Two men went up into the temple to pray; the one a Pharisee, and the other a tax-gatherer.
Jesus sets two men side by side. They take the same road up to the temple, for the same stated purpose. Everything then turns on what separates them. Can two people do the same religious act and stand in opposite relation to God?
Jesus aimed this story at people who trusted in themselves that they were righteous. One commentator says the parable is not about nations or eras, but about the human heart.
It is no picture of God's dealings with Jews and Gentiles across the ages. It is a moral portrait. It tells us how God regards those who pride themselves on their correct ways as a ground of confidence with Him. And it tells us what He thinks of those who are broken before Him because of a sinfulness they now find disgusting in themselves.
A watching crowd would have seen two devout worshippers.
Outwardly, there was a great similarity between the Pharisee and the tax collector. A Gentile idolater might have seen both making their way to the same temple. Both went to pray. Both began their prayers with "God". In the eyes of men both were pursuing the same object. Unlike those outside, they were inner-court worshippers. The person who only goes through the motions and the real Christian often look much the same today — but in God's eyes, how very wide the contrast!
The temple is the last place you would expect a man to pose.
If men are real anywhere, surely it is in the presence of God. There, if anywhere, we expect men to weigh their words and speak as their hearts really feel. But what have we here? A man parading his merits in the presence of God! ... Not one word of thanks or praise for what God is in His gracious attitude toward men. Every word was about himself and his own imagined perfections. What a spectacle this is! Here is a man in the presence of the Giver of all good, yet he asks no favour. He stands before the Judge of living and dead, the Searcher of all hearts, yet he admits no sin. He asks nothing and confesses nothing.
The Pharisee was a deeply religious man, not an atheist or a scoffer. The danger this parable exposes is not irreligion.
after_note: DELETE
The Pharisee does not represent a man who denies God, or who is not religious. He is religious, but such religion is the most damning thing about him. The evil is not just his sins, but his religion. Nothing is more blinding to himself and to other men. Nothing is more dishonouring to God.
Another writer follows the danger further, and names a man who lived it before his conversion.
A man's religion may be his ruin. His very strictness of life may land him in destruction. Why? Because the religious man tends to take pride in his religiousness, and the moral man in his morality. So he becomes utterly blind to what he really is — a sinner before a holy God. ... Paul pursued the same false line himself, until the revelation of the glorified Christ stopped him in his career (Phil. 3:4-9).
The second man collected taxes for Rome. Readers today can miss how much that job was hated.
Having to pay taxes to the Romans was very galling to the Jews. Those who collected them were counted unworthy of any respect. So "tax collectors and sinners" are often grouped together. Religious people mocked the Lord for entering their houses. They sneered at Him as "a friend of tax collectors and sinners." But God's grace was for all, and Matthew was called from his tax office to be one of the apostles.
The two men set a pattern far wider than themselves.
The parable of the Pharisee and the tax collector gives us a striking sketch of two classes of people spread over a large part of the globe. There are those who make prayers, and there are those who really pray. It comes with God's own estimate of both.
- Same place. Two men, one temple, one purpose — identical on the outside, opposite before God.
- Same word. Both begin with "God," but the same opening word settles nothing.
- Different ground. One trusts in himself and despises others; the other is broken over his own sinfulness. That is the whole dividing line.
- Religion can ruin. Strictness of life is no safety. Pride in it blinds a man to what he really is — a sinner before a holy God.
- Grace reaches the despised. The tax collector belonged to the class no one respected. Yet God's grace was for all, as Matthew's call from the tax office shows.
The Pharisee, standing, prayed thus to himself God, I thank thee that I am not as the rest of men, rapacious, unjust, adulterers, or even as this tax-gatherer.
The two men in this parable walk into the same temple to do the same thing, and one of them never really arrives. The Pharisee stands apart and prays. Every line of his prayer shows who he is talking to.
Luke describes even the posture with care. He does not use the same word for the Pharisee's standing that he uses a moment later for the tax collector.
There is a delicate difference between the two forms of the word we translate "standing" in each case. With the Pharisee the form implies a stand taken, a putting himself in position. It is what a man does when he stands up to make a speech to a crowd. With the tax collector it is the ordinary word for standing as opposed to sitting.
The direction of the prayer matters as much as the posture. Some translations render the phrase as praying "to himself."
He prays with himself, or toward himself. That shows how little he is truly in God's presence, even while he speaks to Him. We never hear what he actually asks for. What he asks does not matter, if indeed he asks anything at all.
Strip out the self-description and nothing is left. The temple is the one place where you would expect a person to be honest.
If men are real anywhere, surely it is in the presence of God... But what have we here? A man parading his merits in the Divine presence!... Not one word of thanksgiving or worship for what God is in His gracious attitude towards men. Every word was about himself and his own imagined perfections. What a spectacle is here! Here is a man in the presence of the Giver of all good, yet he asks for no favour. He stands before the Judge of the living and the dead, the Searcher of all hearts, yet he admits no sin. He asks nothing and confesses nothing.
