October 25, 1998
Psalm. 65
Luke 18:9-14

Did you notice? We do not know who Jesus was talking to. No particular group is identified. We do not know if they were young or old, whether they were politicians or farmers or storekeepers, whether they were men or women or both. All we know is that "they trusted in themselves that they were righteous and regarded others with contempt." In fact, by not identifying the audience, Luke leaves open the possibility that the reader may know somebody who considers themselves righteous and regards others with contempt. The reader or hearer of the story may even be rather close to someone like this (we may know family members or colleagues who fit this description and we think, "They should hear this story. It might do them some good"). Perhaps Luke does not identify the audience because, in the end, we may be very, very close to the one who trusts in one's own righteousness and regards others with contempt. Very close indeed.

The two main characters are rather uninspiring men, the Pharisee and the tax collector. Usually when a Pharisee walks on the stage of scripture our internal crowd hisses and boos. We have basketfulls of pejorative qualities to heap upon the Pharisee's head: legalist, rigid, oppressive in their attention to the letter rather than the spirit of the law. And while a general truth often lies at the heart of a stereotype, we must pause before regarding the Pharisee with quick contempt and remember that the Pharisees were considered to be "the best and the brightest" of their day. They were educated and completely given to living a good, Jewish life. They strove to be holy. To be holy meant to be pure, and to ensure they were pure they followed the commandments, not only the ten commandments, that would be simple, but the 613 commandments found mostly in Leviticus and Deuteronomy. The commandments helped them understand the holiness of their everyday life. For example, they taught that, like the altar in the temple, the dining room table at home was sacred. To be a Pharisee was an effort in righteousness.

The other character is the tax collector. Audible boos and hisses for the tax collector. But if bad experiences with the IRS come to mind, that's not the half of it. The tax collector of 1^st century Palestine was usually a Jew who worked for the Romans, the despised occupying force. It would be as though the United States was invaded and conquered by China. Our laws became the laws of China, our money a Chinese currency, our streets policed by the Chinese military who were not held accountable for stealing, killing or raping. The tax collector was not just some poor IRS bureaucrat for whom we want to say, "Get a life!" The tax collector was a guy who came knocking on your door and collected a crushing tax and you know that some of that tax is going to make his monthly BMW payments and the rest of the tax is going to support the oppressing forces. This is not just a bureaucrat doing his job, this is a scoundrel.

And in this story it is not the doctor from Harvard but the traitor and extortionist who receives the grace of God.

The way in which they pray makes all the difference, not so much what they say as the attitude behind the words. The words of the Pharisee may sound arrogant to ears trained to hear the story that way… "I am so glad not to be like a thief, a rogue, an adulterer or even like this tax collector…" But the original hearers would not have been appalled by this kind of prayer. Even the converted Pharisee, Paul, boasted of his piety and observance of the law in contrast with others. It was an acceptable prayer.

Undoubtedly, we know this kind of prayer in ourselves. It is a prayer that rises from comparison, and comparison with somebody that we usually think is less than. Who would it be for you? For me, after listening to a conservative Christian speak the other day against homosexuality, and after hearing the judgment and the fear and the harm coming from his mouth in the name of Christ, I was grateful to God not to be like him. After hearing of the damning situation to which President Clinton has lowered himself, I have been grateful not to be like him. It is fairly easy for my mind to instantly make comparisons with other people and give thanks that I don't embody their worst qualities.

However, like playing near a cliff, the danger is one of slipping over the edge. Comparison soon leads to self-congratulation: "I am not like that." "I don't do that." "I don't look like that." The Pharisee's prayer is filled with "I"; "I thank," I am not like the others," "I fast," "I tithe" from what "I possess." Comparison can quietly and inadvertently lead to spiritual smugness so that we trust in ourselves more than we trust in God.

And here is where the tax collector breaks through. There is no "I" in his prayer, neither is there a long verbal parade of his wrongdoing, but simply, "God, be merciful to me, a sinner!" The villian becomes the example of faith because he is willing to cast himself before the mercy of God.

The story begins with a setting: Both the Pharisee and the tax collector went up to the temple to pray. This may seem insignificant that two people went to the temple to pray, or that one is a Pharisee; shocking is the presence of the tax collector. This was one of the occupations forbidden to Jews. Tax collectors were ritually impure because of their contact with Gentiles, besides being generally dishonest and mistrusted. That both the Pharisee and tax collector would be standing on the temple ground underscores that they are standing on holy ground, on God's ground, and will be judged not by the ways of humanity but by the ways of God.

That the Pharisee offers a prayer of self-conceit while standing on holy ground highlights that this man did not get it. To be in the presence of God, of the holy, and to pull out from one's hip pocket a list declaring one's own self-righteousness is verification of spiritual ignorance. To be in the presence of the holy might inspire terror, awe, wonder, but not self-conceit. It is impossible to be face-to-face with the divine and be "I-filled."

Some of you will remember the comic strip Calvin and Hobbes. One piece showed the young boy, Calvin, walking to the top of a hill under a night sky brilliant with stars. Calvin opens his mouth, which reaches to his knees, and shouts, "I AM SIGNIFICANT!" Another caption shows him simply looking at the vast heavens. And in the final caption he adds, "Says the dust speck."

