He also told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous, and treated others with contempt. “Two men went up into the temple to pray . . . . Luke 18:9-10
They never look to the right or left, but walk as though they expect people to get out of their way—an assumption that usually proves true. They always appear serious or preoccupied, or seriously preoccupied, with the puckered eyebrows and pursed lips of men weighted by affairs. Their expressions say, Don’t trouble me with your trivial concerns; can’t you see I must prove a dozen opponents wrong before lunchtime? That look is on their faces when they push through the crowd, looking neither left nor right, to ask the Master a question. An important question, of course.
He, presently laying hands on a paralyzed child, does not look up when they approach. And they try very hard not to stare when the little boy jerks and shouts and, after some anxious testing of his limbs, joyfully skips away. They repeat the question in what passes as a respectful tone, but he ignores them while accepting the incoherent thanks of a weeping father. With a start, they realize it’s the local tax collector. They didn’t recognize him at first, because the man is on his knees, wringing the master’s hand and befouling it with tears and slobber: “Lord, Lord,” he says, with a devotion uncomfortably close to blasphemy.
The Pharisee delegation shifts uncomfortably, glancing at each other while carefully controlling their facial features until—finally!—the tearful father is dismissed. The Master gives them his attention at last. But instead of answering their question (they know he heard it!) he begins one of his infuriating stories. It goes like this:
Supposedly a Pharisee and a tax collector went up to the temple to pray (as if tax collectors prayed!) and the Pharisee took a center position and prayed to himself (to himself? A slip of the tongue?) congratulating himself on being a righteous man (a vile misinterpretation of our gratitude to God for our good works!)
Meanwhile, the tax collector (again glorifying these traitors and lowlifes) stood deep in the shadows and beat his breast, unable even to look up toward the heavens as he pleaded for God’s mercy. (And quite right, too. When is this renowned teacher going to get around to answering our Important Question?)
“I tell you, that man went down to his house justified, rather than the other.”
What? Who went down justified?
The delegation look at each other with dawning comprehension followed by outrage. That’s it: any conclusion as wrongheaded and skewed as that one indicates a serious moral imbalance. Why even ask a question, much less wait for an answer? Puckered eyebrows and pursed lips still in place, they gather up their robes and turn away—
And almost smack into a wall of rowdy children rushing in the opposite direction. Led by the formerly paralyzed boy, the kids run up shouting but are seized with shyness when they come close, standing in a ragged half-circle around the Master.
A handful of women—the mothers—rush up and are taken with the same halting shyness. Then one of them, with a baby in her arms, boldly takes a step forward.
“Please sir. Our children are all well, praise the Blessed One, but could you still . . . just place your hands on them? Could they have your blessing?”
If wristwatches were around back then, the disciples would be looking at them and saying, “No time. You’re supposed to be at Simon’s house in twenty minutes,” or “Not now. You’ve had a long day, sir . . .”
Or that’s what they would be saying, but they might also be thinking this: Kids. A blessing of the Lord and all that but we’ve learned not become too attached until they’re closer to adulthood. Like a flower of the field they flourish, and then too often gone. Accidents take them, defects, diseases–sometimes in a single night. They need to prove their worth . . . “And besides, we must get to the next town before dark–”
He stops the protests with a wave of his hand, then beckons to the mother with the baby. “Let them come. These are subjects of the kingdom. For I tell you–” This to his disciples, who are acting like his handlers: “the only way to enter is like a little child. Or a humble tax collector.” He raises his eye to the righteous delegation, now silhouetted against the sunset:
“. . . and everyone who humbles himself will be exalted.”
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For the original post in this series, go here.