October 26, 2025

Sermon Transcript

Jesus told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous, and regarded others with contempt. (Luke 18:9)

On a beautiful Saturday morning, only a few weeks ago, I decided that a bike ride would be just the thing to do. I didn’t have all day, so I set out along the Hudson River bike path, north to the George Washington Bridge. There and back would be about twenty miles, and I’d be home in time for lunch. Along the way, I’d be pedaling past an aircraft carrier, three massive cruise ships, through a dense canopy of green, and finally standing beneath one of the world’s great, historic suspension bridges. Where else but New York City?

Bike riding in this town, however, can’t be merely about the views. These days you need to be ready for the perilous traffic you will face, even along the bike path. E-bikes and scooters come at you and past you at alarming speeds. Also, and I say this nonjudgmentally, pedestrians, joggers, and dog-walkers ought to stay on the designated foot paths and keep off the bike lanes. Case in point, the jogger who was coming straight at me shortly into the return leg of my journey. We were about fifty yards apart, along a stretch of the path that narrows due to a wall on one side, and a street on the other. The jogger held up his arms, as if to say, “What are you doing? You’re about to hit me.” Very much annoyed, I held up my arms, as if to say, “What are you doing on the bike path?” Closer and closer we came, both of us trusting in ourselves that we were righteous, and regarding the other with contempt.

The critical moment arrived. Fortunately, seeing no uptown traffic to my left, I veered completely clear of the jogger. We did not so much as brush each other. But in the brief instant of our passing, words were exchanged. Unpleasant words, and my confession to you is that I participated fully in the discussion. A discussion is literally what it was. Do you know the etymology of the word, discussion? It comes from the Latin, “discutere,” meaning to strike down, to shatter, to smash. Discuss is where we get the word “cuss.” So yes, a brief discussion is what we had. As I pedaled on, I was glad to be under the cloak of a bike helmet and sunglasses. I would not want anyone recognizing the Rector of Grace Church having a discussion that was neither meet, nor right, nor a good and joyful thing.

In today’s reading from the Gospel of Luke, we’ve heard how Jesus told a parable to those who trusted in themselves that they were righteous, and regarded others with contempt. Two men went up to the Jerusalem Temple to pray. Presumably, they went for the same reason that brings all of us here today. They were hoping to address what is a basic human desire: to transcend the limits of our finite, mortal existence. They were yearning to glimpse something beyond the harsh reality of the material world, and even experience the presence of God.

The first man was a Pharisee. Those of you who have read the Bible and listened to a sermon or two instinctively will want to boo and hiss when you hear the word Pharisee. Two-thousand years of sermons have criticized the Pharisees because Jesus frequently tussled with them. We assume the Pharisees were buttoned-up, conservative bureaucrats who practiced the fine art of controlling people under the cloak of religiosity. We imagine that they knew nothing of true spirituality. But in fact, most people regarded the Pharisees as good, respectable men, deeply committed to living the Law of Moses. They worked laboriously to keep the faith, to fight the good fight with all their might, to finish the race, and properly obey all the road signs. As such they represented the epitome of Judaism.

So it is that the Pharisee in today’s parable went to the Temple and prayed his well-known prayer. He thanked God that he wasn’t like other people – especially not like the tax collector over there, who was undoubtedly racing through life in all the wrong directions. The Pharisee gave thanks that he was not a thief, not a rogue, not an adulterer. He fasted twice a week. Then hear this: he tithed. He gave ten-percent of his income, right off the top, to the Temple. We are one week away from Pledge Sunday, and let me tell you: any priest overhearing the Pharisee’s prayer would have been happy to receive a pledge card from this one.

The second man was a tax collector. We, today, who hear the parable, immediately sympathize with this humble man, sobbing in a corner of the Temple, not even lifting his eyes to pray. God has a preference for such downtrodden people, and a penchant for lifting up the lowly. But the tax collector doesn’t fit the stereotype. You see, in the time and place of Jesus, tax collectors were especially vile characters. A drug lord might be a modern-day equivalent. Tax collectors worked for the Romans who occupied the land. The Jews hated paying taxes to the foreign infidel, and thus they considered those who collected the taxes to be contemptible collaborators with the enemy. They were traitors. Most tax collectors fully deserved their reputation. They were corrupt in their dealings, and lined their pockets by cheating their own people. Tax collectors normally would never go to the Temple to pray. But some crisis of the soul brought this one into the house of God, where he stood off by himself and uttered his one-line prayer: “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.”

What happens? Most likely, you and I have heard the parable so many times that the surprise ending is no longer a surprise. The morally reprehensible tax collector went home justified, not the Pharisee. Understand that the first people to hear Jesus’ parable would have been outraged. Think George Santos walking out of prison. It’s an outrage. Grace is not fair. Frankly, we would like a video review of the call on the field.

