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First
Reading
|
Psalm |
Epistle |
Gospel |
| Sirach 35:12-17 |
Psalm
84:1–6
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2 Timothy
4:6–8, 16–18
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Luke
18:9–14
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It happened at a dinner party given by a respected leader of the community. Demonstrating the generous hospitality he was known for, he invited Jesus and the disciples. As the evening wore on, the conversation became louder and more intense. People began to wonder when the hors d’oeuves of sushi and stuffed artichokes would run out and the main course be served. While it was obvious most of the guests knew each other quite well, there was also anxiousness about who would be seated where and an air of smugness over who had not been invited. Suddenly a pathetic woman burst into the courtyard and went straight for Jesus. She lay at his feet, with her hair covering her face, weeping and pleading for a blessing. The horrified guests began to glance at each other and make snide remarks. Jesus said something to the host and those immediately around them. Then he knelt down and began talking softly to her. Finally she lifted her head and pressed her lips together. She and Jesus let a faint smile pass between them. As she rapidly disappeared out into the street, the disciples noticed the bright sparkle in her glistening eyes. Fortunately dinner was ready to be served. People were seated and all save Jesus and his host quickly forgot the awkwardness of the situation.
Afterwards the host breathed a sigh of relief. Everything had gone well with the exception of that brief strange intrusion, but as the guests began to take their leave, the disciples could not but help notice that everyone seemed weary. On the walk home, the disciples thought again of the woman with the glistening eyes. She seemed to have been the only one who had left the party refreshed rather than exhausted. I suspect the disciples commented about the women afterwards. I think that they realized that the one who had benefited the most from the Lord’s company at the banquet was not any of the invited guests who ate way too much of the sushi and stuffed artichokes--but the uninvited woman who had received a smile, some words of comfort, and a gift of God’s understanding.
There is a story about a famous professor who wanted to learn about Zen. The professor went to a Zen master and began telling him of his extensive experience. The Zen master listened for a while and then served his visitor some tea. Giving the professor a cup, the master poured it full, and then kept on pouring. The professor watched in amazement as the tea splashed all over the ground and finally, unable to contain himself, shouted, “Don’t you see my cup is too full and overflowing? No more will go in!” “Yes,” calmly replied the Zen master, “and like the cup, you are over-full of your own thoughts and speculations. How can I teach you Zen unless you first empty your cup?”
Scripture is very hard on those who confide strictly in their own strength. That is why when ancient Israel was about to enter the promised land, the people were solemnly warned never to claim that they had received the land solely by their own power or merit, but to remember it was because of the promises of God. They were never to forget the gifts with which God bestowed upon them or they would perish like other nations before them.
The combination of a bloated self-esteem with an inflated pride rarely generates new birth. Ultimately, it becomes a prescription for spiritual exhaustion, for we become so full, so preoccupied that there is simply no room for anything to grow; no room for anything to heal, for anything to be born anew.
It was weeks after that certain dinner party that the disciples heard Jesus tell the story of the Pharisee and tax collector. It is not meant to be an easily digestible story. We need to chew on it a while. The Pharisee was a good person, who took the Ten Commandments seriously, who tired to live a good and honest life, to be faithful to his heritage, to be generous in charity and dedicated to making his community a better place. Jesus thought there was certainly nothing wrong with that. A collector of taxes for the Roman Empire, on the other hand, was by nature a pretty hardboiled person, and could be the cruelest of bill collectors. He was the local representative of a despised and oppressive foreign power, and there was no way that he could have done his job honesty and fairly. Make no mistake about it; God does not want us to emulate the tax collector’s lifestyle. The parable of the Pharisee and tax collector is so hard for us to get right, precisely because virtually all of us act as if we are so full while hiding or denying our emptiness. That’s a critical point of the parable.
For those who arrive at God’s banquet already full: full of their opinions, convictions, and deeds, the Good News only causes indigestion. The Good News is able to feed and nourish us when, in some way, we arrive hungry; when we come with an appetite for a compassion or peace that we do not have, or at least come with the realization that a part of us is incomplete and empty. I wonder if the disciples remembered that certain dinner party when they later heard the parable of the Pharisee and tax collector. The contrast between the Pharisee and the tax collector as they leave the temple is really like the contrast between those who leave God’s banquet table with little more than indigestion and those who leave with bright and glistening eyes.
In the name of the One who offers to feed us well.
