Not a Report Card

 

Luke 18:9-14

He was a master of deception. He convinced people he was a teacher, a doctor, a lawyer, and a pilot—all before he turned 18. He was also a brilliant forger. At the age of 17, he became the most successful bank robber in US history. Do you know who this was? It was Frank Abagnale Jr. The movie Catch Me If You Can is based on his life.

Frank’s story is fascinating—especially how he talks to, brags to, and antagonizes the FBI agent who is chasing him. And while most of us have not had the exploits Frank had, we relate to him. We all move through life, wanting to establish our value and worth. And we want to be able to walk with something that resembles confidence—even if we have to fake it. So we look for ways to prop ourselves up and feel important.

The truth is we’re all working so hard. Whether that’s trying to appear authentic, or find some work-life balance, or being the best spouse, or the perfect parent. And we find it’s hard. It’s hard to meet the demands of life and to be good.

So when we hear this story from Luke, we read it like we read most stories—as a story of one good guy and one bad guy. And we think the lesson is that we should be like the good guy. So we read it like this: The Pharisee is the bad guy. He’s arrogant. We shouldn’t be like that. The tax collector is the good guy. He’s humble. We should be like that. And that sounds like the moral of the story so we think that’s the point.

But is that all we’re supposed to get out of that story? “Don’t be arrogant. Be humble.” I think there’s more to this story. Let’s dig in and ask, “Why?” Why is the Pharisee like this? And, if we’re living like that (which most of us are), what does that do to us—to our relationships with each other and our relationship to God? Because I think Jesus points us in a different direction and I want us to follow him there and see what we can take from that.

So this story is about a Pharisee and tax collector. They’re both going to the Temple to pray. They’re both Jewish. The Pharisee is part of a group who is very serious about trying to follow God’s rules. They were the good church people who show up for everything and do the work and give to support it. The tax collector decided to not be part of the good guys. Instead, we went to work for the empire—the bad, oppressive state of Rome who is occupying Israel. The tax collector decided to work for the bad guys.

You would go to a tax collector and pay your percentage, and he would say, “I couldn’t help but notice that you pulled up with a pretty nice donkey. It’d be a shame if something were to happen to it. I think I can prevent that from happening . . . for an additional fee.” Tax collectors were like that. They were slick. They worked through extortion and corruption.

In this story, both the Pharisee and the tax collector go in to the Temple and say a prayer. The Pharisee says, “I’m so great.” The tax collector says, “I’m so bad.” They both leave. And we learn that only the tax collector goes home justified. Only the tax collector goes home in God’s good graces.

The people listening clutch their pearls in horror, and think, “What? That’s not how it’s supposed to be.”

Let’s fish a little deeper and ask, “Why? Why is the Pharisee like this?”

We get a sense from his prayer. He starts well enough. He begins with “Thank you.” If he would have only stopped there, things could have been different. But he goes on. He goes on to list his impressive credentials: “Lord, I would like to remind you of the things you told me not to do, which I don’t do, and the things which you told me to do, which I do do—even a little bit extra.” He says he’s not a thief. He doesn’t steal. He doesn’t cheat on his wife. He’s not a rogue.

Rogue. I guess that’s a general catch-all word. Have any of you ever confessed to roguishness? If you have, you’ve come to the right place.

The Pharisee says, “I don’t do all those bad things. And some of my impressive achievements include fasting twice a week and tithing.” He reveals something about himself and how he understands God. What his prayer reveals is that he thinks our relationship with God is purely transactional. He thinks being in a relationship with God is about presenting a list of achievements—here’s what I’ve done. And God checks them off a list and gives you a gold star or the Good Housekeeping seal of approval.

The truth is, that’s how we’re so used to thinking God works. Because we think God is transactional. That he sees you when you’re sleeping. He knows when you’re awake. He knows if you’ve been bad or good, so be good for goodness sake. That’s transactional. Santa is transactional—be good and get a present. That’s the Law. This transactional understanding is what’s driving the Pharisee’s understanding of how God works.

