Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year C | Dominica hebdomada trigesima (XXX) « Per annum », Anno C
23 October 2022 in the year of our Lord
Lk 18:9-14 Jesus addressed this parable to those who were convinced of their own righteousness and despised everyone else. "Two people went up to the temple area to pray; one was a Pharisee and the other was a tax collector. The Pharisee took up his position and spoke this prayer to himself, 'O God, I thank you that I am not like the rest of humanity -- greedy, dishonest, adulterous -- or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week, and I pay tithes on my whole income.' But the tax collector stood off at a distance and would not even raise his eyes to heaven but beat his breast and prayed, 'O God, be merciful to me a sinner.' I tell you, the latter went home justified, not the former; for whoever exalts himself will be humbled, and the one who humbles himself will be exalted." |
Κατά Λουκάν Ευαγγέλιον 18:9-14 9 Εἶπεν δὲ καὶ πρός τινας τοὺς πεποιθότας ἐφ’ ἑαυτοῖς ὅτι εἰσὶν δίκαιοι καὶ ἐξουθενοῦντας τοὺς λοιποὺς τὴν παραβολὴν ταύτην· 10 Ἄνθρωποι δύο ἀνέβησαν εἰς τὸ ἱερὸν προσεύξασθαι, ὁ εἷς Φαρισαῖος καὶ ὁ ἕτερος τελώνης. 11 ὁ Φαρισαῖος σταθεὶς πρὸς ἑαυτὸν ταῦτα προσηύχετο· ὁ θεός, εὐχαριστῶ σοι ὅτι οὐκ εἰμὶ ὥσπερ οἱ λοιποὶ τῶν ἀνθρώπων, ἅρπαγες, ἄδικοι, μοιχοί, ἢ καὶ ὡς οὗτος ὁ τελώνης· 12 νηστεύω δὶς τοῦ σαββάτου, ἀποδεκατῶ πάντα ὅσα κτῶμαι. 13 ὁ δὲ τελώνης μακρόθεν ἑστὼς οὐκ ἤθελεν οὐδὲ τοὺς ὀφθαλμοὺς ἐπᾶραι εἰς τὸν οὐρανόν, ἀλλ’ ἔτυπτεν τὸ στῆθος αὐτοῦ λέγων· ὁ θεός, ἱλάσθητί μοι τῷ ἁμαρτωλῷ. 14 λέγω ὑμῖν, κατέβη οὗτος δεδικαιωμένος εἰς τὸν οἶκον αὐτοῦ παρ’ ἐκεῖνον· ὅτι πᾶς ὁ ὑψῶν ἑαυτὸν ταπεινωθήσεται, ὁ δὲ ταπεινῶν ἑαυτὸν ὑψωθήσεται. |
Fr John Lankeit's homily :
I was at a dinner with some family members some time ago and I said something stupid. What I said was...
“I sometimes worry that I won’t make it to heaven.”
My comment referred to my constant struggle to reconcile God’s awesome expectations for holiness in priests with my ever-present faults and failings as a human being—in short, with the dilemma of a sinner falling short of the standards of sainthood. Obviously, this is a struggle for every Christian, but the demands are even heavier for a priest, as St. James wrote in his New Testament Letter:
Let not many of you become teachers, my brethren, for you know that we who teach shall be judged with greater strictness. (Jas 3:1)
Here, St. James refers, specifically, to a priest’s duty to teach the faith—not only through words, but especially by his way of life. And— as if the bar set by St. James were not high enough, Jesus upped the ante—for all disciples—but, especially, his priests:
You, therefore, must be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect. (Mt 5:48)
Now, getting back to my comment at dinner that, “I sometimes worry that I won’t make it to heaven”...The stupid part wasn’t what I said.
I meant it!
The stupid part was that I said such a thing...to family members.
Why was that a stupid thing to do?
Well, for starters, a priest tends to have a credibility problem among his own relatives, because they knew him before he was a priest—when he was merely a son...or brother...or grandson...or cousin. Because of that, they know his faults and weaknesses better than most others do. This is partly what prompted Jesus to say:
A prophet is not without honor, except in his own country, and among his own kin, and in his own house. (Mk 6:4)
If even Jesus—a sinless man without any faults or weaknesses—struggled to exercise his ministry effectively among his relatives, how much more difficult will it be for us “mere mortals” in the priesthood...with the full burden of our imperfections? You would think, then, that my statement would have been received at face value—and even agreed with enthusiastically—by those who know me best.
But that’s not what happened!
Instead, one of the people at the table—I won’t say who, because I don’t want my sister, Margaret, to get mad at me...one of the people at the table declared confidently, “Well, I’m going to heaven!”
I looked at her and said, “Well, I’m glad you’re so confident.”
Looking a bit offended, she responded, “Of course I’m going to heaven. I’m not Hitler!”
By this time, I was no longer able to fake patience. I said, “Wow, I hadn’t heard that Heaven lowered the entrance requirements so drastically!!”
Then I added, “Everyone’s a Saint compared to Hitler. But Hitler’s not the standard. Jesus is. So, how do you compare to Jesus?”
It got uncomfortably quiet for a few moments. Then she said—with a little less conviction and a little quieter this time, “Well, I’m still going to heaven. I’m a good person.”
Now, there’s nothing at all unusual about what my sister said. In fact, it’s a good bet that a huge majority of Catholics today would say the exact same thing if asked, “Do you think you’re going to go to Heaven?”
