Clearing the Minefields to Get to the Goal
It is common knowledge that minefields look quite innocent on the surface. That is what makes them so dangerous. The casual observer sees no dangers at all. But step in the wrong place and your whole world goes to pieces!
Our text for today is something like that. It doesn't look like a minefield at all. It seems to be a simple story at first glance. "To some who were confident of their own righteousness and looked down on everybody else, Jesus told this parable." The audience is established immediately. (Note that it is not necessarily addressed to Pharisees, for they were / are hardly the only ones "confident of their own righteousness" who look down on everybody else!") The story that follows is clear and forthright.
The Pharisee chosen as an exemplar of self-righteousness is said to lay out his deeds of righteousness in clear fashion: "I fast twice a week and give a tenth of all I get." And those are probably only the first of what could well have been a catalogue of noteworthy deeds had he been inclined to elaborate further.
The tax collector (more accurately called a "toll collector" according to some, which is still a notch below "tax collector" on the social scale of the day) meanwhile has nothing to offer by way of who he was or what he did. He could only bring his sins before God . . . and we know that puts one into dangerous territory! Sins have only demerits that lay no claim to anything except condemnation. Or a word of grace, should the grace-giver choose to give such.
That's it, plain and simple. The parable looks as innocent as any field could look. One needs a mine detector to discover the dangers in this field lest one be blown up by the very simplicity of the story.
Mine Number One: The Pharisee's Prayer
One must give the Pharisee the benefit of the doubt. He recognizes, does he not, that he is a product of God's making!?!? "God, I thank you that I am not like others . . . " He has been shaped and formed by God's hand according to his own words, and he thanks God for enabling him to be who he is.
His works, furthermore, are, as has been noted, exemplary. They exceed the normal expectations, for that matter. Fasting was only required once a year by Levitical law, but he fasts twice a week. He need only tithe on portions of his possessions according to the laws of the temple, but he tithes on everything. This is not just some well-doer. Here is a conscientious, well-intentioned, performer fulfilling the highest of expectations. As he approaches the temple he is greeted by one and all as a fine example of godliness. He is not simply boasting about what he would like to be. He is that! This is not where the problem lies. And our attention is too easily diverted at this point so that we don't see the mine.
The problem lies in his too eager willingness to compare himself to others as he reviews his achievements. "I am not like other men," he says. And linguistic experts tell us that the statement is a very comprehensive statement. "Nobody else could measure up to me. I have surpassed them all!" And most certainly he is not like "robbers, evildoers, adulterers -- or even like this tax collector." It is in the comparison business that the hidden mine lies.
And here we see that which underlies his recitation of his catalogue of good deeds. His will to compare reveals that, thank God for his status though he may give voice to, it is his own basic will that is at issue. He knows that it is his own inner strength, his own intense drive to perfection, his own sense of doing what is necessary to enhance his position before God and in society that is really at issue. Therein lies the problem with other people, for that matter. They simply settle for less than what they can do, less than what is required of them, less than what anyone with a strong will and drive . . . such as himself . . . finds it possible to do. And he will have nothing to do with relaxed expectations -- or even ordinary expectations. He is far above that. And surely God is, too! Therefore he must have special status with the God of high expectations.
Now the first mine is exposed fully. For who among the hearers contemplating this parable have sprung free from exactly this monstrous threat of our own inner selves comparing (ever so silently, of course, for we would never want others to see this side of us!) our lives and achievements to others as a way of justifying and even enhancing ourselves? The moment we condemn the Pharisee, we find ourselves in him and we thereby condemn not only him, but ourselves also.
Our own self-righteousness is thoroughly exposed when we discover within ourselves the same will to present ourselves before God and our neighbor as good, church-going, solid citizens whose lives are devoted to all that is right and good. We know enough not to boast about it, but we are hard put to hide from our own secret selves the pride that we have not fallen into the very traps into which we see so many other people around us falling . . . addictions, adulterous relationships, ungodly behavior of every sort. We are thankful that we are not like others. We who judge the Pharisee see what a miserable kind of self-understanding that man has. And then we find it in ourselves! The mine blast will destroy us unless it is first detected and defused or removed.
Mine Number Two: The Tax Collector's Prayer, Part I.
Surely when we retire into praise of the tax collector, however, we are safe, are we not? After all, this is what the Pharisee should have said to begin with. We have recognized that the Pharisee was not really praying at all. To be sure, he started out thanking God, but where does he address God at all other than at that solitary point? All else that he says is boasting. He perceives no sin in himself at all when comparing himself with others because his own righteousness has hidden it from him. So he cannot pray like the tax-collector.
So, of course, we will pray like the tax-collector, will we not? We have learned from the Pharisee not to praise ourselves and we settle in very comfortably alongside the tax-collector, not daring even to look up to heaven, but beating our breast and saying, "God, have mercy on me, a sinner." Surely this is what we say, is it not?
Then, of a sudden, a second thought attaches to our prayer: "I thank you God, that I am not like this Pharisee. I have no self-righteousness in me whatever. I have only sin to confess and here I am confessing it. What a pity that the poor Pharisee cannot stand before you as I do!" And Mine Number Two blows up under our feet unless it is detected and defused or removed. The Pharisee's self-righteousness so easily bleeds over into our humility and our confession of sin becomes lame. Pride has such a terribly sneaky way of getting into our humility. Unless we detect this mine and defuse it, it will destroy us as easily as the First Mine can!
Mine Number Three: The Tax Collector's Prayer, Part II.
