Introduction

If your heart is tired and your prayers feel thin, you’re in the right place. The Lord welcomes real people with real needs and real words. He is not looking for polish; He is listening for honesty. He is not impressed by our resumes; He is moved by our repentance. We’ve all had those moments—hands folded, words said, yet something inside us whispers, “Is God hearing me?” Take courage. He is near to the humble. He stoops to the brokenhearted. He never ignores the faintest sigh for mercy.

E.M. Bounds said, “God shapes the world by prayer.” That means your whispered plea in the quiet car, your tear-stained sentence at midnight, your simple, trembling “Help me, Lord” matters more than you know. It matters to heaven, and it will shape your day, your family, and even the person you become.

Maybe you grew up thinking prayer was a performance—high vocabulary, low vulnerability. You knew when to stand, when to sit, but not how to bring your sin, your shame, your secrets. Or maybe you feel like an outsider to this whole thing, like the line to God’s help is reserved for the super-spiritual. Hear the kindness of Jesus: He tells a story for people just like us. Two people go to pray. Two hearts speak. One boasts. One begs. And in the end, one goes home with the smile of God. Which one? The answer might surprise you—and it might set you free.

Because what if real prayer is not about being impressive, but about being honest? What if God is not asking for your pedigree, but your poverty of spirit? What if the shortest, simplest prayer—“God, be merciful to me”—is the one that opens the windows of heaven? There is power in plain confession. There is grace for the guilty. There is a welcome for the weary. If your soul is limping today, don’t be ashamed. Limp toward the Lord. If your heart is heavy, don’t hide it. Hold it up to Him. He meets us in the place of need with mercy that is wider than our failure and stronger than our fear.

Before we pray together, let’s hear the words of Jesus in full.

Luke 18:9–14 (KJV) 9 And he spake this parable unto certain which trusted in themselves that they were righteous, and despised others: 10 Two men went up into the temple to pray; the one a Pharisee, and the other a publican. 11 The Pharisee stood and prayed thus with himself, God, I thank thee, that I am not as other men are, extortioners, unjust, adulterers, or even as this publican. 12 I fast twice in the week, I give tithes of all that I possess. 13 And the publican, standing afar off, would not lift up so much as his eyes unto heaven, but smote upon his breast, saying, God be merciful to me a sinner. 14 I tell you, this man went down to his house justified rather than the other: for every one that exalteth himself shall be abased; and he that humbleth himself shall be exalted.

This is a word for all of us—saints and strugglers, long-time pray-ers and brand-new beginners. Today, we’ll ask God to teach us how to pray without pretense, how to plead for mercy, and how to stand in a posture that He calls righteous. Bring your real self. Bring your need. Bring your empty hands. The Lord delights to fill them.

Opening Prayer: Father of mercies, we come as we are. Save us from pride that performs and from fear that pretends. Give us honest hearts, humble lips, and hopeful faith. Teach us to pray like the tax collector—simple, sincere, surrendered. Open our ears to Your voice and our eyes to Your grace. By Your Spirit, show us Jesus, the Friend of sinners, and send us home justified, joyful, and changed. In the mighty name of Jesus we pray, Amen.

The trap of praying to be seen

Prayer has an audience. We all know that. The trouble comes when we forget who the true audience is. Our thoughts drift. Our eyes notice who might be listening. We start thinking about how we sound. We do little things to manage how we look. We shape our words for the room. And the quiet center of prayer starts to wobble.

When that happens, prayer turns into a stage. We stand taller. We choose phrases that land well. We choose a tone that wins nods. We pick moments when more people are around. We feel a pull to say more than we mean. The mouth gets busy while the heart grows tired. It feels like prayer, but the life has gone out of it.

Jesus told a story that lays this bare. Two people go to the place of prayer. One stands in a way that shows confidence. He speaks about himself to God. He lists the good he has done. He glances over at the other person and measures himself by that sight. He feels clean because he thinks the other man is not. He talks like a person filling out a report.

The other man stays back. He will not lift his face. He hits his own chest because the ache is real. He uses a few words. He asks for mercy. That is all he has. He cannot point to a record. He does not offer a plan. He asks for help that he did not earn. His prayer is light on details and heavy on need.

