Thirtieth Sunday of Ordinary Time, Year C (go to readings)
Sirach 35:12-14, 16-18
Psalm 34:2-3, 17-18, 19, 23
2 Timothy 4:6-8, 16-18
Luke 18:9-14

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Who were the Pharisees? We often get the sense from the bible that they were an arrogant, self-righteous, judgmental group. And part of that may have been the disciples of Jesus holding a grudge against the group that not only argued against and were often criticized by Jesus, and they conspired to crucify Jesus, but also they continued to harass and torture Christians. So, they were easily portrayed by the Christian community, including the gospel writers, as the evil oppressors.

But according to Jewish historians of the time, the Pharisees were a well-respected religious group. Their name, “Pharisee,” is from the Hebrew, “Pərūšīm,” meaning, “separated ones.” They were known for their piety and faithfulness to the requirements of the law. When Israel returned from the Exile, they recognized that their exile was caused by their corruption, and their return permitted by God because of their repentance and return to righteousness. The Pharisees believed that this legal righteousness was the way for Israel to return to its golden age. Israel was God’s holy people, a nation of the priestly people of God, set apart, to be a light to the nations, as the scriptures say. And so, the Pharisees took the priestly purity code of the law, required for preparation and conduct for serving God in the Temple, and extended it to apply to all Israelites at all times. As we see in the gospels, while some, perhaps many, might have been corrupt, in which their outward show of piety cloaked their inward attitude of arrogant self-interest, some, perhaps many, were honest, devout, and holy, such as Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea. So the Pharisees, in general, then, were the heroes of most stories, calling sinners back to righteousness to the Lord, distancing themselves from pollution and sin, and so, wise and holy guides for the people.

Who were the tax collectors? They were despised as corrupt and greedy traitors to the nation of God’s people. They took an exorbitant cut for themselves as agents of the Roman oppressors, who already required high taxes, and collected them without mercy. Historians suggest that tax collectors would have to bid on a certain territory or neighborhood, and pay the Romans in advance for the taxes due to Rome from that area, and then the tax collectors could collect however much above that they wanted for themselves, and live very well. However, they were despised by the Romans for being Jews, and despised by the Jews for cooperating with the Romans. So, they often were not welcome in public places such as temple and synagogue, for being unclean and immoral and strongly disliked. So in most stories, they would obviously be the bad guy, the scoundrel, the proud and rich weasel who would always get their comeuppance. Always.

So, all that is to really help you see how shocking it would have been to hear Jesus’ parable in our gospel today. Jesus often would have surprises and twists in his parables to help people to remember them and think about them. He was, of course, a master storyteller. So if you were hearing a story that starts with, “Two people went up to the temple area to pray; one was a Pharisee and the other was a tax collector,” you might not yet know the story, but you knew that the Pharisee was going to be the good guy, and the tax-collector was going to be the bad guy. But what does Jesus do? He reverses the roles.

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Last week, we heard Jesus tell the story of the widow and the corrupt judge, and our need to be persistent in prayer. Today we hear the story of our need to be humble, or “poor in spirit” in prayer. Jesus says, “The Pharisee took up his position and spoke this prayer to himself.” Who is he praying to? Right. “O God, I thank you that I am not like the rest of humanity—greedy, dishonest, adulterous—or even like this tax collector.” So, the only thing he gets right so far is gratitude. But gratitude for what? For being better than the rest of humanity. Just wow. And then he starts praying about the flaws of this other person behind him in the temple: “greedy, dishonest, adulterous, like this tax collector.” A great lesson in how not to pray. I’ll often hear people confess being judgmental. [I can tell if someone’s judgmental just by looking at them. (That’s a joke)]. I think that often in our society, we feel so judged, so unworthy, such a hot mess, so aware of our flaws and failures, that it’s very tempting to compare ourselves with someone who seems to be a worse mess than us, just to feel better about ourselves. “At least I’m doing better than that loser.” So not only does Jesus condemn that in today’s gospel, but it also then makes that other person feel judged, because we are judging them, and then they have to go find someone more miserable than them to judge, and now everyone feels judged and like garbage, and that’s not the way to be the kingdom of God.

