"It's Your Attitude, Stupid!"
Sermon Presented October 24, 2004
Luke 18:9-14
In the village of Faken in innermost Friesland there lived a long thin baker named Fouke, a righteous man, with a long thin chin and a long thin nose. Fouke was so upright that he seemed to spray righteousness over everyone who came near him; so the people of Faken preferred to stay away.
Fouke's wife, Hilda, was short and round, her arms were round, her bosom was round, her rump was round. Hilda did not keep people at bay with righteousness; her soft roundness seemed to invite them instead to come close to her in order to share the warm cheer of her open heart.
Hilda respected her righteous husband, and loved him too, as much as he allowed her; but her heart ached for something more from him than his worthy righteousness. And there, in the bed of her need, lay the seed of sadness.
One morning, having worked since dawn to knead his dough for the ovens, Fouke came home and found a stranger in his bedroom lying on Hilda's round bosom.
Hilda's adultery soon became the talk of the tavern and the scandal of the Faken congregation. Everyone assumed that Fouke would cast Hilda out of his house, so righteous was he. But he surprised them by keeping Hilda as his wife, saying he forgave her as the Good Book said he should.
In his heart of hearts, however, Fouke could not forgive Hilda for bringing shame to his name. Whenever he thought about her, his feelings toward her were angry and hard; he despised her as if she were a common whore. When it came right down to it, he hated her for betraying him after he had been so good and faithful to her. He only pretended to forgive Hilda so that he could punish her with his righteous mercy.
But Fouke's fakery did not sit well in heaven. So each
time that Fouke would feel his secret hate toward Hilda an angel came
and dropped a small pebble, hardly the size of a shirt button, into
Fouke's heart. Each time a pebble dropped, Fouke would feel a stab of
pain like the pain he felt the moment he came on Hilda feeding her hungry
heart from a stranger's larder. Thus he hated her the more; his hate
brought him pain and his pain made him hate.
The pebbles multiplied. And Fouke's heart grew very heavy with the weight
of them, so heavy that the top half of his body bent forward so far
that he had to strain his neck upward in order to see straight ahead.
Weary with hurt, Fouke began to wish he were dead.
The angel who dropped the pebbles into his heart came to Fouke one night and told him how he could be healed of his hurt. There was one remedy, only one, for the hurt of a wounded heart. Fouke would need the miracle of the magic eyes. He would need eyes that could look back to the beginning of his hurt and see his Hilda, not as a wife who betrayed him, but as a weak woman who needed him. Only a new way of looking at things through the magic eyes could heal the hurt flowing from the wounds of yesterday.
Fouke protested. "Nothing can change the past," he said. "Hilda is guilty, a fact that not even an angel can change."
"Yes, poor hurting man, you are right," the angel said. "You cannot change the past; you can only heal the hurt that comes to you from the past. And you can heal it only with the vision of the magic eyes."
"And how can I get your magic eyes?" pouted Fouke.
"Only ask, desiring as you ask, and they will be given you. And each time you see Hilda through your new eyes, one pebble will be lifted from your aching heart."
Fouke could not ask at once, for he had grown to love his hatred. But the pain of his heart finally drove him to want and to ask for the magic eyes that the angel had promised. So he asked. And the angel gave.
Soon Hilda began to change in front of Fouke's eyes, wonderfully and mysteriously. He began to see her as a needy woman who loved him instead of a wicked woman who betrayed him.
The angel kept his promise; he lifted the pebbles from Fouke's heart, one by one, though it took a long time to take them all away. Fouke gradually felt his heart grow lighter; he began to walk straight again, and somehow his nose and his chin seemed less thin and sharp than before. He invited Hilda to come into his heart again, and she came, and together they began again a journey into their second season of humble joy.
Parables, like the fable you just heard, were stories told by Jesus to teach a lesson. Hear this parable found in Luke 18:9-14.
Jesus said this parable, like the introductory fable, is for those who regard themselves as righteous and look down with contempt on those deemed less righteous. It's a parable for religious folk - for church members. It's for those who think they're better than those who don't attend church as regularly as they, who don't work as hard as they, who don't give at least 10% of their income to the church, or who happen to have a vice that they don't have. But Jesus isn't just pointing at self-righteous people here. He's pointing at self-righteous people who have contempt for those who fail to measure up to their religious standards. It's a parable about attitude: a self-righteous attitude toward self and an attitude of contempt toward others. It's for those who are trying to work out their own salvation and feel like they're doing a good job of it.
