Grace to you and peace from God who is with us. AMEN.
I give thanks for this day. And I give thanks that you are here with me to celebrate it. This is the first day of the week, the only day we all come together. And it does us well, in light of this Gospel text to stop and think about what we’re doing here together…and what we’re not doing.
What we’re trying not to do, as students of Jesus, is we’re trying not to be like the Pharisee. Of all texts to wrap up our stewardship month. I had to laugh when I read this. I suppose we could look at this when we’re discerning how and what to pledge to the church in 2020, and justify ourselves by saying look at how Jesus paints the tither. But I’m pretty sure that would be to miss the point.
As we reflect and give thanks this morning at church, we don’t want to be like the Pharisee because the Pharisee had no genuine repentance and was full of pretentious piety. (just look at the posture difference on your worship folder cover) He might have gathered around the font with us at the beginning of the service, and said what we say:
“We confess that we have failed to live as your disciples…” But he wouldn’t have really meant it. He would have secretly chuckled at the part that alludes to how “we have not loved our neighbors as ourselves.” “Well, I have,” he would have thought looking at all of us, “I’ve done a better job of loving my neighbors than all of these people.” Then he’d start listing all the ways in his head—and they might very well be good ways: maybe this past week the Pharisee called and went to visit some of our homebound members, not because the pastor was out of town, but just because that was the right thing to do. Maybe this past week the Pharisee attended a fundraiser at Lamb Center here in Fairfax and gave all kinds of money to the organization that shelters the downtrodden.
Maybe at work this week, the Pharisee noticed a colleague in the work room who looked unusually sad. So instead of having lunch with his buddies, like he usually does, he made the sacrifice and went over to check-in with someone who really appreciated and needed the attention as they were going through a major period of grief in their life. And then he would even call to mind his graciousness on the road, how he let several people cut in while he was merging onto the beltway and people were sneaking in after he had been waiting patiently in line.
“Never even honked at them,” the Pharisee would secretly be patting himself on the back. “Love my neighbors as myself?” “Check,” he thinks, “and frankly, I don’t know what I couldn’t have done this past week to do that!”
(And none of this is verbalized, btw; on the surface, we all love the Pharisee because he’s such a generous, upstanding, kind citizen and member of the church. No, this dialogue is only in his head and heart.)
Then he would have rolled his eyes as the rest of us confess that we have not been faithful stewards of God’s creation, and “we have feasted with friends and but ignored strangers.”
“First of all,” he might think, “I’ve given all kinds of handouts to strangers this week, and when it comes to God’s creation, well I’ve recycled and more. If it means giving a little to animal adoption agencies, check. If it means picking up trash on the ground when I see it, well, every time I take a walk, I bring a trash bag and pick up trash. And I drive a Prius. Hard to see how this really applies to me...it reminds me how others around here need to do way more though”…says the Pharisee standing with us. “Steward creation? Done. Share with the poor and needy? Yep.” Says the Pharisee.
You know, it’s almost as the Pharisee has no need for God.
But we, like the tax collector, on the other hand, are much different. [pause] We, like the tax collector, stand around this baptismal font again today, and remember that we’re not as great as the Pharisee. We, like the tax collector, take this morning to pause again and remember that we’re still coming up short when it comes to our work and our thoughts and our hearts. We’re still standing in the need of prayer. We, like the tax collector, have made many mistakes this past week. We’ve had some unclean and unloving thoughts. We’ve neglected the grieving among us, the lonely among us, the poor among us. Haven’t been faithful stewards of the planet or the church or the poor.
And even while God doesn’t smile at our brokenness, even while God’s heart is saddened by any of our reckless or selfish behaviors, even while a tear rolls down God’s cheek because of our carelessness toward others and the planet itself…God pulls us in this day. God pulls us in together like a soft, warm mother with big arms—all of us here, even that Pharisee—and here God holds us for a bit. Can we just let ourselves be held for a moment this morning?…because that’s what we’re doing here.
Now if you’re anything like me, you don’t want to accept and fluffy stuff. Any love. I caught myself this week dodging a compliment, which is a verbal form of being pulled in and loved. I’ve got intimacy issues with God — I don’t always believe that I’m loved. I believe that you are. That’s easy for me to say. But me? Maybe you’re like me with this fluffy stuff? We’re a tough, surviving people, and all this talk of mercy and love doesn’t always register. I’m preaching to myself too: God pulls us in, sisters and brothers in Christ! God pulls you in like a mother bear. (a very Luther-an struggle)
I give thanks for this day, like I give thanks when I’m with family or friends I haven’t seen for a long time, and we’re just about to eat a meal but first we sing. My family always used to sing around the dinner table, and often we’d sing: “Oh Lord, everybody’s home.”
I give thanks this day that “everybody’s home,” we’re all home, wrapped in the arms and held closely to the bosom of God. (Psalm 84)
God pulls us in this morning in all our brokenness, in all our self-centeredness, in all our fear and anger and bitterness, in all our pain and sorrow, God pull us all in. And in our humility at God’s awesome power, in our honesty about our own shortcomings, like the sinful-but-repentant tax-collector—we are exalted. “Those who humble themselves will be exalted.”
Acknowledging humbly that there’s still work to be done on us, our journey is not complete. We’ve got more to meet and welcome, more to offer, more to serve, more to do, more to be. But we know, us tax collectors (unlike the Pharisee), that even as our time is not yet finished, we know that God’s mercy washes us, refreshes us. That’s what it means to be exalted.
In our genuine repentance, re-formation, we are watered, like the rain waters the forests and fields today, we are watered for faithfulness. Gathered and sent. Gathered and sent. We go down justified, like the text says. We go down from this place, from this temple, fed and nourished, watered and warm—ready to serve, ready to love.
The humble will be exalted and so we are…and we are held close, thanks be to God. AMEN.
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