And so, this Pharisee doesn’t stop there. “I fast twice a week, and I pay tithes on my whole income.” So the Pharisee prays by praising himself and his good deeds. Now, it is good to fast twice a week and pay tithes on our whole income. But we don’t bring it to prayer boasting about it, expecting God to pat you on the head like a good boy. Forget the good that you do, and come to God as a beggar, poor in spirit, humble, and asking for God’s mercy and help. Not like this Pharisee, boasting about how close he is to God, how holy he is, like they’re besties. Remember what Jesus said about the slave who had to serve his master before taking care of himself. “When you have done all that you have been commanded, say, ‘We are unprofitable servants; we have done what we were obliged to do.’” We can’t do anything that puts God in debt to us for our good deeds. We can’t earn our entitlement to holiness. Everything we do is less than what we ought to be doing if we were perfect. But by coming to God, asking for mercy and help, he accepts our lowly offerings as a parent lovingly praises a child for their crayon art, which the parent happily puts on the refrigerator. Look what you did, isn’t that cute?

So, the good and holy Pharisee is not so good and holy. Let’s look to see how wicked and heartless the wicked and heartless tax-collector is. “But the tax collector stood off at a distance and would not even raise his eyes to heaven but beat his breast and prayed, ‘O God, be merciful to me a sinner.’” Oh come on Jesus, we want to hate the tax collector! He’s supposed to be the villain! But the tax collector humbly confesses how far he is from the holiness and goodness he is called to, how lowly he is to not even be able to raise his eyes to heaven, but is filled with repentance, and the scandal of his own life, and simply prays to God, “Be merciful to me, a sinner.” I think it’s beautiful that half of his prayer is in his bodily posture. I’m reminded a bit of Pope Saint John Paul II’s, “Theology of the Body,” which teaches us that since our actions, like our words, can communicate the glory of God and the goodness and truth we as humanity are called to express, that the tax-collector says as much with how he prays as what he prays.

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Two footnotes to this description of the pharisee. First, a good act of contrition for the Sacrament of Reconciliation requires three elements: An element of repentance, an element of asking for mercy, and an element of intent to sin no more. Any good act of contrition has these three elements, except for one, which is called “The Jesus Prayer: “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.” It’s adapted from this part of the gospel, through the mediation of Jesus to God the Father.

The second thing is that if Catholics love and have internalized any part of the gospel, it’s the part about sitting at the back of the church. If I put out chairs outside across the street, I’m pretty sure people would sit there. No. God became incarnate to be intimate with us, to draw us closer to himself, to share himself, his life, with us. Sitting up front does not mean you think you’re holier, that you’re exalting yourself, or that you’re the nerd who always sits in the front row at school, taking things way too seriously. Our response to God drawing close to us is for us to draw close to him. Yes, his divine splendor and majesty inspire awe and fear, if we were to enter his divine presence with any imperfection. But here he comes to us hidden in signs and sacraments and mystery, accessible to us. And we need to lean into how he wants to improve our life, to heal our hearts, to unite ourselves with him. And for that, we acknowledge any false humility. The truly humble know all the more how much we need God. And we sit at the feet of the Master, as Mary did while her sister worked, or as Saint John at the last supper, resting his head on the sacred heart of our Lord. So next week, don’t go to the back. Get a little closer, don’t be shy. Move forward, respond to the call to draw near. The front of the church should fill up first, with us all eager to receive from the Lord. I promise you, if you sit up front, there’s like “almost zero” chance you’ll be struck by lightning.

