Sermon from First UMC East Greenbush 10/26/25

 

Rekindling the Flame: Through Humility” Stewardship Sunday Luke 18: 9-14

            I pray a lot. Now, before you start telling me I sound like the Pharisee in this passage, bragging about how pious I am, let me explain. I am a hospital chaplain and a big part of what I do is pray. I go room to room and offer spiritual care and at the end of every visit, regardless of whether the person is young, old, tired, happy, sad, English speaking, Hindu, Christian, Muslim, Jewish, Agnostic, Atheist, male female, in the Emergency Room or Labor and Delivery- I ask if they would like me to pray and the majority of the time the patient says “yes.” And so I pray in room after room. I pray over the babies just born hours ago, the patients whose breath is slowing as it nears the end, the ones with broken bones and the ones who can’t remember where they are. One may think that after so many prayers, they could become rote or feel forced or taken for granted. But actually, all this praying with all these people has given me an even deeper appreciation for the act and an even deeper belief in the importance of it.

 

          And so, I read closely these words from Luke about prayer. You see in this passage we get two very different examples of prayer. Both are men and both are praying in the same place, the temple, and yet, what happens when they begin to pray is very different.

 

          The Pharisee begins by thanking God that he is not like those other people and names them. He even points to the tax collector specifically and says “I’m so glad I’m not like this guy over here!” After this he lists for God the things he has done that God should appreciate - including fasting and tithing. He is telling God to judge, who to judge and what standards to use when judging. His prayer is directing God to value him more than others. If we could see this Pharisee praying, we might see that while he is praying, his gaze is not directed upward- looking toward the heavens and not downward in a posture of humility, but rather looking at everyone around him. While he prays he is comparing himself to what he sees. His prayer posture is a judgmental side eye to those gathered around him.

 

          The second person praying is the tax collector. As the original audience well knew- tax collectors were not well-liked. No one liked the guy who had to chase them down for their money. But in this passage we see a different view of the tax-collector. It says that he was “standing far off” with his eyes down, beating his breast as a sign of repentance and crying out “God, be merciful to me, a sinner!” Unlike the Pharisee, he seems unaware of those around him and focused only on himself and God. Rather than list his accomplishments, he identifies himself as a sinner and rather than tell God who to judge, he begs for mercy. Two very different acts of prayer.

 

          And then at the end of this passage the text says, “for all who exalt themselves will be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be exalted.” I wonder … what does that mean … to be exalted? Given the rest of the story, I don’t think it means exalted in social rank or status, or exalted in any kind of standings or position. Perhaps then, it means exalted toward God, a deeper closeness, a coming closer together with God.

          In his commentary on this passage, Luke Timothy Johnson says, “The love of God can so easily turn into an idolatrous self-love; the gift can so quickly be seized as a possession” he says that the Pharisee can receive no gift because he cannot stop “counting his possessions.” In other words, the gift of God’s love and grace has become something he believes he has or owns or has the rights to, making it no longer a gift but a thing that he possesses. His heart is not open to receiving a gift because he is constantly counting what he has. If all prayer is, is coming before God and asserting how great we are and all that we have, then there is no room for receiving God’s righteousness.  The door is closed, the Pharisee is content with what he thinks he has and his hands are tightly clenched around the door, preventing any gift from God from entering. One man is listing his possessions, the other is asking for a gift, the gift of God’s mercy. How we pray says a lot about our relationship with God, and whether we desire to be exalted by God or if we already think we are high enough.

          When I think about this tax collector looking down and crying out before God I think of one of my favorite places in the hospital. I use the word favorite with some explanation. It’s not my favorite because it is the easiest or the funnest or the happiest or the prettiest. It is my favorite because it is where I consistently experience God’s presence. It is not a fun place, it is not a happy place, it is not pretty. But it is where I have experienced some of my most meaningful visits as a chaplain and when I talk to the staff there they know exactly what I mean when I say it’s my favorite because they too find it to be very meaningful work. It’s the Detox Unit. It is where people go when they are high or drunk and need medical assistance to come off of the substance they have used. It is not a place where anyone hopes to be and yet I feel profoundly honored and humbled every time I go there.

          It is a place filled to the brim with humility. There is a popular song on the radio that talks about alcoholism and going to an AA meeting and the singer says “nobody walks through these doors on a winning streak.” No one is entering Detox with a smug smile or bloated ego. It is a humbling place.

 

          When I first started doing rounds there I went with a bit of trepidation. All I knew was that some time ago there had been an incident and then chaplains stopped going there, but my manager wanted to rebuild the relationship between the unit and the Spiritual Care Department. I wondered what kind of state people might be in. Would I encounter people who were angry or frantic or violent? Immediately I saw that wasn’t the case and I had to check whatever biases or assumptions I had at the door. What I did encounter was open and tender hearts. People of all ages and all backgrounds ready to open their hearts and praying for God’s mercy. And I am humbled to join them in those prayers. It has often become a sacred space where I sit with people as they, like the tax collector, bare their soul before God and grasp at the gifts of mercy the Holy Spirit offers in that space. Like the tax collector, so often they are not looking around at others or telling God what to do, but reaching out from the depths of their soul for a connection with the source of eternal love and unmerited grace. And in that humility I do feel the Holy Spirit’s presence. I feel the presence of God in the light breaking through broken hearts. And I hear the whispers of hope in the relinquishing of control, the admission that we are lost, we are flawed humans and we are not God. There is something really beautiful and really freeing in falling before God in humility.

 

          Sometimes we may think that when all is well, when we have all our needs met, then our faith will be strongest, but the truth is that often God feels nearest when our hearts are broken. Sometimes peace comes when we admit we don’t have it.

 

          I have been thinking about this as I reflect on stewardship. Sometimes people cringe at the mention of stewardship- thinking it’s about taking your possessions, pressuring you to give up what you don’t want to give up. I get that. But I see stewardship as a recognition that all that we have is gift, not possession. Laying ourselves and all that we have before God and praying that what we offer will be transformed by God’s grace into bricks, building blocks for the Kingdom of God here on earth. Or doors, creating openings for the work of the Holy Spirit on earth. And that is why we celebrate it and we make it part of worship. It is offering what we have to God and doing so with hope, hope that God will move in and around and through us.

          Honestly, that’s what I do over and over again when I pray with people. I offer the inadequate words that I have with hope that God will move in and around and through that person that I am praying with. And the more I pray, the more I am aware that this act of prayer is not something I can master or perfect or win at. It will always be my best attempt at putting words to the wordless cries of the heart. But my prayers, our prayers that we pray together, they are an offering, sometimes a shout and sometimes a whimper of hope coming from a place that longs to connect to the source of unending love. And whether we are a Pharisee or a tax collector, happy or sad, in a Cathedral or a Detox Unit, God hears us and for that I am so grateful.