Prologue

I wrote a lot when I was younger — all sorts of stuff. I rather wish I had assigned a date. Anyway, it makes for interesting reading while poring through old files and folders.

Recently, I found this. Some reflections on the Pharisee and the Publican. I catch stray references to my readings at the time — San Juan de la Cruz? Interesting as it may be, at least I can recycle the paper now. 🙂

Content

I recall sitting in a Sunday school class as a young child. The lesson was taken from the Gospel passage of the Pharisee who stood high and mighty to offer his prayers, but they fell vacuously at his feet. His heart knew not God. But the Pharisee was not alone. A hated tax collector fell on his knees in a nearby corner of the Temple courts. God heard his prayer of penitence, for his heart knew God. Throughout my youth, I juxtaposed the hypocritical coldness of the Pharisee against the faithful humility of Christians — my own church. Time and time again, I sought the ‘modern Pharisee.’ Who was I taught not to associate with, to not model my life after? Where were the equivalents of these people, condemned by Christ, though still loved and treasured?

As I grew older, a new revelation dawned upon my mind: the Pharisees were the religious elite of their day. They rigorously attended ‘church’ and scoffed at ‘outsiders’ and ‘Gentiles’ for their faults. They considered themselves superior on account of their religion — their relationship with God. And then I knew. I was the modern Pharisee, and there must be multitudes like me: regular attenders, leading and attending Bible Studies, a few memory verses in tow, but, at the root, a parasite of arrogance has nested. Fundamentally, the fragrance of Christianity has been lost, for it demands the most abject humility as a failure. The despair, dark nights, weary shouldered, melancholy. Death. Apart from Christ.

How can we, like the Pharisees, be arrogant? Arrogant in Christ? No! Our lives must redound with the clamorous echoing of emptiness — that only Christ has filled. ‘Christian’, like ‘Pharisee’, is a mere label. Paul realized this. He was the brightest and best of the Pharisees, but realized they were missing the point: not us, but Him. It is not that all Pharisees were faith-less, but that as the expected religious leaders, faith was too often presupposed. Many followed Christ; many did not. Many Christians follow Christ; many do not. It is not that Christians are faith-less in missing the point, but as the religious leaders of our day, faith is often presupposed. But we mustn’t judge others, for first we must judge ourselves. We must, with God, condemn ourselves. We must then realize the love of God giving new life. Then we can judge others to bring them to repentance and then remind ourselves that we are the worst of failures apart from Christ. That drives the Christian. He knows not arrogance — for in that moment, he forgets himself, denies Christianity, and misses the point.

Epilogue

The passage referenced (Luke 18.9-14) is set in the context of emphasizing humility, and that seems to be its primary purpose. A ‘pharisee’ was not a bad person (and the story is only a hypothetical to prove a point, that’s what a parable is!) — in fact, they were the popular religious leaders of their day. They were the champions of the people, and all Jesus’ hearers would have respected them. In fact, they likely agreed with the Pharisee’s prayer: the Pharisees were more righteous. However, Jesus counters, even the most righteous must not be proud. He must be humble before God and man.

The tax collector’s prayer in the parable is ‘God, have mercy on me, a sinner.’ If you are not familiar with it, this is the ‘Jesus prayer’: a very popular prayer throughout Eastern christendom. It hasn’t the same popularity in the West — and perhaps the West is very much in need of it! A prayer which brilliantly summons the supplicant to humility. ‘Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.’ It is always worth saying again. ‘Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.’ We could always use a little more humility, so perhaps once more?