ll risk being called a bleeding heart.

Luke suggests that the Pharisee trusted he was righteous and regarded others with contempt, and his prayer seems to show that: “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.” Yes, he does talk about other people, but maybe he doesn’t so much trust in his own righteousness as worry about it. After all, the law of God was – is – wonderful, but also demanding and complicated, and he could not always be sure he was doing the right thing. He fasted and prayed and gave generously to the poor even though he didn’t have much himself. But was it enough? Was he really doing what he could to lead a holy life? He knew those commandments in the Torah that he neglected. He knew how often he criticized others, how often he forgot about God and how angry he could be with his family. But, at least he didn’t commit adultery. At least he didn’t steal or collaborate with the Romans who were robbing the Jews right and left. Thank God – thank God because he knew the good he did came only with God’s help.

Now the tax collector. We don’t know a lot about tax collectors, either, but it seems at least some of them weren’t very concerned with leading a holy life. Whether by choice or force of circumstance, they collaborated with the occupiers and some may have been on the take themselves. The first hearers of this parable would not have considered them underprivileged or exploited. This tax collector has a simple prayer: “God, be merciful to me, a sinner!”

And Luke tells us that was enough. He asked for God’s mercy and God was merciful. The man went home “justified” says Jesus, forgiven and loved. That doesn’t the mean the tax collector could go on sinning with impunity or that God didn’t care how he led his life. In other stories from Luke, tax collectors who encounter Jesus change their ways. But the prayer of the tax collector was pleasing to God: an honest prayer that acknowledged his sin without comparing it to others. A prayer that invited God in by asking for mercy.

And so it will be with all who humble themselves, says Luke. We may be Pharisees, tax collectors, or thieves; corporate executives, waiters or unemployed; rich or poor, tee-totalers or alcoholics, there is only one thing we need to say about ourselves: we are sinners in need of God’s mercy. We don’t need to worry about how bad a sinner we are. We don’t need to worry if our neighbor is a greater or lesser sinner. We’re all in need of God’s mercy. Mercy that is assured us in Jesus Christ. As we say in the Assurance of Pardon each week, “in Jesus Christ we are forgiven.”

What if we were to believe that? What if we were to really trust in God’s mercy? What if we didn’t have to reassure ourselves of our worth or goodness or righteousness by using other people as a yardstick? Perhaps we could look at them differently. Those of us who are middle class wouldn’t have to look at poor people as folks with character flaws to excuse our indifference and to assuage our guilt. Those of us who ride subways wouldn’t have to look at SUV drivers (and I know some of you are here) as the lone destroyers of the ozone layer. We could stop being in competition with our siblings or in-laws, and perhaps find it easier to enjoy their company. We could see other people as fellow sinners, also in need of and receiving God’s mercy. We could see other people as fellow sinners equally deserving of justice (and food and medical care and housing). We could see other people as fellow sinners called to care for God’s creation together with us. We could see other people as fellow sinners equally in need of love and kindness.