Now, if we think about this in relation to who you live with. And one goes to the other and says, “I don’t feel your love for me anymore. There’s some distance.” And the other person says, “You know, I don’t hit you or call you names. I give you a card on our anniversary. We have a date night once or twice a year. I give you flowers on your birthday. I don’t see what the problem is.”

He’s saying, “I do all the things.” But it sounds so cold, doesn’t it? Because it’s transactional. But that’s how so many people see their relationship with God. “Here are the good things I’ve done, and the bad things I haven’t done. Can I have a gold star?” That’s how the Pharisee prays.

Now, let’s think about why. If you have a Law-based (meaning, these are the rules, follow them and you get stuff) transactional understanding of God, it results in comparison. When the Pharisee prays, he says, “I thank you that I’m not like the adulterers, rogues, thieves, and thank you that I’m not like that tax collector.”

Ever since he arrived, he’s been looking around, noticing who’s around, who got there early, and who came in during the last verse of the first song. If you live in a transactional, law-based understanding of God, it breeds comparison. Because you’re not only worried about how you’re doing, you want to know how everyone else stacks up. You become the church Terminator.

You remember the movie The Terminator right? It’s set in a futuristic world and they go back to 1980s Los Angeles before it all went wrong. Arnold shows up as this cyborg. He looks human but he’s a robot. Because of his programming, with his eye he can look around and scan people and know who they are. He sizes people up.

The point is, if you are a Law-based transactional understanding of God-type person, you become a church Terminator. You’re always scanning the crowd and you’re evaluating people all the time.

The result of this is that you will not see people as made in the image of God, you’ll see them as report cards. You’ll know your score and everyone else’s. And it makes you blind: the Pharisee doesn’t see the tax collector as a person. He only sees him as a type. Oh, and guess what else? If you start seeing people as stereotypes rather than people, it cuts you off from the God who loves this person he created in his image.

So you end up with a very high view of yourself and low view of God. The Pharisee has a high view of himself. We heard that when he said, “Thank you that I’m not like other people. Thank you that I’m great.” And what does he ask God for? Nothing. Because if he’s so great, what does he need God for?

But there’s another way to live, and it’s the way we’re shown in the tax collector. Look at the way he approaches God. As he enters the Temple, he’s not aware of who else is there. He’s not looking around. He’s not comparing himself to others. All he wants is to talk to God. He has a low view of himself and a high view of God. 

Please understand that this is NOT self-loathing and feeling worthless. He’s aware of the reality. He’s aware of his sin. He’s aware of how he has problems that he just can’t seem to fix himself. He comes to talk about that. He comes to say, “I’m sorry.” And he asks God for the thing he needs most: mercy.

In this conversation, it’s not transactional. He doesn’t say, “Forgive me because I really mean it.” Or, “Forgive me because I’ve done some nice things.” Or, “Forgive me because I’ve made the effort and come to church.” He doesn’t list any accomplishments. He only asks for mercy. He needs God. This is the beginning of a relationship.

The result is that he goes home justified—accepted and right with God.

So what do we do? What does this look like in our lives? The late Episcopal priest Robert Farrar Capon said, “… we will never be free until we are dead to the whole business of justifying ourselves.” He means we have to stop trying to justify ourselves. We have to stop trying to make ourselves right by what we do. Because God is not in the business of making good people better; he is in the business of raising the dead.

We need to learn what Taylor Swift has learned. She sings in her new song, “It’s me. Hi. I’m the problem. It’s me.”

So if there’s anything for us to do from this passage it’s to realize that we’re the problem, that we’re dead in our sin and that we need new life. If you are to do anything, it’s to get in touch with the place where you are in need, where you feel empty. Get in touch with the place where you are a sinner. Because God doesn’t want your list of achievements. He doesn’t need your report card. But he is interested in people who know they need mercy, people who know they’re not doing life right, people who know they’re struggling with work-life balance, people who know that they can be unkind, impatient, selfish—if that’s you, then you’re God’s cup of tea.

In these parables Jesus is teaching about himself and what we learn is that he is here. He is here for those who need mercy. The good news is that he will accept you. He will forgive you. He will make you right. Because he loves you and he gave himself for you.