Don't Miss the Point - Sermon delivered via Skype at Northminster Presbyterian Church, Portland, OR

Luke 18:9-14 CEV
“Jesus told this story to some people who thought they were better than others and who looked down on everyone else: Two men went to the temple to pray. One was a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. The Pharisee stood by himself and prayed: ‘God, I thank you that I am not greedy, dishonest, or unfaithful in marriage like other people. And I am really glad I am not like the tax collector over there. I go without eating for two days a week, and I give you one-tenth of all I earn.’

The tax collector stood at a distance and did not think he was good enough even to look up to heaven. He was so sorry for what he’d done that he pounded his chest and prayed: ‘God, have pity on me! I am such a sinner.’

Then Jesus said, ‘When the two men went home, it was the tax collector and not the Pharisee who was pleasing to God. If you put yourself above others, you’ll be put down. But if you humble yourself, you will be honored.’” 

I have a new found respect for parables. One of the many cultural adjustments that I am having to make is trying to adapt to a much more direct form of communication. In my experience, Salvadorans tend to get right to the point and do not shy away from speaking exactly what is on their mind. Communication in Guatemala falls on the opposite end of the spectrum; almost overly courteous, fraught with subtleties and very indirect. Perhaps, after finally embracing the Guatemalan model this leap to the Salvadoran style at the other extreme is proving to be quite a challenge.

Stories that convey meaning indirectly through comparison or analogy feel accessible, even comfortable; easier to swallow. That’s probably why Jesus liked to use parables so much. However, as is sometimes the case with indirect forms of communication, parables leave the story open for misunderstanding, or simply missing the point. And today’s parable is a classic case.

First we meet the Pharisee. You might remember that Pharisee’s had quite the reputation back in the day. They were considered by many to be hypocrites, yet considered themselves to be the epitome of righteousness as meticulous followers of religious law. As part of society’s elite, the Pharisees enjoyed much wealth and many comforts; in other words, the means to comply with requisite Temple offerings and an abundance of blessings for which to give thanks. It is not surprising that we encounter the Pharisee, touting his commitment to fasting and tithing, from a standing position front and center, certain to draw attention to himself as he prayed.

The stereotypical teacher’s pet, the Rachel Barry character (for our Glee fanatics out there) we’re told, “stood apart by himself and prayed,” or some versions read, “stood up and prayed to himself.” This could mean prayed silently, but it would not seem out of character for the Pharisee to be praying not necessarily to God but rather to hear himself pray, Thank God I am not like all the other, lesser people. But how much easier must it be to fast two days a week when going hungry is not a familiar feeling, and how much more feasible is a ten% tithe when it doesn’t imply not being able to make rent? The text is kind of leading as to who is in the wrong in this story. Is that the point?

Well, let’s meet the other man who went up to the Temple to pray, a tax collector. Tax collectors, or publicans in that day and age, had a reputation of their own. Known to be greedy, corrupt and always willing to take advantage of hardworking tax payers in the interest of making a buck, a tax collector was a traitor (a fellow Jew working for Rome) and thus considered the lowest of the low in Jewish society. So one might expect the tax collector to slink into the Temple and take a place near the back, in an attempt to go unnoticed. By his posture and his prayer we can tell that he clearly feels unworthy, and is not proud of the life he lives. Pounding his chest, guilt-ridden and ashamed, he utters a plea that God might take pity on him.

Normally, the story would close with some ambiguous statement like, “go and do the same.” But in what would appear to be a very non-parable-like fashion, Jesus wraps it all up for us. “When the two men went home, it was the tax collector and not the Pharisee who was pleasing to God.” Well, okay then. That seems simple enough. So if I take the Facebook quiz, “Which parable character are you?” I should be hoping for tax collector. I mean, I’m not arrogant and pretentious like the Pharisee…thank God! That’s the point, right?

It’s easy to get caught up in the labels and assumptions that we have about such typecast characters as a Pharisee and a tax collector, and come to this story ready to judge one or both. What if we alter the cast? What if we write ourselves into the story? I bet if we are honest, each and every one of us at one time or another has prayed the Pharisee’s prayer, or something like it. Passing a car accident on the freeway we might think: Thank God, thank you that it wasn’t me. Upon hearing news of a catastrophe or natural disaster we might be tempted to say: Thank you God that my family was not involved. Without any bad intentions whatsoever, this is still just one step away from: Thank God it was them and not us. Or we come to God like the tax collector, embarrassed and broken and in desperate need of forgiveness, but with little if any intent to make a change; to live differently. Haven’t we still missed the point?

