Because I am, you know, in the public speaking field, I naturally notice and critique the public speaking of others.  I am more critical, you know, than the average listener.  Particularly I notice the annoying habits of public speakers – repetitive filler words, gestures, and movements.

What I don’t notice, you know, are my own annoying habits when I speak.  Like, um, you know, er, how often I just say “you know.”  My wife pointed this out to me just last weekend.

“You Know….” (Luke 18:9-17), March 15, 2009

Annoying habits

Public speaking is a major part of what I do for a living.  You know, I can’t think of any other profession where someone is required to prepare and deliver a new speech or lecture once (and sometimes more often) every week, year in and year out, for an entire career.

When you do something for a living, you know, you become more observant of others.  I remember a conversation with a former member in the hosiery business.  We had been sitting in his living room getting acquainted for a few minutes when I asked him what kinds of socks he made.  Without breaking eye contact, he said, “The kind you’re wearing.”  Because he made socks, you know, he had already checked out my socks.

Because I am, you know, in the public speaking field, I naturally notice and critique the public speaking of others.  I am more critical, you know, than the average listener.  Particularly I notice the annoying habits of public speakers – repetitive filler words, gestures, and movements.

What I don’t notice, you know, are my own annoying habits when I speak.  Like, um, you know, er, how often I just say “you know.”  My wife pointed this out to me just last weekend.

Linda remains my biggest fan after twenty years of hearing me preach.  If your spouse had heard you speak more than a thousand times, would she still take notes?  Mine does.  But she’s also my best critic.  I had no idea, you know, that I had this habit.  Now that I’m aware of it, I’m trying to break it.  It’s hard, you know.

Why is it so easy to hear in others what I cannot hear in me?

Let’s take, for example, the Pharisee in today’s parable.  This story is so familiar, so short, and so powerful that it hardly needs retelling beyond reading the Scripture.  What intrigues me is the sincerity of the Pharisee.  He is in a public place doing and saying what he hopes will be watched and overheard.  He absolutely believes his words are not only true but commendable.

Pause and think about that.  Here stands a man in prayer, in a public place, whose clothing already makes him conspicuous.  He stands up straight and speaks in a tone and volume that are intended to be heard:  “God, I’m thanking you that I am not like everyone else, especially swindlers, outlaws, adulterers, or even like that dishonest tax collector.  I am fasting two days every week; I am giving away ten percent of everything I get.”  When he says that, can he not hear what others hear?

You know, he can’t.  He really can’t.  He doesn’t know, you know?  That is what amazes me most about this story.  This man whose pride is glaringly evident to everyone else is completely oblivious to it.  I don’t want that to happen to me.  Do you?

Here’s the question I would like to raise for us today:  “How do you know if you’re spiritually overconfident?”  The story of the Pharisee and the tax collector suggests three tests.

You know you’re spiritually overconfident…

… if your prayers are too long.

The Pharisee begins well, “God, I thank you….” That’s the right way to start a prayer.  He should have quit while he was ahead.

How many times do we say too much – to God and to others?

A few weeks back my best friend and critic called me on that one, too.  I was telling her about a conversation I had with a friend, and how I had asked him about his family, his business, and his thoughts about Corinth.  I was sincere in reaching out to him.

As I told Linda about the conversation, I then said too much.  I added, “But you know, he never asked me what I thought.”

And she very gently responded, “That sounded kind of arrogant.  Like you were humble and interested and he wasn’t.”  As they say, I was “busted.”  My words went too far.

The Pharisee should have stopped with, “God, I thank you…you’re so good to me.”  Instead a perfectly good beginning to a prayer turned into arrogance.  “I thank you that I’m not like others.  I’m better.”

How about these examples of prayers and conversations that should end sooner?

“I want to apologize…but let me explain why I did it.”

“I’m sorry that happened…but I tried to warn you.”

“Let me be honest…and tell you why you irritate me.”

“I’m not perfect…but I was raised this way.”

“May I help you…maybe next week when I have more time?”

The same is true of our prayers.

“Lord, I confess that what I said was wrong…but you know he brings out the worst in me.”

“God, I want to do your will…but please don’t ask me to….”

“Help me to forgive her…even though I will never forget.”

“Guide our nation’s leaders…and help them see where they are wrong.”

“Father, help me to care for the poor…but not in a way that I will risk being taken advantage of.”

“God, I thank you…that I’m not like everyone else.”

A contemporary Christian song by Phillips, Craig, and Dean begins, “You are God in heaven and here am I on earth, so I’ll let my words be few.  Jesus, I am so in love with You.” (emphasis added)

Sometimes we just blather on too long before God.  Our words must sound like filler words.  Jesus called it “babbling like the pagans” (Matthew 6:7).  Other times our extra words are simply excuses and self-justification.  In prayer, let your words be few.

You know you’re spiritually overconfident…

…if you ask for nothing

Somewhere we’ve been taught that it’s more spiritual to limit our prayers to words of thanksgiving and praise than it is to petition God.  To be sure, there must be balance.  We’re not talking about asking God for a bigger stock portfolio or for a new Lamborghini.

But in this parable, it was the Pharisee who made no request of God.  All he said was “thank you,” right?

By contrast, the tax collector said thank you for nothing.  His prayer was 100% a petition – and that for himself.

Which one went home justified?  The one who knew he needed God enough to ask for mercy.

It’s not “spiritual” to come before God with no needs.  It’s spiritual overconfidence.

How much do you need God?  Right now?

Many people need him more than they did six months ago, but probably less than they did five days ago – if need is defined economically.  For some reason, we tend to think of need as primarily financial.