Now that we have discovered the disguised Pharisee in us as we stand alongside the tax collector we immediately back off and re-examine ourselves carefully. In our confession we have found a new form of pride. And we attempt to purge ourselves of it.
Only to find that when we purge ourselves of it we stand before God in yet another form of shameful pride, saying, "I trust that you have noted how well I see into myself now? Observe how, in recognizing my sin, I immediately return to you fully eliminating this terrible pride that surged within me when I compared myself to the Pharisee. How hard it is for me to avoid this constant comparing, this continual justifying of myself by contrast to others. But now I have seen through it all and I stand before you once again, newly penitent, now ready to confess purely." Then, with eyebrows slightly elevated, we add, "Do you see how well I have done this? Surely you should note how well I repent, how pure my confession! And, I trust, in noting this 'good confession' your forgiveness will surely follow quickly. Is this not what you promised?"
Confession of sins quickly and easily becomes the "singular good work" that we need in order to be forgiven, does it not? It is not an accident that Article XI of the Augsburg Confession is titled "Confession," but in stating the reformer's position on confession it immediately says, "It is taught among us that private absolution should be retained. . . " It was recognized that a fundamental abuse of the confessional had been that of making the confession of sins a good work in itself. What had become important was that one make a "good confession," for surely this was a humbling of one's self before God in such a way that he most certainly had to forgive. Does he not pity that one whose humble confession is so obvious? Is this not a pleasing good work?
No, they said, the confession of sins is important, but if the confession is made as though it were a good work in itself it is of no value at all. It is only the path to that which is important, namely, that one be absolved -- that the word of forgiveness be spoken to the one confessing by another voice speaking in the name of Christ, a person outside of one's own self lest one only forgive one's own self as the logical outcome of making a good and pure confession.
When we stand with the tax collector we must recognize this mine also and defuse or eliminate it lest it become the explosive device by which our best intentions entrap us into destructive self-righteousness once more from yet another angle. This time the self-righteousness would be self-absolution resulting from the worthy work of our "good confession."
Mine Number Four: A Grace Withheld
While weaving through this threatening minefield there is the danger that we become so absorbed in watching for the mines of destruction that we lose sight of the necessity for grace -- not only the grace of God, vital though that is, but the necessity for our own offering of grace to the sinner alongside us . . . to such as the Pharisee, for example, at the same time that we recognize the necessity of grace that must be given to the tax collector. For when we examine the text as we have looked at it there is a grave danger that we become so consumed by accusation both of others and of self, so overwhelmed with watching out for the dangers, that we become the judges of those who have allowed themselves to be destroyed by those mines by mindlessly wandering through this field.
Is there not still room for the Pharisee to repent? Is there not space for the exercise of grace toward a sinner? Surely if there is not and we find ourselves closely related to the Pharisee, then we, ourselves, are lost! It must be recognized, to be sure, that Jesus clearly said that the tax collector "went home justified before God" while the Pharisee did not. We know that. To say anything else is to distort the story. And for us to put the tax collector into the positions that we have suggested is to abuse the story in still another way. We have done so, however, only to see what happens to us when we stand alongside either of them. But in doing so we have discovered a most important and significant thing.
We are all in the same minefield and we must be cautious about our judgments . . . and about our slowness to offer grace lest we not recognize grace when it is offered to us! Up to now we have discovered what one writer called "the full insidiousness of sin as it seeks to use even our most pious thoughts in the corrupting service of self-interest." Sin surrounds us and grips us by the throat. It plants mines in the church, in our deepest inmost thoughts and feelings, in and among our friends and neighbors, in our pious acts and in our best intentions as well as in the taverns and worldly places within which we live.
Once we recognize all the mines that fill this field over which we must travel, we discover that we are precisely alongside that tax collector just as he is presented in the parable, saying, "God, have mercy on me, a sinner." There is nothing left for us to say but that. All our self-made securities are smashed. All our self-sufficiencies are destroyed. There is nothing left to say and we find ourselves fully at the disposal of God on the far side of that mine field.
On the Far Side of the Minefield
It is here, when we look back over the minefield, where we discover an amazing thing . . . the reason we could traverse that field so surely and safely is because One went before us, stepping on those mines that would have destroyed us! That is why we are safely on this side! All the while we thought we were clearing the field One sent by the gracious Father who knows us better than even we know ourselves was clearing the field for us ahead of our footsteps. He it is who made the way safe for us . . . he who is himself called the Way, Jesus the Christ.
Here, on the far side of that field, we feel the touch of the hand that holds our hand and leads us safely and surely through all the minefields of life. In the waters of our baptism the dirt and sweat of that dangerous journey is washed off us, refreshing and renewing us for what is yet to come, led onward by his directing and guiding word. He takes us, hungry and thirsty from this dangerous journey through the minefields of life and feeds us on bread and wine, on his own Son's body and blood which was shed in that minefield of life for us.
For the journey isn't over, of course. There are many more dangerous fields through which we must travel before journey's end. But we know that we travel this way safely only because the grace of our God sends his Son before us to clear the field as once he cleared it on that monumentally sin-defusing day on Calvary. We travel this way because the grace of our God surrounds us with the Spirit that once separated light from darkness and the waters above the earth from the waters below the earth. He separates us from all the dangers that lie around us, daily creating new opportunities for service under the loving direction of the One who clears the way, whose service to us is the model of all our service to others who travel this minefield with us.
So let us walk boldly . . . even in the midst of the dangers!
Hubert F. Beck, retired pastor
Austin, Texas
Comments? hbeck@austin.rr.com