I must tell you about my journey back from London last Tuesday. I arrived at O’Hare airport around lunchtime and was standing in the queue at the security gate to catch my connecting flight to Grand Rapids when a baggage handler rushed over to me with my luggage and said that it had been incorrectly sent to the Alaska Airlines desk rather than American Airlines. I was fairly pleased that he’d discovered this. Breakfast in London, lunch in Chicago, dinner in Fremont, luggage in Anchorage. And to make up for the inconvenience he said I could join the 1st Class line at the security gate, which I gratefully did. Now in front of me in this queue was a group of what I call ‘golf bores’. Three business executives who talked very loudly about their successes on the golf course. How they shot 83 at one course, and 79 at another. And all the while they were bragging about their golf they were looking round to make sure we were all listening and admiring their brilliance. And then I heard from behind me the frenetic skipping of feet and the excited voice of an Australian wishing people a safe flight. I turned to see a small bespectacled man trotting along the line smiling at everyone and assuring them of his best wishes for their journeys. He had the demeanor of a child – he was overflowing with the wonder of his trip, a heartfelt generosity to those around him, and a freedom from the cynicism of the jaded travellers in that queue. He possessed an innocence that was clearly borne of a psychological illness or disability, and yet I couldn’t help but think that there was no purer or more beautiful soul in that entire airport.
When he reached me I smiled at him and told him I hoped he had a good flight too. And he trotted on and through the security gate. When I reached the other side, and was putting my shoes back on he approached me again and said, “Piano. Piano. I’m going to play the piano in Kansas City. What a joy. The piano.” I wished him a good concert and carried on tying my shoelaces. And then a memory entered my head. I remembered seeing a film a few years ago called ‘Shine’. It was about an Australian boy who was a musical prodigy and was destined for greatness as a concert pianist. But one day while giving a performance he suffered a psychotic break and his career appeared to be over before it had even really begun. The film told his moving story as the man, still severely emotionally sick, continued to play the piano, using every ounce of the extraordinary gift God had blessed him with. I remembered that the man’s name was David Helfgott, and he was played by the Australian actor Geoffrey Rush. And his mannerisms and behaviour were exactly what I was observing in this wondrous and wonderful man. And I thought, “Australian, pianist …”. And I asked the person next to me “Is that David Helfgott?” And she said, “Who?” So I did something very unBritish - very American – you would have been proud of me. I went over to him and asked, “Is it David?” And he said, “Yes, David, David, I’m David. That’s right, David.” And he put out his hand. And I took it – this hand that can do things that almost no other hand on earth can do. I touched fingers that have been touched by God. And then he said, “Are you Australian?” And I said, “No, I’m English.” And he said, “English. English. Tea. Tea. Let’s have tea. Let’s have tea.” And then his wife, who was clearly exhibiting the stresses of flying from Australia to Kansas City whisked him away to get his next flight. And I thought ‘what a contrast’. The arrogance of the golf bores – so sure of themselves, so successful in their careers and their hobbies, so much going for them, so much pride in their achievements; and then the humility and childlikeness of a man that everyone else in the airport that day would have written off as disabled and needy, and smiled at him pitifully. And yet within that humble man soars the spirit of greatness.
The golf bores and the musical genius. Jesus told a parable very similar to my experience on Tuesday. The Pharisee and the tax collector. We read it just now. The Pharisee goes to the Temple to pray. Now, as soon as we read that we think we know what’s coming. We’ve read the gospels, we’ve heard hundreds of sermons, and we know that the Pharisees are bad. They are self-righteous, arrogant judgmentalists who opposed the ministry of Jesus and tried to have him killed. And we hear that one of them is in this story and we eagerly await the end because we know that this Pharisee is going to get his comeuppance. But, I want you to try to forget what you know about Pharisees, and try to think your way into the minds of the people who were listening to Jesus that day when he told this parable. Because in that time and place Pharisees were not the symbols of self-righteousness and pomposity that they are to us. No, they were good people. They were honest, moral, dedicated and sacrificial leaders of the community. They prayed lots, and they did it correctly, standing with arms raised and head lifted upwards, just like in the parable. They gave more than the law required them to - they tithed their income and also everything they had. The Pharisees were philanthropists. So it’s quite likely when Jesus was telling this parable the people had some respectful feelings towards this Pharisee. But they were in for a shock.
As he stands there, hands raised and head tilted he gives thanks to God. Never a bad thing. Except that what he gives thanks for is the fact that God made him holy and righteous and moral and decent. “Thank you God that I’m like that, and not a moral delinquent, a sinner. In fact, God, thank you that you didn’t make me like that tax collector over there.”
Now again, forget our images of tax collectors. This man was not working for the IRS. Biblical tax collectors were not regular citizens who just happened to push pens and operate calculators for a living. (You might think that IRS workers are not regular citizens either, but mutant creatures from the underworld who exist to persecute and torment the sons and daughters of men. And if you do think that I take your point.) But tax collectors in New Testament times really were like something out of Tolkien. Just remind yourself what the political situation was like. Israel was an occupied country. The imperialist power was Rome, and Rome charged a tax to all residents. It was a flat-rate tax and didn’t vary according to a person’s ability to pay. So it was unpopular and unfair because those with little or no income were charged exactly the same as the wealthy. There was another reason why the tax was unpopular, and that is what it was used for. It didn’t go to provide essential public services like schools, roads, libraries and so on. No, this tax went to pay for the upkeep of the occupying Roman forces. It paid the wages of the Roman soldier who stood on the street corner and humiliated the local people. So this tax was understandably despised. Now here’s the point. The Romans had a bit of savvy about them. You don’t get to conquer half the world without having something up here. And instead of collecting the taxes themselves and risk civil unrest they paid local Jews to collect it. So let get this straight in our minds: the tax collector was not only charging this unfair and despicable tax which kept the people subject to a tyrannical emperor, he was also a collaborator. He was betraying his own people. And even worse than that the tax collectors were allowed by Rome to charge a little bit extra to ‘cover their expenses’.