For us weak human beings, with our fallen natures, it’s a short step from society’s “I’m ok, you’re ok” attitude, to the “I’m a saint, you’re a saint” attitude in the Church.
This concept of being a “good person” provides a perfect jumping off point, then, to reflect on Jesus’ parable in today’s Gospel passage.
Let’s first consider how the Pharisee described himself—to himself—because he illustrates perfectly the I’m a “good person” attitude:
The Pharisee took up his position and spoke this prayer to himself, ‘O God, I thank you that I am not like the rest of humanity—greedy, dishonest, adulterous—or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week, and I pay tithes on my whole income.’ (Lk 18:11-12)
If we read this passage carefully, we notice that the Pharisee essentially saw himself as “God”, because although he addressed the “prayer” to God, he was actually speaking to himself! He then rattled off his own virtues while simultaneously cutting down his nearest neighbor.
By this proud man’s own standard, he was much more than a “good person”. He was a self-canonized saint. It should amaze no one how low the standard gets set when we define “good person” for ourselves. Nor should anyone be surprised that we always happen to make the cut according to our own self-definition of “good”.
Now, let’s do what it’s always best to do when navigating the spiritual life. Let’s look to Jesus—particularly to an interaction he had with a rich young man—in an incident from Mark’s Gospel:
And as he was setting out on his journey, a man ran up and knelt before him, and asked him, “Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” And Jesus said to him, “Why do you call me good? No one is good but God alone.” (Mk 10:17-18)
See what Jesus did here?
He established the standard for measuring “goodness”—and that standard is God’s holiness. Jesus even disqualified himself from the category “good” because the rich young man did not know that Jesus was God in the flesh—and Jesus did not wish to complicate matters by even appearing—as a human being—to usurp the honor owed only to God.
He then laid out for the young man the minimum qualifications for inheriting eternal life—obedience to God’s Commandments. Jesus said:
“You know the commandments: ‘Do not kill, Do not commit adultery, Do not steal, Do not bear false witness, Do not defraud, Honor your father and mother.’” (Mk 10:19)
The rich young man—confident that he had met the minimum, replied:
“Teacher, all these I have observed from my youth.” (Mk 10:20)
At this point, the young man qualified as a “good person” in his own mind. Then Jesus raised the stakes from “good” to “holy”—from “rulekeeping” to “righteousness”.
...Jesus looking upon him loved him, and said to him, “You lack one thing; go, sell what you have, and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow me.” At that saying his countenance fell, and he went away sorrowful; for he had great possessions. (Mk 10:21-22)
Here, Jesus exposed the limits of the rich young man’s definition of “good person”. Compared to people who disobeyed God’s laws—the rich man was a saint...at least in his own mind.
But when Jesus showed the young man what it took to move from “good” to “holy”— to go from “good person” to “Saint”—it was too much to ask of him, so he walked away—still in full possession of his wealth—but also devoid of the peace and joy that he sought when he approached Jesus in the first place.
In our self-contained world of self-defined “goodness”, it’s easy to convince ourselves that we’re pretty much perfect. But if Jesus himself refused to be called “good”, then we all have some serious rethinking to do.
Continuing with the parable, it’s important for us to understand how much the Jews hated tax collectors. They were considered traitors and thieves because they collected taxes for the oppressive Roman Empire, while simultaneously extorting extra money from their fellow Jews to line their own pockets.
Think, for example, of identity thieves in our day—who ruthlessly drain the retirement accounts of unsuspecting elderly folks—and you’ll have an idea of the moral makeup of the average tax collector.
The contrast between the tax collector and the Pharisee could not have been greater in the minds of Jesus’ hearers. The Pharisees were the most highly respected members of their religious community. So, Jesus deliberately placed the quintessential “good person” next to the most despised “bottom feeder” in society to make his point.
Now let’s consider how the tax collector spoke and acted in God’s presence:
...the tax collector stood off at a distance and would not even raise his eyes to heaven but beat his breast and prayed, ‘O God, be merciful to me a sinner.’ (Lk 18:13)
Comparing the state of his soul with the goodness of God—rather than comparing himself to the worst scoundrel he could find—the tax collector harbored no illusions of personal holiness.
His very posture—standing off at a distance—reflected the remoteness of his sinful soul from God. His refusal to even look at God was an outward sign of his inner sense of unworthiness. He knew that his salvation was entirely in God’s merciful hands.
And here we also see the extent of God’s mercy. God wastes little time on the proud because the proud are—by definition—uninterested in him. For the repentant sinner, on the other hand, he readily opens the floodgates of his mercy to wash them—to wash us—clean of sin. Jesus is less interested in where a person has been than where they are headed...provided they are headed toward him!
Why did Jesus tell this parable in the first place? The Gospel for today’s Mass tells us:
Jesus addressed this parable to those who were convinced of their own righteousness and despised everyone else. (Lk 18:9)
The Pharisee convinced himself of his own righteousness—and received his reward (cf. Mt 6:2, 4, 16).
He left the temple simultaneously full of himself...and still full of his sin...the sin of Pride. The tax collector convinced God of his righteousness—by his sincere repentance. And he went home justified...no doubt also full of joy from having tasted the mercy of the Good God...
...the same mercy and joy—held out to us—by our Good God—the moment we drop our illusions about our own righteousness and let the Lord make us righteous...with his merciful love.
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