The Word of God that engages us today is our Gospel reading from Luke 18. And in our Gospel reading, Jesus challenges the presuppositions of those around Him. Our Gospel reading is really broken down into two sections—and quite often you’ll get a sermon on one or the other, as if they’re unrelated. But they’re not. They are very much tied together. The passage begins in the realm of imagination, in the form of a parable; but then leaves us in the realm of reality, as Jesus’ ministry is played in full view of His disciples. And in the end, we see the Father's inexplicable, irrational love for us fallen creatures.
Like I said, the two sections of this passage are very much tied together, as the events unravel and we hear and join in the narrative of what I call “The Good, The Bad, and the Snuggly.” And the thread holding it together is found in that first verse. Jesus looked around Him and saw that He was surrounded by people “who trusted in themselves that they were righteous, [while treating] others with contempt.”
So, Jesus says to them, “Stop me if you’ve heard this one…Two men walk into the temple to pray. One a Pharisee, and the other a tax collector.” It certainly sounds like the beginning of a joke, but it is no laughing matter. Because it’s here that we need to stop and check our own understanding and presuppositions of these two men. See, we’ve grown up learning about Pharisees being the bad guys, while the tax collectors and sinners Jesus so often proves aren’t so bad after all. And while for the most part that’s what we find in the end in Scripture, sometimes it’s good to step back and consider what Jesus is saying from the perspective of those around him—those who first heard him say these things we take for granted. So, before we go any further, put yourself in the shoes of a first century Palestinian man or woman.
If you were a first century Palestinian, you’d find that the Pharisee, from a worldly perspective, was a good man--not so bad, after all. He was a model Jewish citizen, really. The word “Pharisee” means “separated,” meaning he did not live like others. Which is really saying something, because the people of Israel were already supposed to be holy, or “set apart,” to the Lord. They were already supposed to be living differently than all the other nations of the earth. Then, within this people group, the Pharisees arose, setting themselves apart even further from within a people already set apart. So, it’s no surprise, then, to hear Jesus telling the story saying the Pharisee stood by himself. He was physically setting himself apart from everyone else in the temple that day--up front, away from everyone, but in full view of them all. And all who heard his prayer would have admired him, for HE was a good man. He did what was right according to the Law. And if you question the validity of that statement, just look to his example. He fasted and tithed more than what was required by the Law of Moses. Only one fasting a week was prescribed—this guy’s doing double duty. And tithing was only required for certain specific profits—this guy is super generous, giving 10% of everything. Not just 10% of what he makes, but 10% of ALL he possesses! This is a good guy. If anyone was right before God, we think, this guy is it. Anyone would be happy to have him serve on their Church Council or Board of Elders. Everyone would be more than happy to welcome this guy as a son-in-law. This Pharisee was a good, good man!
But then, off in the back corner of the temple, you spot him. The tax collector. Your blood boils just at the thought of this guy. The tax collector, from a worldly perspective, was a bad man. A very bad man. He was considered a traitor for working with Rome. A sort of “puppet” doing the bidding of a foreign world power. He was not honest with his taxes, using certain loopholes to get more money than he should have. The government gave him certain responsibilities relative to his dealings there in the Middle East—but he often betrayed their trust. He should’ve been thrown in prison, but the authorities had no one else to hold this office, no better system for collecting their taxes, so they settled for this man--whom some on this side might call "crooked," and others on this side might call "deplorable." From his job, to his politics, to his lifestyle—everything about this guy flies in the face of your values and what you believe and uphold. He was no model citizen, and everyone knew it—including himself!
In fact, the tax collector’s prayer is indicative of this. “God, be merciful to me, a sinner,” most translations read. But the literal translation from the Greek would be, “God, be merciful to me, THE sinner.” It’s as if this man wakes up every day with a weight of guilt on his mind. God, be merciful to me, the sinner. It’s as if he looks in the mirror every day and hates the person he sees looking back at him. God, be merciful to me, the sinner. It’s as if he feels he cannot stop himself from engaging in his sinful lifestyle—he’s been doing it for so long. God, be merciful to me, the sinner. It’s as if time and time again he catches himself going through with these sinful acts and is immediately overwhelmed with a sense of guilt; a feeling of hopelessness, because “There I go again”; a feeling of doubt that God could ever love someone who so often, so willingly breaks His Law. God, be merciful to me, the sinner. And then, he goes to worship that day and sees all around him, all of these good people; hears the prayer of that good, good Pharisee, and he beats his chest—the seat of all sin and guilt—and he tries his best to hide in the back pew and says, “God, be merciful to me, the sinner. The only one here, apparently. The only one in need of mercy. The only one who doesn’t measure up to these people around me. The only one who just cannot get it right. So, God, be merciful to me, THE sinner.”