One writer counts the pronouns and finds the same result:
We are told that he "prayed with himself," so he calls all the resources of self to his aid. His prayer is full of self — self-exaltation, self-love, self-righteousness. He says, "I thank you" — "I am not like other men" — "I fast" — "I give" — "I get." All through his prayer "I" stands most prominent. Self, whatever form it may take, can never rise above self.
The man is not lying, and Jesus never says he is.
Well, was it not true? Why, yes, the Lord never says one word about its not being true — it was all true. Why should he not say it? He does not claim perfection, nor that what he had done was done without God's help. He thanks God for it... He was not only a moral man but a religious man.
The fault lies somewhere other than in the facts he lists.
He was not violent and corrupt like the rest of men, nor even like the tax collector — of whom he cannot speak without a tinge of contempt: "this tax collector." He laid no false claims, and he did not leave God out. But he trusted his own righteousness as the ground of his acceptance, and he made nothing of anyone else's. He never saw his own sins in God's sight.
"Not like other men" is a verdict reached by looking sideways instead of upward. That method fails no matter who uses it.
How fatal is the mistake of measuring ourselves by anyone else — and we have all done it. "God, I thank you that I am not like other men, extortioners, unjust, adulterers, or even like this tax collector." Those words show the utter blindness of the religious Pharisee in the parable. They also breed that same blindness everywhere. Who does not know somebody to compare himself with, and come off better or worse? It is all false ground to take, and the surest way to be deceived.
He does begin with thanks. The problem is the object of that thanks.
What marks a pharisaic spirit is not the failure to thank God for our blessings. Its essence is this: instead of saying, "I thank you for what you are," it says, "I thank you for what I am." The Pharisee thinks of the grace given to him, and it puffs him up. He does not think of the grace which gives, and which forgives.
His religion, not his lack of it, is what ruins him:
He is religious, but such religion is the most damning thing about him. The evil is not only his sins, but his religion. Nothing blinds him and other men more. Nothing dishonours God more.
- Position — He "took a stand" and prayed toward himself. Facing God in a building is not the same as being in His presence.
- Content — No request, no confession, no adoration. Remove self from this prayer and nothing remains.
- Accuracy — Every claim he makes is true. Truthful facts about yourself are still not a ground of acceptance with God.
- Comparison — "Not like other men" measures sideways. Anyone can find someone to look good beside, which is why it blinds everyone who tries it.
- Direction — He thanks God for what he is, not for what God is. That single reversal turns religion into the very thing that keeps a man from God.
I fast twice in the week, I tithe everything I gain.
The Pharisee has already told God what he is not. Now he turns to what he does, and lists two religious achievements. Does a real, costly, truthful record of devotion count for anything before God?
Both practices had a known place in Jewish life. One writer names the fast days, using the Talmud, a record of later Jewish teaching.
"Twice a week" means on Mondays and Thursdays, according to the Talmud. The Old Testament commands a fast only for the Day of Atonement.
Another writer weighs the two boasts against what the law actually required:
That is only the negative side. On the positive side, it is enough for him to say, "I fast twice a week; I give tithes of all that I get" — all my profit. In either case he went well beyond the law.
Notice which item he mentions first. One writer weighs that order against the law of Moses.
The Pharisee tries to approach God in all the excellence of his religious character. He puts his fasting twice a week before the payment of tithes. The law of Moses never commanded that fasting; it did command the tithes. The word of God, applied directly to the soul, judges and humbles a person, while traditional observance feeds spiritual pride.
It would be easy to dismiss him as a fraud. One writer refuses to. His record may well have been accurate, and that is what makes the parable so searching.
There is not a hint that he was insincere in this self-admiration. He believed in himself far too thoroughly, and his conduct may have been everything he claims here. On the outside he was correct in his morals. In his religious ceremonies he went beyond what the law required. That is what he thought was enough for God — enough to give him the unique place above others that he claimed. The law he trusted in would have told him otherwise. But when did anyone keeping the law for righteousness ever measure himself by the law?
Count the pronouns in his prayer and a pattern appears.
We are told that he "prayed with himself." So he calls every resource of self to his aid, and his prayer is full of self — self-exaltation, self-love, self-righteousness. He says, "I thank you" — "I am not as other men" — "I fast" — "I give" — "I get." All through his prayer "I" stands out most. Self, whatever form it takes, can never rise above self. He thanks God that he is better than others. How is it that he is better than other men? Is it not that his fasting and giving have achieved this? Then why thank God?… This is the delusion of Pharisaism. It is the cultivation of self, but claiming to do it by God's help. It is not salvation. It is not the cleansing of a guilty conscience. It is only the outward trimming of a corrupt tree that cannot bring forth good fruit.
His words are shaped like thanksgiving. Notice what the thanksgiving is for.
The essence of the Pharisee's prayer, if it can be called prayer, is not a confession of sin, or even an expression of need. It is a thanksgiving — and not for what God had done and been for him, but for what he himself was… At the end he displays his own habits of fasting and his religious exactness. He made no false claims, and he did not shut God out. But he trusted his own righteousness as the ground of acceptance, and he made nothing of anyone else's. He never saw his own sins in the sight of God.
