Sirach 34:12-18
Psalm 34:2-23
2 Timothy 4:6-18
Luke 18:9-14
As the great wheel of the Eucharistic Lectionary turns in a three year rotation making its way through all of the Sacred Scriptures, we look forward to the appearance of the magic words -- the ones that speak deeply into our hearts, that made us take notice of holiness as children, that stirred our imaginations as adolescents, that guided us through the trials of adulthood, and that steeled some of us who were called to give our lives for the Gospel. These three sentences are firmly set in Heaven's firmament among the brightest stars: "I have fought .... I have finished .... I have kept ....." St. Paul continues, "I am almost poured out as a libation," as a living sacrifice. The Kingdom of God draws near. Passing through many trials, the longed-for destination appears in the distance awaiting his arrival.
Together with St. Luke, St. Paul is our patron, for both were Apostles to the Gentiles, ourselves. Their combined writings constitute most of New Testament, and they are joined in one purpose: that all people be shown the way to God and to life. As St. Luke reports, the Lord Jesus devoted nearly all of His earthly ministry to this purpose. He has come, Jesus says repeatedly, to save the lost sheep of Israel, to save the one lost lamb among a flock of one hundred, to save tax collectors and harlots who have need of a physician. But what is He saving them from? From the wrong path, the wrong direction, and from the traps that lay ahead on the road that is right. And the stakes are high -- not not just life and death, but far more than that. For the Lord Jesus is the instrument of Creation, able to see the path of every pilgrim, and He knows a very important law of spiritual physics: the steps we take today gradually harden into a destination from which we cannot easily escape. What is more, we and that destination are permanent. Each of us was created to live forever. The question is, where will we live? Will we dwell with Him in a forever of eternal life, or will we be forever separated from Him in an eternal, living death.
It turns out that Jesus was not sent to congratulate the virtuous. He tells one Pharisee that He is not concerned with those who have no need of a physician; He tells another that the godly will have their reward. He does not spend His time with those whose journey is well begun and who are well on their way. For these journeymen, His words are brief: "You are not very far from the Kingdom of Heaven." But for those who are headed in the wrong direction, He is tireless in His love to save, and He admonishes the Apostles to do the same. Their message concerns the narrow path and the narrow gate, the vineyard owner who lives in a distant land or the master who travels to a distant land. The Christian life is intrinsically about leaving one world and arriving to another. Responding to this fact, the Christian faith in its earliest days was called "The Way."
This morning, the Lord returns to a subject He had addressed only a month or so ago. The parable of the Prodigal Son presents us with three stages of journey: the younger son's rebellion against the father, the virtuous son's lack of compassion for others (even his brother), and the father's patience and wisdom for both sons. The parable leaves us with a question: which is the greater temptation, the sins of the flesh, represented by the younger son's gambling, drinking, and prostitutes, or the sins of the spirit, represented by the older son's pridefulness? The later stages of the journey, where one believes he is well past all hazards, may turn out to be the most dangerous passage of all.
The parable reported by St. Luke in this morning's lessons shows us both stages of the journey: the proud Pharisee and the penitent tax collector. St. Paul was a Pharisee, a particularly devout Jew zealous to observe every jot and tittle of the Law of God's people. A tax collector, by contrast, violated both God's law and the social contract of common decency. Tax collectors were collaborators with the occupying Roman army and persecutors of their own people. They were told by the Romans that they must collect taxes due Caesar but that they could charge the people whatever they wanted above that amount, being granted a license to steal.
The one we encounter in St. Luke's Gospel this morning has come to the place of self-recognition. He looks in the mirror and sees a monster. He is filled with regret; he does not feel worthy even to pray to God. And now he humbles himself with sincere contrition in the Temple of God. Like the Prodigal Son, he has hit bottom and lies prostrate. For the tax collector, no fatted calf or ring or celebration will ensue, but we know from the words of the Lord that he has been forgiven. He is justified in God's eyes.