In this parable Jesus gives us two models for prayer, one acceptable and one unacceptable. The punch line must have been a real shocker to his listeners. Why, if there's anyone who won't go home justified, it surely must be the tax collector! He cheats people when he collects their taxes. His prayer might be right, but his life sure is offensive!
And as for the Pharisee, his life is exemplary. His obedience to the law is above reproach. In his self-congratulatory prayer, he uses his fasting and tithing to prove his moral superiority over those who break the law. He strikes us as arrogant, but let's face it, he's the one we want as a church member. He pays the bills! He's there every Sunday! He teaches church school, visits the sick and attends Bible study and choir practice.
Let's look at his prayer. Is it really so bad? Well, he doesn't give thanks that God has spared him from being a thief, rogue, or adulterer, he gives thanks that he's not like them. "God, I thank you that I'm not like other people."
Really?
Here he crosses the line from gratitude to elitism and judgmentalism. It can be a subtle line and we almost never notice when we cross it, but we do it all the time. His attitude is downright contempt for the tax collector. We can't be right before God and loathe others. What betrays us is our refusal to have fellowship with certain people. It shows every time we use us-them language. I can't fellowship with those liberals, those right-wing conservatives, those women, those Pentecostals, those Jews or those literalists. (The use of the us-them language in these last days of the presidential campaign is blatant!) When we aren't concerned about our own sins, we begin to focus on the sins of someone else and we say: "Well, I'm not like that!"
Many people use us -- the religious folk -- as an excuse for not coming to church. "I live a better life than they. Why do I need church -- or religion?" They look at us and compare themselves favorably. We can all find someone to compare ourselves to who will make us look good in our own eyes. When we do this, we avoid facing our own sins. The tax collector didn't look at the Pharisee and make excuses; he felt the weight of his sins and asked God for mercy.
There's something else to consider here. The tax collector recognized his sin and the Pharisee didn't. Hilda recognized her sin and Fouke did not. What do we do when we can't see our own sins?
Well, I don't suggest that you ask your spouse, your child or anyone who knows you well unless you really want to know. One way is to ask God through prayer to reveal the sin in your life. Often the answer to that prayer will come from someone else or in your inner recesses as you ponder a thought or a word. When we have the attitude that we are above reproach, we are set for a fall. When we have the attitude that we are righteous and another is unrighteous, our judgmentalism is evident! Being open to see our own sins is necessary for spiritual growth.
We set ourselves up for a fall when we believe we are better than others, and beyond criticism. Moral superiority causes family conflict and diminishes our witness. The Pharisee's attitude of contempt and superiority contrasts greatly to the attitude of the tax collector who gave physical evidence of repentance. The tax collector sought mercy and God accepted him as a true worshiper.
We can't seem to help comparing ourselves to others who appear to be less than we. "I'm surely a better Christian, a better preacher, a better church member, a better deacon, a better giver, a better parent, a better neighbor than…" (you fill in the blanks.) When we make these comparisons, we choose our strengths and their weaknesses! And if we're not careful, we look on the other with contempt.
How are we justified before God? It's when we admit that we sin, confess our sins and then ask for God's mercy. We must recognize that we need God. Both men came to the temple to pray. One sought God and the other told God how righteous he was.
When we come to worship, we need to come with empty hands--as people who need mercy. But we must also come knowing that a relationship with God has social implications. It's not just between God and us. It's between others who may not fit our definition of spirituality and us.
The tax collector didn't come to God because he was down and out or in prison. In fact, tax collectors were quite wealthy! He came because God drew him and when he met God there in the temple, he faced his own sinfulness. He desired God's presence and healing. He could no longer treat others as he had done in the past. His attitude was one of humility and that humble attitude was pleasing to God. Through humility and confession, his life changed.
When we don't allow God to probe our hearts - or to lift the tiny stones of contempt from them - we either justify our actions or we believe we are beyond hope. But when God is in on the process, God will show us what we need to see--when we need to see it.
"God, be merciful to me a sinner," cries the man who is not at all good but who is looking at his own corrupt heart and offering it to God. His prayer comes from his need, and it's what God wants to hear. As he humbles himself before God and weeps and beats his breast in sorrow, God comes to him, forgives him and exalts him.
If we're honest, most of us have been like both of these people in the parable. We have been convicted of our sins and have turned in sorrow and humility to God who has forgiven us and cleansed us. And we've also been - or are - like the Pharisee who can see the faults of others but not his own. This morning it is important to decide what your response to this parable will be.
The parable begins: "Two men went up…a Pharisee and a tax collector." The tax collector was justified and the Pharisee was not. Whomever we most relate to right now, let's cry out: "Lord, have mercy!"