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To wrap this up, Jesus says, “I tell you, the latter went home justified, (the tax collector), not the former (the Pharisee), for whoever exalts himself will be humbled, and the one who humbles himself will be exalted.” If we exalt ourselves, how high can we really reach, to lift ourselves up? A great among sinners? But if we come before God as poor in spirit, needy, a beggar, aware of our many faults, and pray, “O God, be merciful to me, a sinner,” he exalts us to heaven with his grace, affirming that we are good, and we are infinitely loved, and we are forgiven, and helped by his care for us to go out in peace and joy, serving him and serving him in our neighbor, pouring ourselves out spreading the good news of God’s incredible love for each of us. That we might be able to say, with St. Paul, at the end of our journey, “I am already being poured out like a libation, (emptied as a sacrificial offering) and the time of my departure is at hand. I have competed well; I have finished the race; I have kept the faith… the Lord stood by me and gave me strength, so that through me the proclamation might be completed… To him be glory forever and ever. Amen.”

17th Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year C
Genesis 18:20-32
Psalm 138:1-2, 2-3, 6-7, 7-8
Colossians 2:12-14
Luke 11:1-13

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Saint Theresa of Avila said that you pay God a big compliment when you ask big things of him. Saint Augustine said that God sometimes delays answering our prayers because he wants to give us more than we prayed for, and our hearts aren’t big enough to receive what he wants to give us; so our waiting and longing grows our heart to be large enough to receive the abundance of God’s response to our prayer.

If we ask God for something in prayer, there are three possibilities: No, Yes, and Not yet. And unlike asking the sun, or the moon, or a shooting star, when we ask God, his answer to our prayers—even if his answer is not what we hoped for—we have faith and trust is what is best for us, his answer out of his perfect love for us. The sin of the garden of Eden was humanity’s failure to trust God. And our prayer in the Holy Spirit is the healing of that wound: we offer our prayers in trust in God’s love for us. That’s the last part of our gospel reading: being able to trust God that he’s going to give us the good that we need, the best things, and of course, the best thing is the gift of the Holy Spirit.

Our readings are on the theme of persisting in prayer. I remember someone saying, “Every time a woman prays in the bible, God answers that prayer.” Maybe it’s that men ask God for something in prayer, they wait a bit, and then if they don’t get a response, they shrug it off and move on. But women in prayer are more persistent. And that persistence is the key.

Our gospel reading has a bunch of different parts. One is a parable on being persistent. The man in the parable, like Martha last week, wants to show the virtue of hospitality. But he has an unexpected guest show up in the middle of the night, and this poor man has to go to his neighbor’s house, pound on the door, and ask for bread to give to his guest. And the neighbor’s like, “Are you out of your mind? Go away, it’s midnight, we’re in bed, and I’m not getting up to give you bread.” And the man keeps pounding at the door. I think it’s Father Mike Schmitz who defined persistence as “the shameless refusal to quit.” The shameless refusal to quit. That’s what we need to bring to prayer. I’m going to keep persistently pursuing the Lord and asking for what I need and trusting in him. And if he doesn’t seem to be answering, then I’m going to allow my trust and my desire to grow as I shamelessly refuse to quit until he responds. Of course, it’s not that we have to keep pounding at the door to change God’s mind, like in the parable. It’s that we have to persist because we need to grow in our desire to receive from the Lord.

The beginning of our gospel reading is the shorter version of the Lord’s Prayer found in the Gospel of Luke. The disciples of Jesus see him deep in prayer, and when he’s finished, they ask him to teach them, to give them his deep, beautiful relationship of prayer with the Father. One thing we can learn from the difference between Matthew’s version and Luke’s version is that our prayer should not be just the same formula of words.

Some people just rattle off the same prayers, day after day. Remember that prayer is our relationship with God, like a relationship with our spouse, or other loved one. We don’t say the exact same words, as fast as we can, and end the conversation. Our words should be organic, natural, flowing expressively; we  mean, from the heart, the words we say to our beloved God. Even if we’re persisting in the same prayers, even if we’re reading a given prayer, like the rosary, mean every word, every time. It’s a conversation, an invitation to a deeper relationship. I’ll often slow down people in confession: We just had this deep, beautiful, authentic conversation, and then they race through the Act of Contrition. And I’ll stop them. No, start again, slower, and mean from your heart what you’re saying.

The same is true in the Mass. The words of the Mass are important. They come down to us through Sacred Tradition as the participation of the people of God in the authentic worship of the Church. They’re meaningful, and they’re important. We should think about them and take them seriously. And they help us to shape our own prayer life according to the spirit of the Church.