So, going back to the parable, if you’re sitting listening to Jesus you think: ‘Pharisee good guy, tax collector scum.’ And you have some sympathy with the Pharisee when he prays, “God thank you that I’m not like him.”
Now the tax collector prays. And he doesn’t stride up to the place of prayer with the arrogance of the Pharisee. Instead he stands a long way back. You can imagine him slinking in slowly, nervously, with his head to the ground. He doesn’t raise his eyes to God or hold his hands up, instead he beats his chest and prays, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.” And here’s the sting in the scorpion’s tale. It was this man, says Jesus, who went home right before God. “For all who exalt themselves will be humbled, and all who humble themselves will be exalted.” Just another example of the topsy-turvy world of Jesus, where the last will be first, the first last, where the poor are blessed, where the rich are in danger, where the hungry are full-up, where those who love their lives will lose them, and where those who give up their lives find them. The upside-down Kingdom of God, or is it the kingdom of this world that is actually upside-down and Jesus is merely turning it the right way up?
On November 21 1916 the last Habsburg emperor died. His name was Franz-Josef I. A few days later all the pomp and pageantry of one of the finest empires Europe had ever known was displayed for the last time. The extravagant ritual finished with the emperor’s coffin being processed through the streets to the church of the Capuchin monks, where heads of state are traditionally buried. When the procession reached the doors of the church, a member of the funeral party cried “Open!” and from inside the abbot called back “Who are you? Who asks to enter?”
The reply came back, “We bear the remains of His Imperial & Royal Highness, Franz Josef I, by the Grace of God Emperor of Austria; King of Hungary and Bohemia; King of Lombardy and Venice; King of Jerusalem; Archduke of Austria; Grand Duke of Tuscany; Duke of Salzburg; Grand Prince of Transylvania; Margrave of Moravia; Duke of Silesia; Princely Count of Habsburg; Count of Sonnenberg; Lord of Trieste; President of The German Confederation; and on listing some 40 of his titles.”
The abbot responded, “We know him not. Who goes there?”
This time the voice in the funeral procession gave a much shorter list of the emperor’s titles. But again the reply came: “We know him not. Who goes there?”
Finally, the spokesman answered, “We bear the body of Franz Josef, our brother, a sinner like us all.” And at that moment, the doors of the abbey swung open and the abbot called out “You may enter!”
The humility of the tax collector is in pretty short supply in our world. In fact, humble people are an endangered species. Someone should start an appeal to save humble people before they go the way of dodos and woolly mammoths. I have to make a confession to you now. In the original draft of this sermon at this point I wrote a paragraph exposing what I see as the leading exponents of pharisaical self-promotion. I wrote about the self-promotion of TV networks bombarding us with trailers for their shows, the self-promotion of politicians seeking election next week, and the self-promotion of celebrities all over the media. And I felt good that I’d brought in some relevant social critique and some godly prophetic revelation about this Pharisaical culture we live in. And then I stopped and highlighted the paragraph and hit delete. Because it occurred to me that if I preached that I’d be committing the same sin that I was denouncing them for. I would be the Pharisee in this story. I would be praying, “Thank you God that I’m not like them – those power-hungry politicians, those greedy broadcasters, those scandalous celebrities. Thank you that I’m better than them.” Do you see what I mean? And I thought, “No. I don’t want to be the Pharisee thanking God that I’m not like those terrible sinners.” I think I want to stand before God arm in arm with the tax collector. He’s the hero. He’s the one who refuses to look at those around him and consider himself better than them. He’s the one who looks simply at himself and says, “God have mercy on me, a sinner.” You see, when I look at other people and look down on their behaviour or criticize their spirituality, or disapprove of their lifestyles I’m standing shoulder to shoulder with the Pharisee. When I look at another church and declare them to be too this or too that then I’m the Pharisee. When I despair at what young people are doing or saying or wearing or listening to then I’m the Pharisee. Even when I stand in judgment of those golf bores I’m the Pharisee. And I don’t want to be him. Really I want to be the tax-collector because it was the tax collector who went home right with God. Don’t you want that too? God help us in our struggle to live like that.
The Pharisee’s big problem was he could not see his own need of God. Ironically, he was actually correct in what he says in his prayer – he did observe all those religious duties, and outwardly at least, he was more decent and religious than the tax collector. This was the truth. The problem is that it wasn’t the whole truth. But he was so focused on comparing himself with other people that he failed to compare himself with the only true measure of holiness, God. And the message for us is this: let us not look around us and judge how holy we are compared with other people. If you think you’re pretty hot stuff spiritually, then look at Christ and the life of perfect compassion and purity and holiness that he lived, and compare yourself with him. If we do then our prayer can only be the one of the tax collector. “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.”