Both of these men who came to pray that day were in need of God’s grace; but only one of them realized it. Only one of them acknowledged that salvation could only be attained outside of himself; outside of his own abilities and goodness. And for that reason, only one of them walked away that day looking favorable before God. And it’s not the one we would pick from a worldly perspective, either. No, it's the tax collector who goes away getting even more than he asked for. He had requested God's mercy--lenience for what he had done, "God, don't give me the full weight of Your wrath, please!" But, instead, he gets justification; he gets righteousness before the throne of God. He goes away with far more than he what he asked. “For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled,” Jesus says, “but the one who humbles himself will be exalted.” See, God does not judge according to our standards or thinking. Don’t get me wrong—I am in no way encouraging dishonesty and sinful living or licentious behavior, or anything like that. Worldly goodness IS good, but our good works do not save us. Worldly goodness IS good, but it does not make us righteous before the throne of God.
This is what Martin Luther would call the Two Kinds of Righteousness—or 2KR. The idea being that before the world, before humanity one person can seem more righteous than another. From a worldly perspective, one person can appear more righteous than another. For instance, the lady in front of you at Starbucks might’ve paid for your coffee, but it's not like she gave up her life to live with and minister to the impoverished people of Calcutta. There's a big difference! And for another extreme example, Joe Schmoe lied in his job interview, but at least he didn’t participate in mass genocide. So, comparatively, he's not so bad after all. From strictly a worldly perspective, then, you can see how someone might be considered more righteous than another; you can see how a Pharisee can be better than a Tax Collector. From a worldly perspective, you quickly learn that one sin is NOT as bad as the next.
But what about before the throne of God? Again, God doesn’t judge according to our standards or thinking. Before the throne of God, one sin IS as bad as the next; even one good person is as bad as the next. Because, our good works do not--cannot--save us from the fact that we are covered in sin, and every good thing we do is tarnished by imperfection. For that reason, everyone who exalts himself; everyone who points to his own merit, will be humbled—cast out from before the throne. Because we are nothing. We can only say, like the Tax Collector, “God, be merciful to me, THE sinner!” Without comparing ourselves to anyone or anything except for a holy and righteous God and the standards He demands, we simply humble ourselves before Him, seeking His grace alone.
And it is there in that humiliation that the Savior lifts us up. Because, while on our own we would be separated from God forever, God was unwilling to leave it that way. And so Christ humiliated Himself so that we might be exalted. Christ became man that humanity might be restored. Christ died so that death may be destroyed. Christ rose so that we might have life, and have it abundantly. And for all who fall before the throne of God seeking mercy; for all who try to hide in the back of the church, praying and beating their chest in humility and guilt; for everyone who recognizes how helpless and needy they truly are, unable to care for themselves, Jesus says, “They’re with me. I’ve got them covered.” And Christ’s righteousness becomes our own. “[For] the one who humbles himself will be exalted.”
And it’s here that our text leaves the realm of imagination and picks up in the realm of reality, putting the parable into practice. And we see that the kingdom belongs to so many more than we can fathom. The kingdom belongs to the humble. The kingdom belongs to the dependent. The kingdom belongs to those who are helpless and needy. The kingdom belongs to those who rely entirely on someone else to do all of the work for them--especially when it comes to salvation. We’ve seen the good. We’ve seen the bad. And now, the snuggly.