Here is what stands out first. Jesus says the confident man “prayed thus with himself.” That line is hard to miss. It sounds like he was speaking toward God, but the echo stayed in his own circle. The center of his prayer was himself. He had himself in his sights. He approved of himself. He thanked God, but only as a way to talk about his own life. This is easy to copy. We can use God’s name while aiming our words at our own fame. We can stand in a room and shape sentences as if we are in a mirror. We pick words that make us look wise. We pad our prayers with extra lines and clean endings. Our focus drifts from real need to good image. In that moment, prayer becomes a kind of self-talk with holy wallpaper. The ears of the crowd matter more than the eyes of the Father. And when the ears of the crowd set the tone, the heart stops asking for grace. Because grace is for people who know they lack. Self-talk is for people who need to hear how well they are doing. The first man is a warning. He shows how easy it is to use prayer to polish our brand, to airbrush our soul, to keep the mask in place. He teaches us that prayer can be busy and still be empty when the self is the star.

Next, Jesus gives us the why behind this habit. He addresses those “which trusted in themselves that they were righteous, and despised others.” There is a link here. Self-trust grows into contempt. When we lean on our record, we begin to look down on other people. The heart builds a ladder, step by step. Every fast becomes a rung. Every tithe becomes another. Soon we are standing higher in our own mind. From that height, other people look small. They look like problems, not neighbors. They look like props, not persons. The Pharisee uses the other man to feel taller. He points and says, “I am not like him.” That sentence exposes his engine. He needs a foil. He needs a face to compare against. This is the fuel of praying to be seen. The crowd gives you a canvas. Comparison gives you a color. You paint yourself as the bright spot. And what happens inside? The soul loses tenderness. Tears dry up. Confession feels beneath you. You start to pray in a tone that has no room for sorrow. You talk at God about other people. You talk at other people about God. You do not talk with God about your own heart. That is what contempt does. It closes the door on mercy by closing the door on need.

Look at the scoreboard in his prayer. “I fast twice in the week, I give tithes of all that I possess.” Those are strong actions. Jesus is not shy about acts of devotion. But a list can turn into armor. A list can make us feel safe from the light of God. A list can turn prayer into an announcement. The words become a press release. The tone says, “Here is what I have done.” It is possible to stack good acts and build a wall. Behind that wall, we do not hear our own sins. Behind that wall, we do not sense our own weakness. The wall looks sturdy, but it isolates the soul. It keeps grace on the outside. Because grace has nothing to hold onto when we hold onto our resume. Over time, this kind of praying forms grooves in the heart. We return to the same lines. We measure days by the same marks. We start to believe that God’s smile rises and falls with our stats. And with that belief, we stop asking for a gift. We start pushing for wages. We stop coming low. We start standing tall. Then we look around to make sure someone sees. This is how the stage gets built inside our prayers. It is made of good things used the wrong way, until the prayer is about us and the room and the image, and not about meeting God in truth.

Now hear the end of Jesus’ story. “This man went down to his house justified.” That word means set right with God. The person who asked for mercy went home with a clear word from heaven. He did not earn it. He received it. The other person did not receive that word, even though he said many true things about his habits. Jesus adds a line that explains the whole scene: “For every one that exalteth himself shall be abased; and he that humbleth himself shall be exalted.” This is the way of God’s kingdom. Lifting the self leads to a fall. Bowing low leads to being raised. Prayer either climbs a ladder in the room or kneels on the floor before God. The ears of people can give a small rush. The hand of God gives life. The first man leaves with a full record and an empty soul. The second leaves with empty hands and a full heart. Notice also where they stood. One stood near the center. One stayed far off. Place in a building is not the point, but posture is. One aimed high. One bent low. One used many words. One used a few. Only one heard the verdict that matters. “Justified.” That single gift outweighs every public nod and every private pat on the back. It is the difference between praying for a stage and praying for grace.

The grace of pleading for mercy

Mercy sits at the center of this scene ... View this full PRO sermon free with PRO