The message of this passage is simple: mercy is at God's disposal, forgiveness is available to all who ask for it, and righteousness is a gift, not an accomplishment.

The passage is also a lesson in prayer. The function of prayer is not to point out something to God which we fear God has overlooked or misunderstood. The function of prayer is to open ourselves up to the transforming power of God’s presence. This means that for prayer to be effective we have to be open to change, to grow, to improve, and to progress in our understanding of God and in our ability to love our neighbor. As Wesley reminded us, pride is the inability to learn from those who disagree with us, are different from us or are inferior to us. In other words, pride is the inability to learn at all. The great sin of the Pharisee is that he did not consider the vile tax collector as God in disguise. You may be interested to learn that Benedictine monasteries are required to offer hospitality to all who knock on their doors. The abbot answers the door to a stranger’s knock by asking, “How may I receive your blessing.” The Pharisee’s sin was that he did not look at the hated collaborator and wonder, “how may I receive a blessing from this strange person.”

Our pride and our prejudices are not easy to overcome. Indeed, we seldom recognize our prejudices as needing change. Albert Einstein said, "Common sense is the collection of prejudices acquired by age eighteen." It is flat out not easy for us to change what we assume is common sense. Indeed, real, significant change is impossible for us by ourselves – that is, without God. But God is capable of changing us—if we let God change us—if we let go—if we pray sincerely: "God, be merciful to me, a sinner!"

The great sin of the Pharisee was that he was not interested in change. He didn’t use prayer to ask God for guidance, for forgiveness, for support, which, as I said, is the sole function of prayer. He used prayer to tell God something he feared God otherwise might not know. His prayer is more like stentorian prepared remarks than a penitent petition delivered sotto voce. When you pray, Jesus said, go into the closet and pray to your God who hears you in secret.

All too often, a prayer turns into an opportunity to make a speech. Pastors are perhaps the worst offenders. One of my pet peeves is a pastor who uses the pastoral prayer to preach a mini-sermon. All too often, the audience for prayers is not God so much as the people nearby who overhear. God is the real audience for prayer, of course, and it hardly seems necessary to preach to God. The great sin of the Pharisee is that he uses his prayer to establish facts which he wants God to notice and presumably reward, and incidentally it wouldn’t be a bad thing if those standing nearby hear and take notice, as well. Well, as the saying goes, he already has his reward: an over inflated ego.

There is an inherent paradox at the heart of the gospel which this parable lays bare. The more I think of myself as a saint, the more sinful I am. The more I think of myself as a sinner, the more saintly I become. It’s a bit like Dagwood who complained that he would not belong to an organization that had him as a member. It’s the proverbial catch 22, if you think you do belong, you don’t; if you know you don’t belong, you belong. This contradiction is at the heart of the Gospel. Let it stir your brain to reflect deeply on the need for humility in even the greatest among us. Those who have the most, Jesus says, also have the most need to be humble.

I used to think that this parable of Jesus about the Pharisee and the tax collector was a simple lesson about not being quite so full of ourselves: pride being the root of all evil and such. But now I see the Pharisee as truly evil. There is no more dangerous person than the one who thinks with absolute certainty that he is right. It’s a sad and often illustrated truth that the lessons of history fall heaviest on those who are sure they have all the right answers. You can identify such people easily: They seem so sure of the sins of others, but oblivious to their own.

One of the great lessons I learned in politics is never to get angry when you lose, and never gloat when you win. This is because no battle is ever the last one to be fought. Or as Yogi Berra said, it ain’t over ‘til it’s over. And in politics as in life, it’s never over. I read this week about an inspirational coach who often encouraged his players at half time by telling them that there is nothing more irrelevant to the outcome of the game than the half time score. This is an especially important message if you are ahead. As a veteran Vikings fan, I know that there is no lead they can’t blow.

This parable is not easy to unravel. On the surface, the Pharisee is probably right that he is a righteous man. Sure, he’s a little vain, but compared to the tax collector, he is a paragon of virtue. The tax collector is a collaborator with the hated Romans and almost certainly a thief, stealing from both citizens who pay taxes and the Empire who received them. We want our children to grow up to be righteous and good like the Pharisees, not thieves, rogues, and adulterers. The Pharisee is evil, however, because he celebrates too early. It is only half time for him. And he celebrates by insulting those beneath him on the social and moral scale. This is always dangerous as the erstwhile president of Harvard learned.

We get into our deepest difficulties when we think we have the clearest grasp of the right and the true. Thinking yourself in the “right” is no guarantee that you are right. “Certitude is not the same as certainty,” a famous jurist once said. “All of us have been cock sure of something that turned out to be wrong.” And thinking yourself in the right is also no excuse to abuse those beneath you. Think road rage for a moment. Cars sometimes bring out the worst in us and never more clearly than when someone else does something stupid. Wisdom is found in the restraint most of us muster; restraint that keeps us from shooting those for whom a turn signal is an unnecessary inconvenience. It is one of the great injustices of life that those guilty of improper turn signal use usually get off scot-free.

The temptation is strong but it’s never a good idea to make fun of someone else who has just done something dumb. Faith once thought her car had broken down. The engine ran rough and finally stalled and wouldn’t start. She had the car towed to the repair shop only to learn that she had actually run out of gas. Now this rivals the time she drove into the garage with the car top carrier still attached to the roof racks and the time recently she smashed into the car in front of her because he was checking her hem line. But, Pharisee that I can be at times, I restrained my urge to laugh or gloat. I knew that my day would come, which it did when I backed into a perfectly visible and completely stationary hitching post, exploding the back window of our Jeep on the first day of our vacation in Wyoming. She has drawn ahead of me with a few careless fender benders, but my day will come. It’s probably a good thing that most husbands die before their wives. I, for one, don’t want my soul to sore to heaven for judgment at the pearly gates, only to find my wife whispering in St. Peter’s ear.

Our Bishop, Greg Palmer uses a wonderful expression to cover up his occasional stumbles as a bishop presiding over an unruly annual conference by saying “I’m not perfect, but I’m promising.” He defuses with self deprecating humor a situation that sometimes threatens to discombobulate him and his audience. But his joke has deep theological roots in John Wesley, the founder of Methodism, who urged his followers to “move on to perfection.” “To make a mistake is as natural as breathing,” he once cautioned his followers. Those of us who accept the call of Jesus know that we are moving on toward perfection. We have not reached it. Even the best of us is only a banana peel away from sliding back. Back sliding is always possible and among Methodists at least never ridiculed. A back-slidden Methodist, as they are called and of which there are many, is as welcome in the kingdom as those still trudging up the hill.

The Pharisee wasn’t actually far off the mark. He just left some few but very important words out of his prayer, words that would have indicated his understanding that we are all in need of grace. God, I thank you that I have so far not been a thief, a rogue or an adulterer. Not yet have I abused my powers. Up to now, I have not collaborated with the enemy to cheat my neighbor. And when he finished, he might well have added, “When I see the great sinners of my time, like that poor tax collector over there, I know that there but for the grace of God go I.” Now there’s a prayer guaranteed to get you justified!