People were bringing children to Jesus for him to touch them. Not just children, but infants, even. In fact, the Greek word for infant, here, can be used to reference the unborn, as if to suggest pregnant women asking Jesus to bless their unborn babies, placing His hand on their round bellies. You can maybe understand why the disciples thought this was a bit weird, and a huge distraction and began turning them away. Why should an important teacher be wasting his time on this inferior class of people? And that might sound harsh, but that's how it was. If you put your "first century Palestinian thinking caps" back on, you quickly realize that in those days, children had no social standing; no real importance; no rights, really. Children were looked down on. Children were nothing but a pain. And especially babies. After all, infants are the most helpless, needy creatures on the planet! They can do nothing for themselves or anyone else.
I say that with all the love and affection of a father for his newborn child. They can do nothing for themselves or for anyone else, except for cry and scream. Someone else is responsible for feeding her, changing her, burping her, clothing her, bathing her, changing her, making sure she’s breathing, changing her, cutting her fingernails, wiping her off after the dog sneaks in a kiss, changing her, etc. And you’d better believe that when the baby is crying and screaming and crying and screaming non-stop, that that child’s mother and father are going through the combination of the few things they know how to do to get her to stop. “Well, I don’t know, it worked last time.” “No, try holding her this way!” “Did you try feeding her…again?” “Is she swaddled too tightly?” “Is she not swaddled enough?” “Do you want to try turning on the vacuum cleaner, again?” “Have you checked her diaper?” "Let's try singing in harmony, again." You know the drill. These are all real things you try to do to get the kid to calm down. The struggle is real! Babies are entirely dependent on someone else for everything…And Jesus says, “Exactly! To such belongs the kingdom of God.”
To such belongs the kingdom of God. To those who, like infants, rely on the love and work of someone outside of themselves, that's who my kingdom belongs to. “Truly, I say to you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a child shall not enter it.” It's not about, "Oh, kids say the darndest thing." It's not about the "innate wisdom" children have that adults can't comprehend, when it comes to matters of faith. It's about the fact that these little babies are helpless and can do precisely jack-squat! And so, like children who can do nothing but cry, trusting that they will be heard; like the tax collector who sought salvation outside of his own works; so we rely solely on God’s grace in Christ Jesus. And we know that He hears us, and will answer us…because He loves us.
The struggle is real, but along with it, the snuggle is real. You know, when you think about it, when you consider everything you have to do for a little bitty baby, there is no rational reason for my desire to snuggle my child. I know that sounds heartless.But, there is no logical reason why at 3:30 in the morning, when she has woken me up from a deep sleep, walking into her room should put a smile on my face when I see her looking up at me with bright eyes and a look that says, “I’m not sleepy, Dada! I’m not going to go down that easy!” Why is it that that puts a smile on my face? The happiness a parent gets out of what can seem like a virtually one-way relationship with an infant—it really goes against all logic...apart from the fact that “this is my child.” And that’s the kind of love our God has for us. An irrational, inexplicable love that defies all logic. A love that will do anything to put an end to our tears; an end to our pain; an end to our discomfort.
A week ago, October 16 at 11:36 am, some old college friends of ours gave birth to a baby boy. In their eyes, he was perfect; he was beautiful; he was their world. They got to hold him and love him for not even seven hours, just a very short, brief time. Suddenly he started having seizures. He stopped breathing. The nurses were able to resuscitate him. Now he is doing better, as of today. But this past week has been difficult for everyone. He was immediately taken from his parents, separated from them in the NICU; hooked up to so many machines by what looked like just a tangle of tubes and wires and cords; grasping on for life. Friends and family, even strangers all lifted up this poor, helpless baby boy and his parents in prayer. His father wrote this on Facebook, as part of his plea for prayers: “Those who know me well will know that I’m not a public person, however this is not about me. This is about a little boy who I love more than words.” It's about a little boy...a boy he had just met, yet he would be willing to do anything, no matter the cost, to save, because of a deep, inexplicable love.
Is this not the same kind of love our God has for us? Separated from His creation after just a very short, brief time, creation hangs on grasping for life. And God looks down on us in an irrational, illogical love—a love that comes to us as more than words, but as the Word made flesh. And this God desires nothing more than to unravel us, to disentangle us, to cut through every weight and cord of sin that we find ourselves tangled in; to draw us to Himself. To snuggle us in His arms for eternity. In spite of the fact we’re bad; and not because we're good, but because He is. By grace alone, the Kingdom belongs to you, and me.
Come soon, Lord Jesus. Amen.