For those of you who are musicians, you’ll appreciate this. When I was teaching ensemble music, especially marching band or horn lines for drum corps, I would tell them, there’s a difference between practice and rehearsal. Practice is your own work: to learn the parts, learning the notes, the articulations, the timing, dynamics, and getting past the mechanics into actually being musical. Then rehearsal is when we come together to unite our individual parts into the offering of the whole group, unifying all of our individual work. And also, what we learn in rehearsal then helps us when we go back home to practice better.

The same is true with prayer. People often say, “I pray to God all day long.” That’s good, depending on the prayer. If you’re just giving God your wish list, giving him his instructions for the day, maybe that’s not such a healthy prayer life. Just like if your relationship with your spouse was just the list of chores to do, and nothing else to your relationship. Not a healthy marriage. Have deep conversations; listen as well as talking; give and receive.

God isn’t a wish granter. He’s a loving father who loves you and wants a meaningful relationship with you. Sometimes as Catholics we can bristle at the phrase, “a personal relationship with God.” It sounds un-Catholic to some. But it is absolutely the heart of Catholic life. God is not just personal, but a communion of persons, and prayer is for us to get personal with God. We have that access through the gift of the Holy Spirit. Get comfortable with the idea of the truly personal essence of prayer.

Look at the dialogue between Abraham and God in our first reading. What courage Abraham has to dare to haggle with God to save Sodom, principally on Abraham’s part to save his relative Lot and his family. Abraham repeatedly shows his humility and his awareness of the audacity of his requests. And God accepts and responds to his requests. It’s a personal conversation. Of course, God does destroy Sodom, after warning Lot and his family to flee. But the point is Abraham’s persistence in prayer, and his personal relationship with God that allowed that closeness (and courage) in conversation.

So nourishing that beautiful life of prayer, then bring the grace of your relationship with God and unite that to the prayer of the communion of the church. Each person’s personal prayer fuels our communal prayer, and our communal prayer shapes our personal prayer. We need both parts, the parts we do on our own, and then bringing that personal energy into the power of the church’s prayers of the Mass. In the Mass, we’re not a passive audience to an entertaining performance; we’re active participants in the Church’s liturgical worship of God.

For example, when the archangel Gabriel greets the virgin Mary, some artwork portrays Gabriel, this great angelic presence, as bowing low to this innocent teenage girl, and Gabriel addresses her with reverence, a reversal of roles from what we would expect, as Gabriel waits for Mary’s humble “Fiat,” her consent, her “May what you have said be true,” to the message of the angel. Do we pray the “Hail Mary” with that kind of authentic reverence and awe, like Gabriel did. Or like Elizabeth, filled with Holy Spirit, announcing, “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb.” Another example: Pope Saint John Paul the II in his reflection, “On the Church of the Eucharist” says that when the faithful receive communion, “there is a profound analogy between the ‘Fiat’ which Mary said in reply to the angel, and the ‘Amen’ which every believer says when receiving the body of the Lord.” Do we rush through and mumble our “Amen,” like saying “thank you” at the convenience store when we’re being given a receipt? Or do we reverently consider the gravity of that moment of encounter and gift? How much holiness can we inject into our response to the minister who holds up the sacred host and says to us, “The Body of Christ” and awaits the word of our response? Our “fiat”; our “Amen.”

How much can we consider the important words of the creed we proclaim, for which people at various times suffered and gave their lives to define and defend, in preserving the one / holy / catholic / and apostolic / church? Do we bow our heads, as the Church instructs us, as we say the words announcing our faith in the incarnation, that God himself “by the Holy Spirit was incarnate of the Virgin Mary, and became man.”? Do we sing what we are called upon to sing? Do we say what we’re called upon to say? All of which the Church requires of us to help us strengthen and shape our Christian spiritual life rightly—our life as disciples of Christ, and through him, children of God, living out our faith, persevering in prayer, trusting that God will abundantly and lovingly give us the good things that we need.