9 He also told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and regarded others with contempt: 10 “Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. 11 The Pharisee, standing by himself, was praying thus, ‘God, I thank you that I am not like other people: thieves, rogues, adulterers, or even like this tax collector. 12 I fast twice a week; I give a tenth of all my income.’ 13 But the tax collector, standing far off, would not even lift up his eyes to heaven but was beating his breast and saying, ‘God, be merciful to me, a sinner!’ 14 I tell you, this man went down to his home justified rather than the other, for all who exalt themselves will be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be exalted.”
Luke 18:9-14
My sermon from Reformation Sunday (October 26, 2025) on Luke 18:9-14.
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So over these last few weeks, we’ve been spending a lot of time focused on wisdom. Wisdom is, I think, the words, phrases, teachings and ideas we lean into while going through everything life might bring. Wisdom is often received from those who came before us, serving as a guide to shape our response. Yet there are times when the guides we’ve been given struggle to meet the fullness of what comes our way. It’s at those moments when the wisdom we need comes from the One who has already laid a claim on our lives and our souls. And while Jesus never promised life would be fair, he did promise to be there to carry us through. This promise of presence is the kind of wisdom which should reform the wisdom we teach and share. But translating that into something that influences what we do in our families, at work, in school, and within our communities, isn’t always easy to see. Interpreting and living into the wisdom of divine presence is something we all need help with. And our reading today from the gospel according to Luke provides, I think, a word that helps us discover what this looks like in our lives and in our world.
Now whenever an author of a biblical book adds their interpretation of what Jesus did, that’s always an invitation for us to slow down and pay attention. Luke doesn’t, I think, mean for his words to be the end-all-and-be-all limit of what Jesus said. Rather, it provides a real life example of someone noticing Jesus’ wisdom and wondering how to apply it to the rest of life. We’re told that Jesus told this parable – this short story – because there were those around Jesus who believed they were righteous and regarded everyone else with contempt. There’s something about that statement, though, that feels very relatable. Many of us have had the experience of being around those who love letting us know about their climb up to God. And while talking about our faith is part of our Christian calling, looking down on others while we do it is not. Those who do this are, I think, embodying a kind of wisdom that treats everything – including faith – as a competition. Their goal is to always win – and their prayers are full of thanks that they’re not like everyone else. This behavior is pretty easy to recognize in those around us but a bit harder to notice in ourselves. Yet I wonder if we see a glimpse of it when our language about faith is all about gaining something more. And what we want to gain is to be like those we see as righteous – who don’t doubt, question, or lose heart when the hard stuff of life comes our way. The righteous are the ones who we imagine have, somehow, won at faith and we wish we had that same kind of faith too.
Yet if that was the faith God wanted us to have, it’s hard to imagine that our faithful life would look very different from what the Pharisee in Jesus’ short story chose to do. He, after all, worships, prays, is generous with his money, and practices his faith every day. And while his prayer is a little shady, I don’t know many of us who would want to be a rogue, thief, or a hated tax collector. The world we live in is often defined by our competition against one another. We always assume there’s only so much grace, so much love, so many opportunities, and so much wisdom to go around. If we were like him, we – and others – would assume we’re winning the life of faith. But Jesus wants us to realize that there’s something missing when all we want to do is win. Now we might immediately jump to the tax collector who, Jesus describes, appears more humble, spiritual, and humble. But his righteous posture in the midst of prayer isn’t, necessarily, reflected in the life he lives. Tax collecting, in the ancient world, was a violent business. The Roman Empire didn’t collect the taxes themselves, hiring others to do it for them. As payment for these services, the Romans allowed these companies to charge a little more than the Empire asked for. The extra folks charged varied but could be incredibly high. And if someone didn’t pay, they were empowered by the state to use force to take what the Empire wanted. The tax collector, while in the place God promised to be, might have recognized his complicity in a system defined by what it could take rather than what it could give. But nowhere in his prayers does he ask for his life to be changed. This isn’t a parable, I think, where we’re being asked to choose the Pharisee or the Tax Collector as some kind of faithful winner. They serve, instead, as a mirror reflecting back what we faithful assume wisdom should be. Yet I wonder if maybe, within what the Tax Collector does say, is a word showing us what holy wisdom always does.
And that word, I think, is mercy. It’s a word the tax collector, in his work, wouldn’t show others as well as a word the Pharisee refuses to embrace when noticing who he’s praying with. In the seasons of experiences, situations, challenges, joys, and sorrows that make up our life, what God’s presence often looks like is simply mercy. It’s the mercies that can be big, such as being forgiven by those we’ve harmed or having a chance to mend a broken relationship. These mercies can also, though, appear small from the outside but are spiritually large. It’s the mercy of having time to eat ice cream with people we can actually hug. It’s the mercy of having families we’re born into or ones we’ve chosen who not only love us but allow us to love them in return. It’s the mercy of witnessing flowers opening, the sun rising, and noticing how we really are part of something so much bigger than ourselves. And while we might be grateful for the gifts we’ve been given to help us have a career, grow in status, and maybe gain some wealth – it’s in the connections we have with each other where God’s mercy becomes real. Mercy invites us to learn each other’s stories, recognize the ways we harm those around us, grow in our ability to accept help, and embrace the change we need so all our neighbors can thrive. Mercy takes seriously that being with, rather than standing above, will be a faithful stance. God’s wisdom, then, will always be merciful and all our wisdom should be the same.
So in light of all the wisdom we’ve pondered over these last few weeks, let’s take a few minutes to answer a questions on the back of the bulletin/pink sheet:
So what gives life lasting value and meaning? And not only in general. Be specific about what has made your life what it is.
How do we make the most of our lives?
What is ultimately satisfying?