“Doing God a Favor” - October 27, 2019

Luke 18:9-14

The man in this picture is John Betjeman.  He was poet laureate of England from 1972 until his death in 1984.  He was a devout member of the Church of England all his life, a sincere Christian.  Interestingly, his college advisor, was a man who at the time was not a Christian at the time, but eventually would come to faith in a big way, a man named C.S. Lewis.  They could not stand each other. 

Even though Betjeman flunked out of Oxford he made a lot of his student experiences, but his poetry often poked fun at the upper classes.  In a strange way, that habit may have saved his life.  According to that goldmine of unsubstantiated information, Wikipedia, the Irish Republican Army once put him on their hit list, but someone up the chain of command took him off because he admired his work.  Whether or not that’s true, just looking at this picture I get the feeling that he was one of those people who doesn’t suffer fools gladly. 

            All of this together brings me to a poem he wrote in 1940, called “In Westminster Abbey”.  There he pictures a twentieth-century version of the Pharisee in Jesus’ parable of the Pharisee and the tax collector.  It is a woman living in London during the Blitz.

“Let me take this other glove off
As the vox humana swells,
And the beauteous fields of Eden
Bask beneath the Abbey bells.
Here, where England's statesmen lie,
Listen to a lady's cry.

Gracious Lord, oh bomb the Germans,
Spare their women for Thy Sake,
And if that is not too easy
We will pardon Thy Mistake.
But, gracious Lord, whate'er shall be,
Don't let anyone bomb me.

Keep our Empire undismembered
Guide our Forces by Thy Hand,
Gallant blacks from far Jamaica,
Honduras and Togoland;
Protect them Lord in all their fights,
And, even more, protect the whites.

Think of what our Nation stands for,
Books from Boots' and country lanes,
Free speech, free passes, class distinction,
Democracy and proper drains.
Lord, put beneath Thy special care
One-eighty-nine Cadogan Square.

Although dear Lord I am a sinner,
I have done no major crime;
Now I'll come to Evening Service
Whensoever I have the time.
So, Lord, reserve for me a crown,
And do not let my shares go down.

I will labour for Thy Kingdom,
Help our lads to win the war,
Send white feathers to the cowards
Join the Women's Army Corps,
Then wash the steps around Thy Throne
In the Eternal Safety Zone.

Now I feel a little better,
What a treat to hear Thy Word,
Where the bones of leading statesmen
Have so often been interr'd.
And now, dear Lord, I cannot wait
Because I have a luncheon date.”

I’m sure that God was suitably impressed.

            I wonder if there is anybody who is a religious regular, however, who doesn’t slip into that mode of thinking at least at some point.  It’s easy enough to do.  When it happens, it’s usually a lot more subtle than this woman’s monologue.  Pride – which is the name for this condition – usually starts with the simple and true observation that we do often get things right.  The Pharisee said,

“I fast twice a week; I give a tenth of all my income.” [Luke 18:12]

You know, I’d be happy if more people tithed.  Like fasting, it is a healthy practice that keeps us aware of our dependence on the Lord and forces us to look at our priorities, not only in finances, but in other aspects of life.  I cannot fault the Pharisee for being glad he could do what he did.  The same way, I am glad that he wasn’t stealing, hurting others, or sleeping around.  I imagine he kept all the commandments. 

            However, the problem isn’t always in what we do, but in how we do it.  Pride shows up in the attitude that we are somehow doing God a favor when we do what is asked of us.  In the chapter of Luke right before this one Jesus asked his disciples,

“Who among you would say to your slave who has just come in from plowing or tending sheep in the field, ‘Come here at once and take your place at the table’? Would you not rather say to him, ‘Prepare supper for me, put on your apron and serve me while I eat and drink; later you may eat and drink’? Do you thank the slave for doing what was commanded? So you also, when you have done all that you were ordered to do, say, ‘We are worthless slaves; we have done only what we ought to have done!’” [Luke 17:7-10]

Losing sight of that eventually creates a kind of arrogance that should be embarrassing, at least..

            Going back to Betjeman’s poem again, the speaker looks down on pretty much everyone else.  Race, class, nationality – you name it, she has everybody pegged.  She and the Pharisee both slip very easily into

“I thank you that I am not like other people.” [Luke 18:11]

That’s one that we’ve all got going these days.  If we are doing right, if we have our priorities clear, it’s easy to see where other people are wrong, and to jump from “You are wrong,” to “You are what is wrong with this country.”  I won’t belabor that point, because I don’t need to.  Besides, I don’t want to step on my own toes.

            Jesus had a memorable word or two about that behavior. 

“Why do you see the speck in your neighbor’s eye, but do not notice the log in your own eye?  Or how can you say to your neighbor, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ while the log is in your own eye?” [Matthew 7:3-4]

The tax-collector, for all his faults, was at least honest about himself and knew his place before God.  Jesus describes him

“beating his breast and saying, ‘God, be merciful to me, a sinner!’” [Luke 18:13]

and goes on to say that

“this man went down to his home justified rather than the other.”  [Luke 18:14]

Don’t give up on the Pharisee, though.  He was dense, as most of us are, but Jesus told his parables as a way to get through to people who don’t hear his message in other ways. 

Pride is as much a sin as greed or theft, only more easily hidden (we tell ourselves).  Once it is seen for what it is, though, even the proud can find hope even if it means (which it inevitably does) getting taken down a step or two.  In the end, we can be thankful that Jesus points out what we fail to see (or refuse to see) on our own.  It means that instead of telling God, openly or by our attitude, how great we are, we can instead ask for the same mercy as the tax collector, and take it as the unmerited gift that it is.  As Betjeman says in another poem,

“… most of us turn slow to see
The figure hanging on a tree
And stumble on and blindly grope
Upheld by intermittent hope,
God grant before we die we all
May see the light as did St. Paul.”