There are so many areas of human need – need for wisdom and direction, need for help to do what we know is right, need for healing of body and soul, need to step back and see ourselves and our circumstances objectively, need to identify with others and see them as God sees them.

It’s when we think we have no need that we are furthest from God.

You know you’re spiritually overconfident…

… if you thank God you are not like the Pharisee

In our day, we have reversed Jesus’ parable.[1] Most of us read this story and think, “God, I thank you that I’m not like that Pharisee, a fanatic who takes his faith too seriously.  I admit that I’m a sinner, and I rather enjoy it.”

Is that an improvement?  Is there any more humility, any greater faith?

The point of this story is Jesus’ own application in verse 14: “Everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted.”

Humility is a funny thing.  C. S. Lewis, the Oxford don who became the twentieth century’s most articulate defender of the Christian faith, captured the paradox of humility well in his Screwtape Letters.  If you haven’t read The Screwtape Letters, you should.

Screwtape is a senior devil who is teaching a younger devil named Wormwood how to tempt a human being.  The “patient” is a non-Christian at the beginning of the book, but becomes (much to Screwtape’s chagrin) a believer.

Chapter 14 on humility is insightful, but here’s my favorite paragraph.

Your patient has become humble; have you drawn his attention to the fact? All virtues are less formidable to us once the man is aware that he has them, but this is specially true of humility. Catch him at the moment when he is really poor in spirit and smuggle into his mind the gratifying reflection, “By jove! I’m being humble”, and almost immediately pride—pride at his own humility—will appear. If he awakes to the danger and tries to smother this new form of pride, make him proud of his attempt—and so on, through as many stages as you please. But don’t try this too long, for fear you awake his sense of humour and proportion, in which case he will merely laugh at you and go to bed.

That’s the point about humility, isn’t it?  As soon as you think you’re being humble, you’re not.  If you have a rating scale of 1-10 on all the virtues, how do you ever say, “I’m at a 10 on humility (or even an 8 or a 5)?”

So how do you reflect on humility?  How do you grow in it?

What Jesus teaches us to do in this parable is to ask, “How do I think about others?”  Where do I see them in terms of their closeness to God, their worthiness to be “in the temple”?  My answer to that question is a measure of my humility.

Here’s an insight Pastor Paul shared with me this week about this text.  This tax collector probably left the temple and went back to…tax collecting, right?  Whatever dishonest practices in which he was engaged, or in which others assumed he was engaged, were unchanged.  Or if they were changed, Jesus doesn’t make a point of telling us so.

We object, “I can’t love someone who continues to do wrong.”  The following quote has been attributed to C. S. Lewis as well, but I can’t find the exact source.  Until someone tells me where to find it in Lewis’ writings I’ll consider it anonymous.  Whoever said it, it’s profound –

There is someone I love, even though I don’t approve of what he does. There is someone I accept, though some of his thoughts and actions revolt me. There is someone I forgive, though he hurts the people I love the most. That person is me. There are plenty of things I do that I don’t like, but if I can love myself without approving all I do, I can also love others without approving of all they do.

Both the Pharisee and the tax collector were sinners before, during, and after their prayers.  But only one was humble.  Why?  Because he wasn’t comparing himself to the other guy – better than, worse than, whatever.  The need for God’s grace isn’t relative – as if only the worst sinners or those who commit certain categories of sin are in need of mercy.  No, the need for grace is universal, and it’s completely focused on the vertical.

Like children

Luke is the only gospel writer who records the parable of the Pharisee and the tax collector.  He loves stories, and he wants to include stories that other gospel writers omitted.

The parable leads me to ask, “How will this Pharisee ever change?” To answer that question, Luke goes right into another familiar story about Jesus.

Some mothers and fathers bring their little ones to Jesus.  We have seen the Sunday School pictures for years of happy children gathered around Jesus.  That may have been the case.  But something else might be going on.

The infant mortality rate in Jesus’ day was about 30%.  Of the 70% who survived childbirth, 30% died before age 6, and another 30% died before age 16.  That means about 3 in 10 babies made it safely through adolescence.[2]

These parents had seen Jesus touch people and heal them.  Some of these little ones were probably already sick or at risk.  Maybe that’s one reason the disciples didn’t want children around Jesus – in addition to the fact that they thought he was too important for little people.

But it is their very vulnerability that causes Jesus to respond, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them.  God’s kingdom is made up of those who come to God like a child.”

What does that mean?  Children are vulnerable.  Children are needy.  Children are dependent, and don’t mind admitting it. The child is the tax collector who simply says, “God, I need you.”  Then God changes you.

Does God still change people, even as adults?  Is there an area of your life where God has transformed you?  Perhaps from guilt to freedom.  Maybe from a broken marriage to a rebuilt family.  Maybe from depression to a life of stability and joy.  Perhaps from promiscuity or dependence to freedom.

I would like to hear your story.  How has God’s grace changed you?  On Easter Sunday, we have a special moment planned in the worship service to share briefly stories of changed lives.  If you have something to share, please let me know in the next week or two.

Maybe God still wants to change you.  Today might be the day for you to say, “Lord, have mercy on me.”  As we respond to him in prayer today, we will do so with a setting of the Kyrie (Greek for “Lord”) – “Lord, have mercy upon me.  Christ have mercy upon me.”  Come to him like a child.  Confess your need.  Let him change you.  Amen.

(© 2009 by Robert M. Thompson.  Unless otherwise indicated, Scriptures quoted are from The Holy Bible,
New International Version, Copyright 1978 by New York International Bible Society.)