This reading is a temptation for me.

In a moment of vulnerability, I’ll admit that, when reading this gospel or hearing it proclaimed at Mass, it’s really easy for my mind to suddenly become flooded with individuals, organizations, church leaders, and politicians, etc. who, in my judgment, remind me of the Pharisee.

“The Pharisee is just so pompous and arrogant,” I think to myself. "I know who that sounds like… Thank God, I’m not like them. Thank God I don’t think like they think, endorse who they endorse, believe what they believe."

Suddenly, rather than fitting the description of the tax collector who I’d hoped and presumed to resemble, I look and sound a whole lot like the Pharisee.

I know I’m not alone in this, and Jesus knows I’m not the only one who falls into this temptation, too.

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It’s important, first and foremost, to acknowledge what the Pharisee and the tax collector have in common: they both go to the temple area to pray. They each consciously place themselves before God, in God’s presence.

It's their differences that are especially highlighted, though.

Consider their proximity to the temple: the gospel says that the tax collector stood off at a distance whereas the Pharisee took up his position.

Consider their spoken prayer: the tax collector, not even feeling worthy enough to raise his eyes to heaven, lifted a real and raw prayer to God, “be merciful to me, a sinner,” whereas the Pharisee is said to have spoken the prayer to himself—I imagine he proclaims this prayer in such a way that he ensures his being perceived and admired.

Consider whom their prayers concern: the tax collector plainly states that he is a sinner in need of God’s mercy. The Pharisee, in stark contrast, itemizes his merits and compares himself to others. He elevates himself above the rest. He explicitly elevates himself above the tax collector. Realize, though, that the subject of his gratitude is really himself, not God. Really, he’s just patting himself on the back…

Like I said earlier, as much as we’d like to deem ourselves unlike the Pharisee in this parable, we’ve all been here. It’s hard but necessary to admit, to come face-to-face with.

What, then, can we learn from the tax collector?

Why, according to Jesus, is he the one who goes home justified?

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The psalmist today declares that “the Lord hears those who cry out,” and “the Lord draws close, saves, redeems.”

I’m reminded of the tax collector when I read this psalm.

He too, although not as explicitly as the psalmist, makes a claim about the character of God.

In essence, the tax collector says, “the Lord is merciful.”

“Yes, I am a sinner. Have mercy on me.”

Now, the tax collector’s recognition of his sinfulness doesn’t seem like self-pity to me.

He’s just honest—with God, and with himself.

In this honesty, he stands before God; with an open, repentant, and humble spirit, he acknowledges that God is ultimately bigger than his sins and failings and disposes himself to receive God’s mercy and love.

It is because of this that he leaves for home justified.

Not because of who he is or what he has done, but because of Who God is: merciful.  

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It’s no coincidence that we pray the penitential act as a community when we gather together at Mass.

“I confess,”

“I admit, to you almighty God and to all of you sisters and brothers, that I’m a sinner in need of God’s mercy.”

We’re essentially saying, in so many words, “O God, have mercy on us, sinners.”

Like my instinct about the tax collector, our recognizing and naming our sinfulness is not degradational.

It’s just a recognition of who we are in relation to God.

It’s a claim—a confession—that we ultimately, like the Pharisee, cannot try to earn our way to God.

But we can turn to and ask for God’s limitless mercy and love, something which we’ll never be able to personally, by our own doing, gain.

It takes a lot of humility to constantly and consciously remember and receive this truth.

And herein lies the plain and challenging reality:

“The one who humbles themselves will be exalted.”

Exalted, not for what we have or can or will do, but in humbly acknowledging that God is bigger—beyond condition or transaction.

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Jesus isn’t on a mission to shame, here.

His objective isn’t to point to the Pharisee and deem him unworthy of exaltation.

He’s just saying: “Hey, this is the way it is.”

If you want to know what God seeks, it’s humility, not a listing of your achievements, tithings, hours spent in prayer, or ranking of yourself in comparison to others.

God desires relationship, to be able to draw near, and this desire is certainly not dependent upon a grand presentation of one's most pious actions or traits.

God seeks and waits for us to cast ourselves into God’s arms.

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Do you allow yourself to be defined by and receive God’s unconditional love and mercy, trusting that it is in this and not what you can do that makes you inherently good?

Do we as people of faith lead lives that reflect the merciful character of God?

Do our churches, communities, organizations, draw others into God’s expansive mercy by example, or are they turned away by self-promotion and pride?

These are necessary questions with which to wrestle, and they ought to serve as an examination of conscience that we consider frequently.

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“Come to me. Have faith that I’m a God of mercy and love who desires to be with you, to work through you so that others might know me, too.”

Come home to Me, and in this, be justified.

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