The Pharisee

A while back, I attended the feast day for a monastery that is nearby. A friend of mine was asked to help with cleaning the temple after the service. He was more than willing to help, but he thought he’d join the rest of the visitors in the trapeza for the meal first. Before he had a chance to take his first bite of food, one of the monks came up behind him and asked him what he was doing. Innocently, he said he was preparing to eat. The monk, who was also a good friend of his, put his hand on my friend's shoulder and jokingly asked, “Here I am working and you’re sitting and eating?  What, do you think you’re better than me?” My friend apologized, got up, and helped clean the temple.

I laughed when I first heard this story. My friend is a good guy and willing to help anyone with just about anything, so the idea that he intentionally didn’t want to help the monks was laughable. But what stuck with me was what the monk said to him, “What, do you think you’re better than me?” It was a question that no one had ever asked me before, nor was it one that I had asked myself. Do I think I’m better than the guy next to me? What about a drunk, homeless pedophile that I might meet on the street? What about the corrupt politician, the radical religious nut, the promiscuous neighbor, or the lazy co-worker?  Am I better than him?

If such a drunk, homeless pedophile were to ever walk up to me on the street and ask me that same question, I would probably say “No, of course I don’t think I’m better than you.” And why would I ever say that I thought I was better than him? I’m a Christian and all Christians are supposed to be humble. We follow the path of our Master, the One who was willing to make a quiet entrance into His creation, surrounded by animals in a small town. This is the same Man who willingly allowed Himself to be beaten, bruised, and humiliated by the very hands that He created. Who am I to ever think that I’m better than anyone else?

The sad fact is that I think I’m better than you. I think I’m more correct, more honest, more virtuous, more of everything good and that “I’d never do a horrible thing like that.” I often prop myself up on a tiny house of cards so that I can stand just a little bit higher than my neighbor. I would never admit this fact, because I’m too proud to admit how proud I actually am. What, do I think I’m better than you? Yes, I actually do.

The fact of the matter is that all humans are capable of committing the most heinous, evil acts imaginable. And at the same time, we are also capable of the most beautiful and inspiring acts of Godliness. I’m in the same boat as everyone else: I’m made of the same stuff and I have the same disease. I’m one step away from being a murderer or worse. Actually, I am a murderer for “Whosoever hateth his brother is a murderer: and ye know that no murderer hath eternal life abiding in him.” (1 John 3:15). If this is the case, I’ve murdered a lot of people on the way to and from work.

And in a lot of ways I am worse than many of “those people.” I have problems that I refuse to see. I use other people’s sins as makeup to hide my own boils, cuts, and bruises. I’m sick but I don’t see it, I’m dying but I’m convinced I’m immortal. I am my own healer and my own physician, I am a blind man who thinks he leads himself into all holiness (Luke 6:39). In my own hubris, I leave no room for the actual Healer because I’m already on the job. Who needs the Physician of our souls and bodies when I can just pretend that I’m fine? Why would a healthy man like myself ever seek the One who can heal all illness?

The fact of the matter is that I am the only sinner on this planet. I may think I’m better than you, but I am not. Not only am I not better than you, but I’ve deluded myself into thinking I am something I am not. On the Sunday when we remember the parable of the Publican and the Pharisee, know that I’m that arrogant bastard who stands in the presence of the only Good One and thinks about how great is he is compared to others. Meanwhile, those who I condemn lay broken on the ground, weeping for their sins, and quietly entering the Kingdom of Heaven.