The Prayer That Reaches Heaven Series

Title: The Prayer That Reaches Heaven

Intro: This is the secret of true worship. This is what God is looking for when we come before Him.

Scripture: Luke 18:9-14

Reflection

Dear Friends,

My dear friends, let me tell you about a moment that changed everything for me. It happened on an ordinary Tuesday morning, years ago, when I was still learning what it truly means to stand before God. I had just finished my morning prayers, perfectly recited, every word in place, and I remember feeling quite satisfied with myself. Then an old woman shuffled into the church. Her clothes were worn, her hands trembled as she lit a candle, and all she could whisper was, “Jesus, help me.” Just those three words. And somehow, in that sacred silence, I knew her prayer had reached heaven faster than all my eloquent words combined.

This is what Jesus wants us to understand in today’s Gospel from Luke. Two men go to the temple. Both are believers. Both pray. But only one goes home justified, at peace with God. The question that should trouble our sleep tonight is this: which one am I?

We read in Luke 18:9 that Jesus told this parable “to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and regarded others with contempt.” These words should make us pause and examine our own hearts with brutal honesty. How many times have we sat in this very church and mentally compared ourselves to others? How often have we thanked God that we are not like that person who drinks, that neighbor who gossips, that relative who never comes to Mass?

The Pharisee in the story was not a bad man by any human standard. In fact, he was exceptional. He fasted twice a week when the law required only once a year. He gave away ten percent of everything he earned. He was faithful, disciplined, committed. If we met him today, we would probably ask him to join our parish council. We would admire his dedication. Our mothers would want us to marry someone like him.

But here is the mystery that should shake us to our core: God was not impressed. Despite all his religious achievements, despite his moral superiority, despite his perfect attendance record, the Pharisee went home empty. His prayers bounced off the ceiling. Why? Because his heart was in the wrong place.

The Pharisee’s problem was not what he did. It was what he believed about himself. He had made himself the center of his spiritual life. His prayer was not really a prayer at all, it was a performance review he was conducting with himself, using God as a witness. “I thank you that I am not like other people,” he said. Notice he did not ask God for anything. He did not acknowledge any need. He was complete, self-sufficient, a spiritual success story who had come to inform God of his achievements.

My dear brothers and sisters, this is a trap that catches many good people. We do the right things. We follow the rules. We give to charity. We attend church regularly. And slowly, without even realizing it, we start building a resume for God. We begin to think that heaven owes us something because we have been so faithful. We forget that 2 Timothy 4:7-8 reminds us that the crown of righteousness is not earned but given by “the Lord, the righteous judge.”

I remember a woman I knew in my first parish. She came to church every single day. She led the rosary group. She organized the feast day celebrations. But she refused to speak to her own sister for fifteen years over some family dispute. When I gently suggested reconciliation, she said, “Father, I have done nothing wrong. Let her apologize first. God knows I am right.” She had become so focused on being right that she forgot to be loving.

This is what happens when we trust in our own righteousness. We become judges instead of fellow sinners. We create categories: good people like us and bad people like them. We forget that all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, as Romans 3:23 tells us. We forget that there is no one righteous, not even one.

Now look at the tax collector. This man was a social outcast. In the eyes of religious society, he was a traitor who collected taxes for the occupying Romans. He was considered ritually unclean, a public sinner. When he walked down the street, mothers pulled their children away. When he entered the temple, people moved to the other side. He knew exactly what everyone thought of him.

But here is what moves me every time I read this passage: he still came to the temple. Despite knowing he would be judged, despised, looked down upon, he still showed up. He still believed that somehow, somewhere beyond all the human contempt, there was a God who might listen to him.