Luke 18: 9-14
And the devil did grin, for his darling sin is pride that apes humility
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
The essence of a good story is getting the reader to identify with the characters. There is no doubt that the story Jesus tells is a good one – but identifying with either of the characters is uncomfortable to say the least. We’ve no choice though – in fact we have to identify with both. (Well, I do, anyway.)
Sometimes (OK, often) I feel quite proud of myself. When I feel I’ve done something ‘Christian’. Giving to charity, perhaps. Or doing something that involves a little ‘self-sacrifice’. (Only a little, though – let’s not get carried away.). I might have taken time out to spend with someone I don’t really want to talk to, or who I find difficult. Rather like a needy child, wanting God my Father to notice and give me a pat on the back.
And at other times, I feel utterly wretched, because I’ve let Him down and gone my way rather than His way – behaving selfishly, saying something hurtful, walking on the other side of the road. I feel uncomfortable even to acknowledge my failure to myself.
By nature, I am a proud person, and I do want to do good. But I don’t want to act like the Pharisee doing it just for show or the hope of reward. Equally, I have to recognise that I am a sinner, but I don’t want to have to stand far off and be too ashamed to come to God in prayer especially in the awareness that I will never be sinless and never unashamed.
So what does the parable teach us? St. Theresa of Avila said that humility is living in the truth. Being aware of my pride, but trying to love as commanded; being aware of my failure, but asking and receiving forgiveness.
If we are searchingly honest with ourselves, fully aware of what we did and didn’t do, we identify with both characters in the story; but we can find comfort in knowing that we are loved for who we are – neither perfect or hugely flawed. We don’t stop doing right because of the fear of becoming proud – and we don’t let past failure stop us from living in His house. We’re His special children, and He will never leave us, no matter whether we be Pharisee of Tax-Collector.
Having said which, I find this poem helps bring me down to earth with a bump when I feel pleased with myself. It ought to be pinned on every vestry door.
In Church
“And now to God the Father”, he ends, And his voice thrills up to the topmost tiles:
Each listener chokes as he bows and bends,
And emotion pervades the crowded aisles.
Then the preacher glides to the vestry-door,
And shuts it, and thinks he is seen no more.
The door swings softly ajar meanwhile,
And a pupil of his in the Bible class,
Who adores him as one without gloss or guile,
Sees her idol stand with a satisfied smile
And re-enact at the vestry-glass
Each pulpit gesture in deft dumb-show
That had moved the congregation so.
Thomas Hardy (1840 – 1928)