Those of you who follow sports know that the games are changing. Increasingly, coaches can request a video review of a play if they don’t like the official’s call. Sometimes the ruling on the field stands. Yes, the runner beat the throw. The receiver did indeed put both feet down in the end zone before going out of bounds. Other times the ruling of the field is overturned. No, the runner did not beat the tag. The receiver did not have possession before going down, meaning the pass was incomplete. Next spring Major League Baseball will allow every ball and strike to be reviewed. It used to be that you had three teams on the field, the third being the umpires or referees, all of whom were capable of committing human errors. Not so anymore. Likewise, we would like to call for a video review of the judgement in this parable. The tax collector should not be safe. He’s out! The Pharisee not only caught the ball, but took meticulous care to make sure his feet were in bounds. Touchdown! The Pharisee should win. The video review will overturn the ruling on the field. It’s an injustice to call it any other way.

So let’s have a review of the two prayers we’ve heard – if not a video review, then at least an audio review. The tax collector’s prayer was a pure confession of personal and spiritual failure: God, have mercy on me, a sinner. The tax collector reminds me of the mariners in Shakespeare’s, The Tempest. When they realize (Act I, Scene 1) they can do nothing to save their ship, they cry, “All lost! To prayers, to prayers! All lost!” Something we never want to admit is “All lost,” but ultimately it is the truth. We have no power of ourselves to save ourselves. Only God can rescue us from this body of death. At least the tax collector admits it. The Pharisee would never pray such words. If the tax collector’s prayer was a confession of sin, the Pharisee’s prayer was a denial of sin. “O God, I trust in myself that I am righteous. Thanks for the Commandments, God. I’ve got it from here. This other one coming towards me clearly does not. He is in the wrong, and therefore I can regard him with contempt, or at best, condescending pity. Life must be tough for him. Bless his heart.”

Henry Louis Mencken, or, H.L. Mencken as he signed his name, was an author, satirist, and social critic throughout the first half of the 20th century. He wrote scathing reviews of politics, religion, and race. He died in 1956, and nearly seventy years after his death, the literary world is still debating whether or not he was a nice person. It seems to me that if your niceness, or goodness, or righteousness is still an open question seven decades after your death, the latter is probably the case. You were not a nice person. That being said, H.L. Mencken did have one practice that is commendable to us in our day. As a critic of just about everything, Mencken received letters – lots and lots of letters, most of them hateful and disagreeable. Remarkably, he would reply personally to each and every one of them. Not with debate or even worse, discussion. Rather, his standard reply to every letter was, “Dear Sir (or Dear Madam, as the case might be), You may be right. Sincerely, H.L. Mencken.” That was it: Dear Sir or Madam: You may be right.

On the one hand, Mencken’s standard reply may be dismissive. He could reply truthfully to every letter without reading a single one of them. On the other hand, it may be disarming, brilliant, and full of grace. One might even take it as a positive phrasing of the tax collector’s prayer. If you could be right, then I could be wrong. If I could be wrong, then God, have mercy on me, a sinner. Recently, I received a mystery gift in my church mailbox: a book entitled, Powerful Prayers for Supernatural Results. The book promises to “bring a new power and vitality to your prayer life.” It includes chapters about various Biblical figures, and how they prayed. Guess who does not get a chapter. The tax collector. The one whose prayer sent him home justified does not get a chapter. He receives not even a mention. It seems to me that his was a pretty powerful prayer that brought supernatural results, but not according to the standards of success that we want. We don’t want to admit that under our own steam all is lost.

The Pharisee would never think of praying the tax collector’s prayer because he was too caught up in the game of being supernaturally successful. But if he did pray the tax collector’s prayer, he could end his self-deception. He could learn to forgive himself, and others. He could begin to have life, and have it abundantly. He could learn that righteousness before God requires us to be loving, more so than technically right. You, not I, may be right. God have mercy on me, a sinner.

And us? If we could pray the tax collector’s prayer and really mean it, we too could know such blessings. We could open the door for the grace of God, and experience God’s love as if for the first time. We could understand why Jesus is not just our pattern and example, who demands that we be good. He is also our Lord and Savior who alone can fix what we cannot, and open for us the gates of everlasting life.

So here I need to add a final note about my bike ride. After my brief discussion with the jogger, I pedaled onward, trusting in my own righteousness. You know me: Mr. Sunshine, walking as a child of the light. It would be too much to say that I regarded the jogger with contempt, but I was thinking, “Wow, that guy is going to get someone killed.” Not much later I noticed some traffic directions clearly painted in the pavement. What was this? Three lanes, and not two? An uptown lane, a downtown lane, and a pedestrian lane. Whoopsie-daisy! How much better it would have been if I had approached the jogger with Mencken’s mindset: you may be right. The jogger was right. I was absolutely, completely, profoundly, ridiculously, one-hundred percent in the wrong. I was the one who was going to get someone killed. God, have mercy on me, a sinner.

There, I said it. It feels good to say it. You might try saying it this week to the people who come at you. You may be right. I may be wrong. God, have mercy on me, a sinner. If you take seriously your hunger for God, and your need to experience the presence of God, it may be the most important thing you ever say.