It’s easy enough to be the Pharisee, haughty and proud in the temple, thanking God and all around that “I’m not like that poor fellow over there.” That one over there is beating his breast, crying loudly, saying things like “God have mercy on me a sinner!” What a scene that fellow is making. Right?
Let’s just let me be very honest. I struggle with the same condescending tone of the Pharisee. I regularly want to give thanks that I’m not one of “those guys.” How good I must be. How righteous I must be. How pleasing to God I must be. How fortunate He must be to have me as His son. You fill in the blanks for whatever your situation is.
Last week I FINALLY finished reading Tim Keller’s book, “The Reason For God.” The last few pages were worth the price of admission. He recounted a short story from Flannery O’Connor called “Revelation.” It’s about a self-righteous pharisaical southern gal, who pays a visit to a doctor’s office where it is clear that many “social misfits” are in the same waiting room with her.
So the lead character, Mrs. Turpin, finds a young girl there to share all of her condescending rants about these of other races, ethnicities, mental status, etc. Finally the young girl is fed up, and hurls a book at her, hitting her in the eye. Mrs. Turpin lunges for her and begins to choke her, screaming “What have you got to say to me?!” The girl snarls, “Go back to hell where you came from, you old wart hog!”
She’s blown away at what she comes to believe is a revelation to her from God. She can’t figure it out. She’s been an upright, moral, good little church girl, and how can she simultaneously be a pig from hell? So she fights with God, questions God, and finally shakes her fists at God saying, “Who do you think you are?” God’s Reply? Breathtaking.
I don’t know copyright laws, so I’ll post the gist of it. The sky changes, and she is taken into a vision of a flaming bridge to heaven. In the front of the line are what’s described as “companies of trash, and battalions of freaks and lunatics shouting and clapping and leaping like frogs.” After them filed the good, the moral, the upright in their own minds. They were utterly confused as to why these ragtag bunch would be ahead of them in line. As the vision began to fade all that was left was a chorus of voices, simultaneously shouting to God, Halleluia.
It was at that moment that I was roused from my waking sleep, and it hit me violently that I am Mrs. Turpin. I’m the smug man perplexed at the throng of people God’s letting in ahead of me. I’m the Pharisee. It’s these realizations that stick with me. What do you do when you’re the wrong character in the story? When you identify and find yourself in the wrong place. Not the place or person you want to be, but the person you really are?
It led me down a path of repentance that I’m still recovering from today. There is no other answer to this kind of problem. Repentance and Faith. A long, hard, meditation on the cross, on Jesus. Remember that he was rich, but became poor. That he became abandoned so we might not be. That he became sin, that we might gain his righteousness. How can I look on another with condescending eyes when he did not do so with me?
Rural American Pastor 