Both the Pharisee and the tax collector stand on holy ground, in the presence of God; the difference is that one is aware of where he stands and the other isn't. One is still screeching a prayer to heaven, "I am pure; I am righteous; I am not like the others; I am significant!" And the other has looked into the vastness of a holy reality and realized the dust speck quality of life. And that we should matter, and do matter, in the immensity of this universe is wonderful, amazing and humbling. It is enough to reform the tax collector into an example of faith.

Today is Reformation Sunday, a remembrance of the birth of the Protestant Church. Drew Metcalf, a member of FCCB, will tell you about a friend of his who is a Catholic nun. When she discovered he was Protestant she reached over the dinner table, gently patted his hand and said, "My dear, what is it you are protesting?"

Well, in the 16^th century there was plenty to protest - in short, the corruption of money, power and sex within every level of the Church. When Luther, Calvin and Zwingli protested, a new element of the Spirit of God broke forth that had never existed in the organized church. For one, people were allowed to read the scriptures themselves. Whereas before the priest was the one to read and interpret the scriptures for the uneducated public, the Protestant Reformation shattered that practice and said to the hungering faithful, "You can read this. It is holy, it is difficult, but it is for you.

The Protestant Reformation not only put the scriptures into the hands of the laity, it, in effect, put God right in the people's lap. To proclaim a priesthood of all believers is to say there is no need for a priest to be a mediary between Christ and an individual. The laity moved from listening in on a telephone conversation between a priest and God to being able to dial the number themselves. Each of us has direct access to God. The Protestant Reformation was the most dramatic empowerment policy ever initiated in the history of the Christian Church.

Ironically, while a theoretical access to God was being put in the lap of the people, a practical access to the holy was dropped away. In protest of a corrupt, overbearing Catholic Church, the developing Protestant practice focused entirely on the word of God.

But other avenues to God, so critical in our practical access to the sacred, were snipped off. In contrast to the great, ornate cathedrals, Protestant churches celebrated simplicity. One's attention was not to be distracted by gorgeous windows or vaulted ceilings, but focused entirely on the word of God. No statues, sculptures, paintings or icons were to grace the church, for these also would distract one's attention from heavenly to earthly beauty. Zwingli went so far as to remove music from the service. And contemplative practices were heavily discouraged as they too much resembled the monastic culture. In short, if the most strict versions of the early Protestant church were represented here today, there would be no stained glass window, no organ, Larry would be out of a job since there would be no music, Phil would be out of a job since there would be no art, and there would be no Taize service, no meditation groups and certainly no Durant House since there would be no contemplative practices.

The Protestant Church gave us an incredible gift: the right of each person to read and struggle with the scriptures and the understanding that each of us has access to God. We also lost much in the effort to clearly define the Protestant Church over against the Catholic Church. The relationship was not unlike a teenager rebelling against his or her parents. In an effort to learn and create one's own sense of identity, the adolescent pushes the parents away in various acts of rebellion as if to say, "I am not you." Sometimes, very good qualities the parents offer get lost in the young person's efforts to establish their own selfhood.

I think a similar dynamic occurred as the Protestant Church pushed itself away from its Catholic heritage. But as the teenager grows up and becomes a young adult, often the wisdom and the beauty of parents clarifies and room is made for a growing appreciation. This, I believe, is where the Catholic and Protestant Church is today - a stage of growing appreciation. The Protestant Church is a Church in recovery. What has been disembodied, we are now reincorporating. No longer do we need to rebel in order to find our own way; we can reincorporate - re-embody, or bring into our corporate existence - all of the avenues to the sacred that are available to us. Let our eyes see beauty, our ears hear music, our bodies dance, our hearts and minds go deeply into prayer that we may know, in whatever way possible, the presence of God. As the author Annie Dillard wrote, "The only thing I know about God is to worship [Him] by any means ready at hand." The Protestant Church now is not only telling people you have direct access to the unspeakable mystery, beauty and joy that is God, you also have access to any and every road to the divine.

"What do we do with the Holy?" asks Jean Blomquist. "What we do is open ourselves over and over and over to the surprising sacredness and joy of life that underlies all else. This is God's gift to us, and it is this gift that we, in faith, offer to the world."

I believe the Reformation of today and of the next century is not to proclaim the singular truth; not to argue over who has a piece of God and who doesn't; not to bicker about who is going to heaven and who to hell. The Reformation today is about welcoming the many and different ways to God; it is about appreciating the Spirit that underlies the various forms of worship and religious practice; it is about reincorporating practices from our distant tradition that allow all of who we are to stand on holy ground. It is about opening ourselves over and over to the surprising sacredness and joy that underlies all of life.

The Reformation continues. What will it look like, exactly? We don't know, we only know that if we realize we are standing on holy ground, we will be reformed as sure as the tax collector. We know that as we are brought into an awareness of the holy, it is impossible to encounter the divine and be "I-filled." We can be sure that this reformation will be towards wholeness, towards life, towards a reincorporated spirituality. And if this reformation takes hold, then as the Psalmist proclaimed, Those who live at earth's farthest bounds will be awed by God's signs; all eyes will see the gateways of the morning and the evening shout for joy…already the hills themselves shout their exhultation; they sing; they are wild with joy. (Psalm 65)

May it be so.