A contemporary spiritual master, the Indian Jesuit Anthony de Mello, once told the following story: “A notorious sinner was excommunicated and forbidden from entering the Church.  He went to God to complain: "Lord, they won't let me into the Church, because I'm a sinner."  The Lord replied, "I know how you feel.  They won't let me in either!"

Yes, wouldn't the Church be a wonderful place ... if we could just get rid of all the sinners!   We could finally escape from all the messiness associated with human sinfulness and imperfection.  The Church could be like an exclusive country club or high-end private school, with high standards for admission to keep out the riff-raff: a gathering-place for the spiritual elite.

It sounds great, doesn't it?  Only one small problem, though.  We wouldn't be the Church any longer.  Rather, we would be a group of people remarkably like the Pharisee in today's Gospel: smug, self-satisfied people who mistakenly think that we have it all together; so convinced of our utter perfection, that pretty soon, we could dispense with God altogether.  This might qualify as a country club or mutual admiration society perhaps, but not as the Church of Christ.   Certainly, it would not be a Church where Jesus could feel at home.  Jesus, who came to call not the righteous, but sinners;  Jesus, who consistently refused to distinguish between Jew and Gentile, woman and man, rich and poor, righteous or sinner.  Jesus, who mingled and associated and ate and bonded with all people, giving special and preferential attention to those who were most abandoned and despised.  And come to think of it - what kind of Church is worth having, if Jesus himself wouldn't be caught dead in it?

Today's parable of the Pharisee and the tax collector has typically been seen as a reminder of the importance of humility.  Now it is that, but it is so much more. Like Samaritans, tax collectors were among the most despised people in Jewish society.  Why is this?  Tax collectors, as you can well imagine, have never been the most popular people to begin with.  Who likes taxes?

But at least our taxes go to legitimately elected governments, and go to pay for services we actually receive and benefit from.  (Well, maybe not road repairs, but I digress …)  But even if we feel overtaxed at times, at least there are some ground rules we can count on, some structures of accountability. 

At the time of Jesus, tax collectors were regarded as traitors who exploited their own people, collaborating with a corrupt empire, lining their own pockets.  They were not relatively honest bureaucrats with set salaries.  They were expected to pay the civil authorities a set amount, and their profit depended on how much more they could squeeze out of the local populace.  It isn't surprising, therefore, that we often see them linked with prostitutes in the Gospel.  Respectable people didn't hang out with tax collectors, far less eat with them or go to their houses.  (This will happen next Sunday, when Jesus meets Zacchaeus, so stay tuned!) 

Why is Jesus praising a dishonest low-life, and criticizing good, respectable, law-abiding, religious people?  What was he trying to prove?  In this parable, Jesus raises questions which go to the very heart of our self-image, our vision of God and of neighbour.  Who is the God I claim to love and serve?  How does God see me?  And especially in this parable: How do I see myself before God?    Do I stand alone, all by myself, enumerating my many accomplishments? Or do I stand in solidarity with all my brothers and sisters, whose fate is somehow linked with my own? 

I think we make a mistake if we read this story solely as a condemnation of hypocrisy and self-righteousness.  It is this, but it is far more than this.  The danger is that we begin to judge those whom we deem the "Pharisees", the hypocrites,  whether in society or in the  Church. (In passing, I like to remind people that Christians don’t have a monopoly on hypocrisy: quite as many hypocrites are found outside the Church as inside. So there’s always room for one more!)  It's easy to point the finger, but if we are not careful, we fall into the very trap that Jesus condemns: categorizing people as "good" or "bad".  And isn’t it easier to examine someone else's conscience, rather than my own? 

So what is the real difference between the Pharisee and the tax collector? I would suggest that it is not that one is righteous and that the other is a sinner.  Both, in fact, are sinners.  The difference lies at the level of their ability to accept who they are before God.  The tax collector is a sinner, but at least he knows it.  He has stolen, he has cheated, and he has experienced the consequence of his sinfulness: he is hated and excluded.  He is in touch with his need for God.  His prayer comes from a heart open to being challenged and transformed by God's love and forgiveness. 

He wears no masks; aware of his unworthiness, he has no choice but to trust in God's mercy.  God hears the sincere, inarticulate prayer of his heart.  In fact, it became the basis for the Jesus Prayer, one of the most universal prayers in the Christian tradition, made famous in the Russian Orthodox classic, The Way of the Pilgrim:"Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner."

What about the Pharisee?  Pharisees were not all hypocrites, nor were they universally hated. Most were perceived as honest, respectable, responsible, and  law-abiding citizens.  The problem isn't in his actions, but rather his attitude.  His prayer has little to do with God; it is "I this and I that", a litany of his own accomplishments.  No real need for God is expressed; rather, God is conveniently there to witness all his own good deeds, and particularly his moral superiority over the scummy tax collector standing over there.  How surprised would he be to learn of a God who values love more than obedience to law, honesty over posturing, humility over greatness.  A God whose only desire is that we open our hearts to the transforming power of love and mercy, of compassion and community.  The God Jesus came to reveal and embody.

Perhaps the Pharisee's greatest sin is his denial of fundamental human solidarity.  Reading over the parable, what is most disturbing is his claim: "God, I thank you that I am not like other people."  The Pharisee feels no solidarity with the rest of sinful, suffering humanity.  He lives in splendid isolation, a pillar of virtue in a world of sin.  Or so he thinks.  But this is where his prayer is deeply mistaken.  Because ultimately, we are like other people.  Indeed, “all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God.” Yet at the same time, each one of us, no matter our faults or weaknesses, has been caught up by the abundant mercy and transforming love of our God. 

We look at our global situation, our wars and conflicts, our polarized politics and separated churches, and the divisions seem to run deep.  But do we dare to dream what our world might be like if we started building not on what divides us from other people – language, culture, nationality, religious beliefs, political opinions – but on what we share in common: our fundamental human dignity as God's beloved children?   What kind of world might it be if each one of us began our day by praying: "God, I thank you that I AM like other people?"   What might such a prayer sound like?  Maybe something like this:

“God, I thank you that I am not alone.  I thank you that like so many others, I can taste the simple joys of life: the beauty of creation, the exhilaration of falling in love, the satisfaction of meaningful work, the company of good friends, the love of my family.  I recognize that like so many others, I too struggle to find my way in life, to become the person you are calling me to be,  and that I often fail in my strivings.  But in the midst of all this, Lord, you continue to call me to strive for goodness and beauty and meaning and truth.  Thank you for being patient with my slowness, my stubbornness, my sinfulness, for your liberating forgiveness of my many failings.  Thank you for making me like other people; help me to see myself, to see you in all the events, in each person you place on my path.  I thank you that I am not alone.”

May this be our prayer as we come forward, open to the transformation and growth that God wants to work in us: receiving that which we already are, and what we want to become even more: the Body of Christ.