Luke 18:9-14a, 30th Sunday in Ordinary Time

When Jesus tells a parable, the persons in the story are usually nameless. That means Jesus wants us to identify with one of these persons, asking ourselves: Which person of the story am I? Think of the parable of the Prodigal Son. In the end we are confronted with the question: Am I like the son who returned and asked for forgiveness, or am I like the elder son who cannot forgive his brother?

Of course, we can easily deceive ourselves and automatically identify with the better person. I read that each year, at one of America’s leading Catholic universities, a professor does a survey with each incoming class of students. He puts to them this question: “If you were to die tonight and appear at the pearly gates, what would be your entry ticket?”

Nine out of ten bet their good character and behavior will gain them admission.

This is exactly the strategy used by the Pharisee in the parable told by Jesus. As we listen to this story today, the Pharisee strikes us as conceited. His real problem, though, is that he, like the students in the survey I mentioned, is out of touch with reality. And, by the way, being out of touch with reality is the definition of insanity.

Reality is that we are creatures and God is the creator. Heaven is the experience of sharing intimately in God’s inner life, participating in his immortality and friendship. And let us be honest, we have less of a claim to intimate friendship with God than a mosquito has to intimate friendship with us. As the Danish philosopher Kierkegaard said, there is an infinite qualitative distance between us and God.

In fact, standing on our own merits, we have absolutely no claim whatsoever on God. A claim is based on justice. Justice is about receiving our due and paying what we owe. We receive our very being and all we need to sustain that being from God. Therefore we owe him everything – perfect love, honor, obedience, and worship. And he owes us nothing. Showing up at church from time to time, tossing a few pesos in the basket, and trying to be basically decent people doesn’t quite cover the debt.

In fact, considering what we all owe, the Pharisee’s merits don’t appear all that more impressive than the tax-collector’s.

That’s why God sent Jesus. Through his act of perfect humility, obedience and love on the cross, He paid the debt that the entire race owed to God. That’s justice. And then he credited it to our account. That’s mercy. Another name for mercy is grace.

In the sixteenth century, exactly 500 years ago, Martin Luther, an Augustinian friar, studied St. Paul’s letters and came to a startling conclusion when he read in the Letter to the Ephesians: “for by grace you have been saved through faith; and this is not your own doing, it is the gift of God–not because of works, lest any man should boast” (Eph 2:8).

Wait a minute. Isn’t this Protestant doctrine?

No. In the words of my beloved author Peter Kreeft, “the Protestant Reformation began when a Catholic monk rediscovered a Catholic doctrine in a Catholic book.”

Talking to most Catholics in Luther’s day, you would never know this was Catholic doctrine. And the college survey I mentioned at the beginning illustrates that the same is regrettably true today. Most appear to be under the illusion of the Pharisee that they deserve salvation based on their good deeds.

The teaching of the Church has always been that it’s all grace. Whatever natural blessings we enjoy – health, job, family, education – are gifts. Did we have to labor at all to attain what we have? Usually yes. But we were created out of nothing. And so, even our very existence and ability to labor is a gift. It’s grace.

If we enjoy a personal, intimate relationship with God as our Father and Jesus as our brother, that’s a gift as well. It’s grace.

Do we have to labor spiritually to do God’s will and walk in the path of good works that God has marked out for us? (Ephesians 2:10). Of course. But the very ability to know God’s will and love as God loves is pure grace.

The tax collector was under no illusions: he knew that he deserved nothing but judgment. So he asked for mercy. This is the sane thing to do. The Pharisee, under the illusion that his works made him righteous, didn’t think he needed grace, so didn’t ask. That’s insane.

Humility is not only sane, it is liberating. It enables us to stop thinking about what we have done and what we deserve and focus instead on what He has done and how much He deserves.

Humility may begin with beating one’s breast and looking at the ground. After all, the term “humility” comes from the word “humus” or earth. But mature humility looks up to heaven. Not with the arrogance of the Pharisee, mind you, but with joyful thanksgiving of those who are thrilled to know that they are loved.