Except, we kind of are.
There’s a parable in Luke where two guys go to the temple to pray.
One is a Pharisee. Religious. Respected. Knows the rules and keeps most of them. Especially the ones where it’s visible.
The other is a tax collector, which in that culture meant something closer to a known crook than an annoying IRS agent today. Tax collectors squeezed their own people for money and kept a cut. Nobody invited them to dinner.
The Pharisee stands up front where people can see him and prays out loud. Thanks God that he isn’t like thieves, adulterers, or especially that he isn’t like the tax collector standing in the back. Mentions his fasting and tithing for good measure.
The tax collector won’t even lift his eyes. Stands in the back, beats his chest, and says one line. God, have mercy on me. I’m a sinner.
Jesus says the second guy went home justified. The first guy didn’t.
That’s the whole story, but people manage to misread it in two different directions.
One direction is feeling superior to the Pharisee. Easy to do. He’s an obvious villain, bragging about himself in church like that. We’d never.
Except we do it constantly, just quieter. Comparing our parenting to the family down the street. Our marriage to the one that fell apart. Our finances to whoever’s worse off. It feels like gratitude. It’s actually scorekeeping, and the score only counts if you’re ahead.
Reminds me of something I tell my wife. It’s not a contest, but if it was I’d be winning.
The other direction is worse. Decide you’re basically the tax collector, beyond help, too far gone, might as well stop trying. That’s not humility either. That’s despair wearing humility’s clothes.
The tax collector didn’t stay in the back forever feeling bad about himself. He said one true thing and asked for mercy. That was the whole prayer. No résumé. No bargaining. No project to clean himself up first.
He didn’t even promise to change. He just asked for mercy. And he didn’t run through a litany of his faults either, he just said he was a sinner. God already knew the rest.
That’s the part that’s actually hard to imitate. People are usually fine admitting they’re a mess in the abstract. The hard part is stopping there. Not following it with an excuse, a comparison, or a plan to fix yourself before you come back and ask again.
Mercy doesn’t wait for the cleanup. It is the cleanup.
Two guys walked into the temple. One left more impressed with himself than when he arrived. The other left forgiven.
Worth noticing which one did less.
P.S.
If you’d like to read through the Bible this year, you can join us at His Word Together.
No commentary. No telling you what to think. Nothing to buy. Nothing fancy.
Just steady time in the Word.
