The terms justified and righteous are technical terms in first-century Jewish life. The former means that one is in harmony with the 613 commandments of the Law; the latter means that one is found "not guilty" in an imagined court of the Law. Both the Pharisee in our parable this morning and the Prodigal Son's older brother have been zealous to obey the Law. They check the score card, to borrow a baseball metaphor, and they find that they have committed no error. And they both drift into the social isolation of pridefulness. They have spent so much time examining their own blamelessness that they no longer look with compassion at other people. In fact, they both are keen to be recognized for their superior conduct of life and perhaps imagine that others admire the way they comport themselves and who look on in envy.
Both tax collector and Prodigal Son represent the beginnings of spiritual journey. The weight of their sins has become too great a burden. They are filled with regret, and each wishes to begin a new life "following the commandments of God and walking from henceforth in His holy ways," as we say at Mass every morning. By contrast, the Pharisee and the older brother are both men who have lived in harmony with these commandments and for many years, yet they have lost the way toward holiness. They have attached themself to "checklist spirituality" and to keeping up appearances but have neglected the conversion of heart, and insincere life has slowly and imperceptibly hardended into an insincere heart. The beginner's heart is sincere, and his rememdy is simple: offer welcome and forgiveness. He does not need further schooling in his sins; he is an expert on that subject and will give a more sincere account of that life than any teacher would dare to give.
For the seasoned pilgrim, though, remedies are neither simple nor swift. The slow formation of an insincere heart has taken place over many years, and it will not melt in a nonce. Reform will come slowly and through great and continual effort. Their sins are is not those of the flesh, such as greed and lust, whose symptoms become obvious. If nothing else, the revulsion of friends and family sends a powerful message. But the sin of pride, whose symptoms are subtle, may in fact lead to social approval for the show of imagined virtue. More to the point, the prideful person is frequently avoided rather than condemned. And he does not notice, for his eyes are only on himself.
Pride is the deadliest of the Seven Deadly Sins. It is Satan's sin. It is also the sin committed in Eden. In both instances the sinner chose more than what was good and right for himself. He had everything in the world, but he chose more, more than everything. He chose to become the equal to God. The decision here is to make oneself the center of the world, indeed, a world unto oneself. One imagines the isolation of the older brother set against the intimacy, unity, and celebration surrounding the father and younger brother, representing the abundant life in harmony with God. One sees the proud Pharisee praying alone and can easily imagine the loneliness he lives each day, for what other soul would draw near to him?
The sins of the flesh foreshadow pride. For who could consent to illicit sex or promiscuity, or who could betray a trust by stealing from someone, or who could lead a double life -- all committed in God's plain sight, without placing oneself over God? Where does this self-permission come from if it does not come from pride? Like Lucifer, the radiant angel, we are willing to trade away God's love and trust in order to gain something else for ourselves .... as if anything in the world could rival God's eternal love and the life that blooms around it. Yes, God loves us, to the point that He endured every kind of betrayal and degradation and suffering -- all poured out like a libation in order to show us one, simple thing: how to follow Him to Heaven. His heart is tender toward us as we stumble in the darkness of our grosser sins, and it is no less tender as we complete the journey toward Him on an abundantly lighted road. For Heaven is supernal light itself, yet did Lucifer, son of the morning, fall, "from morn to noon he fell, from noon to dewy eve, a summer's day; and with the setting sun dropped from the zenith like a falling star."
How many of us have said, "Oh, that we might have been one of those nameless disciples on the Road to Emmaus! To have been there with the Lord, listening to His words, feeling our hearts burning within us!" But there is nothing special about Emmaus. The only thing remarkable about that road was not Emmaus, but that its destination was Heaven. And that is the road you are on. And the Lord is there with you. He speaks into your life in countless ways. Watch for Him. Listen for Him. And feel the fire in your heart that stirs whenever you walk with Him. Amen.