Thursday morning I sat in my office waiting for the appointment I had scheduled for 9 o’clock. I was waiting for the woman who had offered to help me in the process of soliciting temporary residency as a religious worker in the country. She had mentioned several times that she lived just four bus stops from the office, but yet it was pushing ten and there was still no sign of her. I was getting a little frustrated even though I know all about the umm…different concept of time and punctuality that is practiced in Latin America. I could feel my mood souring and I found myself thinking about how my office space is really less than adequate; the bird cage full of parakeets just outside the window next to me, some kind of invisible bugs that bite me unaware all day long, one bar of wireless internet signal if I’m lucky, and most nights it doubles as a living space for the woman with whom I share it. To top it off, the office is located near the entrance on the first level of the Lutheran Synod, so it is also an office that receives lots of visitors.

After getting a call that she had gotten tied up and was on her way (at ten minutes to ten) I began sorting through my documents, passport, birth certificate, criminal history clearance, letter from the church verifying my position and proof of financial support, etc. What a process! All this paperwork I had to prepare ahead of time and the certifications are not cheap. Just thinking about the estimated budget that the woman had sent me ahead of time was making my bad mood worse. How could the church be expected to pay over $700 to formalize my immigration status? Are we getting scammed? Could it possibly cost that much? And if so, what a waste of funds! Even in the short time that I have been here I have already seen firsthand endless ways that that money could make much more of a difference.

Now I was really upset, and in the middle of my argument with myself a gentleman came into the office with a folder in hand. He greeted both of us with a smile and a pleasant good morning, buenos dias, before starting a conversation with Pastora Cecilia, my officemate. I’ll admit I was relieved, I just wasn’t in the mood for small talk and my appointment would be arriving any minute, my mind was definitely elsewhere. Before I knew it, the visitor was standing at my desk introducing himself as Juan and spreading the contents of the folder over all my legal documents. Couldn’t he see that I was busy and that these were important papers that I couldn’t afford to mess up? If he only knew that this was a several hundred dollar process he was interrupting...

              ...I sat there mortified, completely speechless, as he began to share the details of how he and his family arrived as refugees to the Casa Concordia, a shelter run by the Lutheran Church. Juan, his wife, two daughters, 20 and 24, and their eight-year-old son fled Honduras after their older son was abducted and murdered in late July. Juan is a member of a workers’ union that has been speaking out against unfair treatment of skilled workers and a general unwillingness to hire tradesmen with decades of experience because young, inexperienced, engineering graduates will work for less. As if the murder of his son were not tragic enough, when his partner from the union was also found dead he knew for certain that he and his family were no longer safe.

He leaned over my desk and showed me the most recent photo of his son and the newspaper clippings with the story and picture of where his son’s body was found. He showed me the prescriptions for medicine and fortified baby formula for his eldest daughter and her new baby who have contracted hepatitis. The baby was born on October 8th at the home of a family member just this side of the Honduras/El Salvador border where Juan’s family slept on the dirt floor and was later asked to leave so as not to put the family member at risk. And he showed me his formal documents; a copy of his passport and the rumpled pages from the Department of Human Rights in Honduras validating their refugee status. He explained that as refugees they can stay at the Casa Concordia indefinitely, but the food basket they were given initially is quickly running out and food donations are not easy to come by. In order to work legally Juan would have to go through the immigration process to get the necessary permits and not only is it too expensive, but settling this close to Honduras his family would still be in danger. “The same gangs and hitmen operate here in El Salvador too,” he tells me. They are hoping to apply for asylum in Canada or Australia, but the process is long and tedious, and there are no guarantees.

When I could finally muster words I realized that in that moment all I could do for him was to offer him a seat and a glass of water, and just listen.

What could I possibly do faced with this situation? Should I stand up and say Thank God that I am fully prepared for the residency process? Thank you, God that I have resources enough to cover my needs. And thank God that if worse came to worst and things didn’t work out, I could always just pick up and go home. That would certainly be missing the point. So then should I throw up my hands and give in, obviously I'm not worthy to be serving in this capacity? Maybe pound my chest and ask to be shown mercy for failing to help. Not the point either.

Juan and family literally have nothing but the clothes on their backs, they are putting their faith in a process that may or may not pan out, and they can no longer return home, out of fear for their lives; for them worse has already come to worst. I spent the rest of the day, who am I kidding, the rest of the week really wrestling with the question, Where is God in all of this? And it dawned on me…THAT is the point.

God is in all of this, whether I can do anything about it or not! It’s not about me! It is not about what I can or can’t do! I am the Pharisee, proud and boastful. At times we all are. And I am the tax collector; I do fall short and need God’s mercy. We all do. But we miss the point when we focus on who is the better person, more righteous, or who can be more humble. This parable reminds us that we should focus on the generosity, love, mercy and mystery of God, and what God empowers us to do with God, even if sometimes that simply means listen. Amen.