A man received a promotion to the position of Vice President of the company he worked for. The promotion went to his head, and for weeks he bragged to anyone and everyone that he was now VP. His bragging came to an abrupt halt when his wife, so embarrassed by his behavior, said, “Listen, it’s not that big a deal. These days everyone’s a vice president. Why they even have a vice president of peas down at the supermarket!”
Somewhat deflated, he rang the local supermarket to find out if this was true. “Can I speak to the Vice President of peas, please?” he asked, to which the reply came: “of fresh or frozen?”
My favorite short story by Flannery O’Connor is entitled “Parker’s Back.” It tells of the unhappy marriage of a Georgian named Obadiah Elihue Parker. Obadiah’s most distinguishing feature was his tattoos. Nearly every inch of his body—except his back—was covered with multi-colored geometric designs, and this in a time when tats were not fashionable. Most women found Obadiah repulsive, but he finally met a girl who seemed willing to accept him, tattoos and all.
They married, and Obadiah discovered, to his dismay, that the girl, Sarah Ruth, was deeply religious—a Bible thumping fundamentalist—whose knowledge of the scriptures was as thorough as Obadiah’s acquaintance with four-letter words. It soon became clear that Sarah Ruth would not tolerate an unrepentant sinner under her roof. Obadiah had to choose between his life and his wife—and he didn’t want to let go of either one. He had two choices, both of them bad. So he decided on the one course of action he felt could save both. He had his back tattooed with a Byzantine image of Christ. This, he reasoned, would convince Sarah Ruth of his religiosity and leave him free to continue his mildly pagan way of living.
The strategy backfired. Sarah Ruth took one look at Parker’s back, screamed, “Idolatry!” and chased him out of the house with a broom. The story ends with Parker leaning against a tree outside, crying like a baby.
The tax collector in Jesus’ parable was in a similar no-win position. A tax collector in that day was shunned by all respectable people because he made his living by defrauding others.
This tax collector was in an impossible position. He obviously was sorry for what he had done, yet Jewish law demanded that if he truly was repentant, he must give up his job and pay back the money he had taken, with interest. Yet he couldn’t pay the money back without a job, and former tax collectors had a hard time finding respectable work. He couldn’t list his virtues in his prayer, for he had no virtues. All he could say was, “God be merciful to me, a sinner.”
The Pharisee, on the other hand, led a model life. Today he might seem like the model church member. Jewish law during the time Jesus walked the earth demanded that Jews tithe, that is, give ten per cent of all produce grown in the field. Yet this Pharisee called to God’s attention that he gave ten per cent of all that he earned. His attitude is similar to the Psalmist in Psalm 26: “Do me justice, O Lord, for I have walked in integrity.” The Pharisee’s prayer also gives thanks that he is not like other men, “especially this tax collector.”
Hearing this teaching for the first time, Jesus’ followers must have thought that he would lift up the Pharisee as the prime example of a model disciple. Yet he said that it was the tax collector who was justified by God, not the Pharisee. The Pharisee was guilty of the sin of pride. Pride is a cancer that seeps into our lives without our realizing it. C.S. Lewis says that there is a test which can indicate to us whether or not we are proud. “Whenever we find that our religious life is making us feel that we are good—above all, that we are better than someone else—we may be sure that we are being acted on, not by God, but by the devil.”
There’s a little of the Pharisee and the tax collector in each of us. There’s a part of us that wants always to put our best foot forward before God and other people; a part of us that wants others to know that we always think right things, and do what is virtuous. There is a part of us, like Obadiah Elihue Parker’s wife, that pretends to know more and be better than anyone else, sometimes even forcing its will on others because of its obvious superiority.
And then there’s that part of us that knows, deep down, that things aren’t really what we would like for them to be, that knows there is no act, no matter how good and virtuous it seems, that doesn’t have some stain of selfishness in it, that in the light of God’s goodness, we can only fall to our knees and pray, “God be merciful to me, a sinner.”
For most, if not all, people, we don’t really understand and live the Christian faith until we have experienced real failure, until we’ve had our hearts broken, until we literally have been brought to our knees. It’s then that we may understand that we can’t save ourselves, that there is only One who can save us, and that One is our Lord Jesus Christ.
It’s that time, or those times, that can bring salvation. It’s when we express our need, not our fullness, that we encounter God, for God is present to the needy. It’s when we acknowledge our emptiness that God can fill us. It’s when we die to ourselves that God can bring us to eternal life.
Sermon preached by the Very Rev’d Fredrick A. Robinson
The Church of the Redeemer
Sarasota, Florida
The Twenty Third Sunday after Pentecost
23 October 2016