So, for some reason, lately, I've been thinking about my first time to visit what is now my home up here in Central New York. I was remembering watching everything so intensely, realizing that life up here is proof that Southerners don't have a corner on the weirdness market, but that wherever I go, as long as there are people around, there will be stories to be told. And sermons to be preached. And here's the first story I remember telling when I got back to Kingsport, Tennessee.
I was staying in Hamilton with the Catos. I hadn't seen them in months, so of course we were all excited. But mostly I was there to see the dogs. Now when I first got to their house, we were out in the driveway, really quiet, trying to surprise the dogs who were kenneled upstairs.
But Cotton is a super dog with super senses, and we could hear him squealing, making this sound that Brooks says he only makes when a member of his family shows up after a long time away.
Brooks went upstairs and let the dogs out, and Cotton tumbled down the stairs in his rush to find me. And when he did, he squeaked and starting doing this spinning in the air kind of thing that you have to see to believe.
After the licking was done, he was thirsty and headed off to the kitchen for a drink, but he kept looking over his shoulder to convince himself that I was real, that I was seriously there.
Well, he wasn't completely used to the layout of the house at the time, so, while looking back at me, he walked head first into a wall. You could see the sheepishness in his eyes, like he was saying, “I meant to do that.”
It was hilarious. And it was funny the next time he did it. And the next time. He was just so sure I would disappear. But there came a time, several hours later, once we'd sat around and loved on each other, and he realized that I could walk out of the room and actually come back, that he was willing to stop looking over his shoulder.
He finally understood that I was seriously, really going to hang around for awhile. And he could go back to doing his thing, playing with Lola, barking at cats, his normal daily routine. He was back to being a good dog.
But I'll always have that little snapshot in my head of Cotton walking into the wall. It's sort of a parable, I think.
Parables have often been called “earthly stories with heavenly meanings.” I guess that's true when Jesus is telling them. But really the word “parable” means “cast along side,” as in cast along side the truth. Illustrating it.
So it is with this parable that Jesus is telling us today. A snapshot of two men praying. One looking up to heaven, praying, “God, thank you that I am so wonderful! I'm very proud of what I've become! I am powerful, people fear me, and I can get away with so much.”
And another man, looking down, muttering, “I'm an awful sinner. I am so, so sorry for what I've done in my life.” The only other thing we know about them is that the first man was a Pharisee, a politician cloaked in pious religion, and the second was a tax collector, a civil servant, paid very little, despised, and the first to be dumped on when the government budget got tight.
The first man was expected to be a good, Jewish man, living the Torah out loud and proud so people would admire him. He was supposed to be a pillar of society – society expected him to be a pillar.
He could easily go for an interview with the Jewish Peasant Times and say, “You know, I really don't have any major sins that need forgiving. I probably the least sinful person I know.”
And the second man? He's working for the man, taking from the people. But more than that, he's taking more...that's how he makes his money...extortion, skimming off the top, so that he can make a living. He's watched those in power, how they operate, and knows that's how things are done.
He lives by draining the spirit from his neighbors. He is the rogue and thief that the Pharisee is talking about. It's no wonder that he goes off to hide by himself and won't look up, afraid that he might be recognized.
And Jesus uses this scene to tell us that prayer and reward do not necessarily go hand in hand. But then Jesus does this weird thing with this parable. Did you notice it when you heard it? This weird little thing that has taken me years to notice.
He doesn't just leave these two men in the temple and end the parable there, where the point is made. He gives them another life. He sends them home. The two men go home.
And I think this is the beautiful part of what seems to be a fairly straightforward parable.
Because if we leave the Pharisee staring up in the sky, and the tax collector staring down at the ground, they will never be able to get on with their lives. You can't move forward when you aren't looking forward.
Just like Cotton did, you'll walk right smack dab into a wall.
Cotton eventually learned to trust that I would be there. And the point, I think, of this parable is NOT that there right kinds of prayers and wrong kinds of prayers, that the proud man can become humble in service and the miserable man can be forgiven in repentance.
That's not the point at all. The point is trust. The point is what do you do now that you've offered your prayer?
The point is that, once you've entered into that prayerful relationship with God, you move out of that frozen position of those two men in the parable, and you go home, changed.
I like to think that as the Pharisee goes home to his fancy, gilded home, he sees those needy people around him, and those visions settle in the back of his mind, itching his soul until, one day, some day, he begins to pray for guidance as to how he can put his Torah observance into action, helping the widows, the orphans, those less privileged.
And I like to think the tax collector goes home, realizing that he has been forgiven, and if he can be forgiven, anyone can. And he changes his life, offering what little he has...and himself...to the service of God and others.
Both men, getting to the same place from different directions, coming unstuck from the parable, and moving forward, clear eyed, and truly joyful. Because they have learned to trust that God is at work in their prayers and in their lives.
Today, we are about to baptize a beautiful baby boy. And his eyes are bright and eager and ready to confront the world. And we will, all of us, take vows to teach him to pray and believe and to put that faith to work, loving God and loving his neighbor.
It's our job to teach him to give thanks for all the good things in his life and to recognize his mistakes. And it's our job to teach him that in all things, he can lean into his faith in Jesus to get through. It's our job to make sure that he is always looking forward toward him, and not backward.
It's our job to teach him trust. And that trust in God is what causes us to stop being frozen in the stories of our own lives. It's our job to teach him to judge people by their fruits, not their wealth, not how they cut corners, not by how they look up or look down. But by how they look forward to the open arms of Christ.
So, let's rejoice together. As people of God, building the kingdom of God, bit by bit. Stumbling, sometimes walking into a wall when we get distracted, but trusting in God, that God will give us new life, that we will go home into the world, looking forward, forever changed.
Amen.