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Dance with us, Holy Partner, and show us how to step humbly into life with you. Lead us with arms of strength and steps of grace. Help us to be righteous: raise us when we are low, and gently bring us down when we have jumped too high. Love us into wholeness, we pray. Amen. (from Seasons)
I have a confession to make. This parable of the Tax Collector and the Pharisee has often made me cheer. Boo Hiss to that arrogant, self-centered, all-too-sure of his or her righteousness, the symbol of religious hierarchy. And Rah Rah Yeah to the little guy, the cog caught in the machinery of empire, the one who recognizes that he or she needs help. It’s so simple to know who is good and who is bad. And, of course, we put ourselves, secretly or otherwise, down on our knees, begging for mercy. Yup, that’s us. We got it right Jesus.
Whenever I have that reaction—I have this sneaking feeling that I need to look deeper. So, let’s muse together about the Pharisee and the Tax Collector.
Let’s start with the Pharisee. This person disconnects from all other people. “God, I thank you that I am not like other people” and goes on to describe what he sees as the dregs of society, including the tax collector who is in temple with him. Let us not forget that this type of prayer could be seen as part of the traditional dawn prayers of Judaism, where the minion (of men) pray, “Blessed are You, O God, King of the Universe, who has not made me… a Gentile, a slave, or a woman.” That prayer or the prayer of the Pharisee disturbs our sensibilities. This is a world that is us versus them. This is a world that seems to put God’s stamp on those “higher” up the chain. This is a world that can still be seen today, at times.
But before we draw and quarter the Pharisee, we need to take a look at ourselves. We, and I mean, we Presbyterians, have only had women in ministry of the Word and Sacrament since the 1950’s. We Presbyterians have spent 40 years fighting about whether gay and lesbian people were worthy of being in our fellowship, much less whether they could be ordained leaders. We Presbyterians in the United States of America have split time and time again, on views of how to educate pastors, and the issue of slavery, just to name two other prominent fights. And often, we have been like the Pharisee, absolutely sure that we are right, and “thank you God for not making me like those other people.”
I was struck by words from Jana Norman in an article titled “The ‘Ins’ and ‘Outs’ of Language.” We pat ourselves on the back for being more inclusive in our language. But she thinks we have more work to do. She surprised me with this argument.
Let’s say, for example, we are praying for the poor or those who are sick. Immediately the world is divided into poor and not poor; sick and not sick. The focus of the language puts some people outside of our own experience unless we are poor or sick ourselves, in which case we are separated from those who are healthy and better off. Behind the message of care and concern is a shadow message: there are people who are outside of the presumed desirable state of being (healthy and wealthy).
What can we do about this subtle way of continuing to have the categories of us/them, in/out in our minds and language? She suggests “being even more inclusive.” For instance: using
the phrase, “when we…” is a good beginning in any attempt to be more inclusive. When we know poverty… When we are going through times of illness… When we experience injustice… The phrase “at times” can be equally helpful. At times we are discouraged… At times we live with fear…
Norman challenges us to look carefully at our communication, and try to think in terms of us all, rather than dividing us into categories and compartments.
What might that ask of us? What might that encourage us to do? For example, would it change the way we wrangle through this tough election season?
The tax collector also gives me pause. Maybe it is because I do not ascribe to the theological notion that we are absolutely worthless sinners, scum of the earth, who need to grovel, as some prayers say, including one in our own 1993 Book of Common Worship, “we are not worthy even to gather up the crumbs under your table…” And to this, I say, God doesn’t make junk. Humbleness, in my honest opinion, is not about self-loathing. It is about self-recognition. Are we able to acknowledge that we have made mistakes? That we desire to start again? (which is what forgiveness is all about) That we need God’s help, and a community of hope, and a faithful message of justice and mercy to lead us always forward?
Just as there is danger (dare I say, sin) in cutting oneself off from the rest of creation, there is danger in thinking we might not have anything to contribute.
The Pharisee and the Tax Collector. What Seasons of the Spirit suggests we contemplate is not which one we are—but the dance between the better angel of each.
Isn’t it important to claim our standing as beloved children of God? Certainly the Pharisee does. We can have pride in our status without that compromising anyone else’s.
Isn’t it important to know that we are not perfect? Certainly the Tax Collector knows this. We can have humility without wanting self-extinction.
As the writers of this week’s focus material put it: Righteous or sinful; punished or rewarded; in scarcity or abundance; imprisoned by our faith, or freed by it; there is always a dance and dialogue happening when we seek to understand our relationships to God and one another. (from seasons)
As The Message paraphrases Jesus’ comments on this parable (Luke 18:14): “If you walk around with your nose in the air, you are going to end up flat on your face, but if you’re content to be simply yourself, you will become more than yourself.” (from Seasons)
So how does this dance work? In the first part of this sermon I gave an example of a prayer from the Jewish tradition. You could say I was creating an us vs. them division. Some people still use that prayer today. But, there are many Jewish scholars and religious people who have grave reservations about it.
I am proud to call myself a Christian. And I am proud of the message of Jesus, of grace and love, against intolerance, and against the religious establishment of his day. I am humble enough to know that we can learn of God and our human relationship with God from many different sources.
And so, as an example of our dance with God, I lift up the festival of Simchat Torah that will be celebrated this week by our Jewish brothers and sisters. Every year, they read every word of the first five books of the Bible. Simchat Torah is a celebration of Jewish learning and teaching. It can include dancing with the scrolls of the Torah around the synagogue; it can include music, or even a little schnapps (says Rabbi Adam Morris who serves as a consultant to Season of the Spirit). But most importantly, it includes the reading of the last portion of Deuteronomy (the last book of the five) AND the reading of the first part of Genesis (the first book of the five)—keeping the circle complete. As the Rabbi describes it: “We finish and then begin each year again, because we believe that we must continue to turn to the Torah over and over again, for everything is contained in it.”
Beginning and Ending. Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow. Birth, Life, and Death. Pride and Humility.
We have been invited into the wondrous dance of creation, the dance of life with God.
Dance, then, wherever you may be, for I am the Lord of the Dance, said He. And I’ll lead you all, wherever you may be, and I’ll lead you all in the dance, said He.
May it be so, Alleluia, Amen.
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