30 Sunday C Parable of the Pharisee and tax collector

Parable of the Pharisee and tax collector

            We normally see ourselves as the tax collector. We don’t think the example of the Pharisee is for us. And we are mistaken. We walk into a church with the attitude that it belongs to us. We place ourselves in front of the tabernacle with the right to be there. We talk to God listening to ourselves, reading a list of favours we have done to him, expecting him to acknowledge our achievements. We are arrogant and proud, and we fail to see ourselves as we are. We should rather see ourselves at the back of the church, with our eyes downcast and beating our breast with our fist, trying to bring sorrow out of a dry piece of flesh. This should be our attitude in front of God the Father Almighty.

            In our modern society we have taken God out of the picture, or, if we still believe in Him, we have brought Him down to our level. Through the pendulum law, we have gone from a God of fire and brimstone, to an old fluffy sweet man, with a white long beard and a face of a teddy bear. The balance is always difficult to achieve, and the pendulum keeps swinging. We can never imagine how God is.

            Today through this parable Jesus teaches us that prayer should flow from a humble heart. And he does it by opposing two figures very familiar to the Jews of his time. The goodie, the master of the law, the teacher of morals and obligations, and a baddie, a public sinner, who steals the money from normal people and gives it to the Roman oppressors. The righteous man and the thief are the best examples to be opposed to each other, and to bring the audience to a contrary reaction. Both go to the temple to pray, but only one is justified. We know who goes back pleased in God’s eyes.

            What Jesus wants us to do today is to look into our hearts, where nobody else can peek: into the depths of our intentions, our desires and our longings, to what really moves us and what we really worship. He is taking us on a wild journey; he wants us to accompany Him, to come down with us, to drag our feet through a rough surface, and to look at something we don’t normally want to look at: the depths of our soul. What is there? What sort of stuff do I keep inside? Can I make room for him? Today is a good day for a spring cleaning, for a garage sale, to allow Jesus to come in, leave the windows wide open, turn on all the lights and discover what’s inside.

            At the beginning of the Mass, during the penitential rite, we make an act of sorrow, like the tax collector, hitting our breast three times, trying to break it open, to see what’s inside, as Saint Augustine says, “to bring to light what is concealed in the breast, and by this act to cleanse your hidden sins.” Or as Saint Jerome declares, “We strike our breast because the breast is the seat of evil thoughts: we wish to dispel these thoughts, we wish to purify our hearts.” We should hear the sounds of our chest, resounding deep, striking hard without the fear of a broken rib. We need to break the bones of our chest, to let our heart be seen, like open heart surgery, for Jesus to come in, and fix our arteries; maybe to have few bypasses, or better yet, to have a heart transplant, like Saint Catherine of Siena, when Jesus gave her a new heart, his heart. 

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