He reaches his verdict on himself by setting his record beside other people. One writer treats that method itself as the trap.
How fatal is the mistake of measuring ourselves by anyone else — and we have all done it. The words "God, I thank you that I am not like other men, extortioners, unjust, adulterers, or even like this tax collector" show the total blindness of the religious Pharisee in the parable. They are also a fruitful cause of blindness everywhere. Who does not know someone they can compare themselves with, and come off better — or worse? It is all false ground to stand on, and the surest way to be deceived by the enemy of God and of our souls.
- Record. He fasted twice a week and tithed everything he gained — a real record, and in both cases more than the law asked of him.
- Order. He named the custom before the commandment. Tradition feeds pride; God's word reaching the conscience humbles.
- Sincere. Nothing in the parable suggests he was lying. It exposes sincere self-admiration, not hypocrisy.
- Self. Every clause of his prayer circles back to "I," so his thanksgiving is for what he himself was, not for what God had done.
- Ground. He trusted his own righteousness for acceptance and never saw his sins before God. Measuring yourself against others is false ground.
And the tax-gatherer, standing afar off, would not lift up even his eyes to heaven, but smote upon his breast, saying, O God, have compassion on me, the sinner.
Two men prayed in the same temple on the same day, and only one went home right with God. This verse shows all that the second man brought: distance, lowered eyes, a struck breast, and a few words thrown on God's mercy.
Every part of the tax collector's posture says something. One writer takes the verse apart clause by clause:
With the Pharisee it was himself, his character, his deeds. With the tax collector, it was the confession of sin and of his need of propitiation. The word translated "be merciful" means "be propitious." How full of meaning verse 13 is! His position: "afar off," showing he knew he had no right to draw near. His attitude: not lifting his eyes to heaven — heaven was no place for a man like him. His action: he "beat his breast," confessing that he was the man who deserved to be struck. His words: "me, the sinner," for it is the rather than a here.
He is not asking for kindness in general. One writer ties the word to the place where he prayed:
Our Lord makes the tax collector, praying in the temple and convicted of his sin, cry out, "God be propitiated toward me the sinner!" The translations generally give "be merciful," and it is hard to see why. "Be propitiated" is the natural force of the words, and the place where the tax collector stands is so bound up with propitiation. In the temple the smoke of the sacrifice never stopped going up. The mercy-seat, God's throne in symbol, spoke of the same thing.
Commentators differ here. Another writer says the parable was not given to teach atonement, but to settle which spirit God accepts:
The Pharisee and the tax collector do not set out the doctrine of atonement, or of justification by faith. They set out the certainty that self-righteousness is displeasing to God, and that lowliness because of our sin is most acceptable in His sight.
The Pharisee had measured himself against other people. This man had stopped. English versions usually print "a sinner," but commentators point to the wording "the sinner":
There was the poor tax collector. God had spoken to his soul. Instead of looking to find other people as bad or worse, he can only say, "God be merciful to me the sinner!" It is not just "to me a sinner." For many years I have been struck by the great beauty of that expression: "God be merciful to me the sinner, if ever there was one. I know my sins and they are so overwhelming I do not think about others. God be merciful to me the sinner; me only."
His job had put him among the most hated men in the country. Of all the places he could have struck, he struck the one that told the truth about him.
He belonged to that corrupt and hated class who collected the Roman taxes, and so helped along the oppression of his suffering people. But now he stood in the presence of God, and he felt deeply how sacred the place was and how unfit he was for it. He might well beat his breast, for the heart is the spring of all evil. Man since the fall has been corrupt root and branch. The tax collector did not think about the Pharisee, or whether he was better or worse than himself. His own evil overwhelmed him as he tried to measure it in the light of God.
He did not ask God to overlook anything. And his distance belonged to his moment, not to ours:
The only hope of the tax collector was in God Himself. He was very ignorant, no doubt, but he had the right spirit to get at God. Light had broken in and shown he was a sinner. He bowed to that painful conviction and confessed the truth of his state to God. God's mercy to his soul was all he had to fall back on. He dared not appeal to justice. He did not ask God to be indifferent to his sin. He asked for the mercy that measures the sin and forgives it. The revelation of grace had not yet come in. The work of reconciliation was not yet done. So the tax collector stood "afar off." If God brings a soul to a sense of sin now, it need not, and ought not, stand afar off.
One writer points from the man's plea to the sacrifice burning nearby, and then to the Lord's own verdict:
The lamb burning at that moment on the altar in the temple court shows how God can be propitious to the guilty. The altar and the sacrifice speak of Christ and His cross. We have it from the Lord Himself that the tax collector went down to his house justified rather than the other. That is to say, the one was justified and the other was not.
- Distance — He stood far off because he knew he had no right to come near, and he would not raise his eyes to heaven.
- Blow — He struck his own breast, because the heart is where the evil starts. He had stopped comparing himself with anyone else.
- Word — His "be merciful" means "be propitious." The altar and the mercy-seat in front of him showed how God can be that to the guilty.
- The sinner — He said "the sinner," not "a sinner." His own case filled his whole view.
- Verdict — He asked for the mercy that measures sin and forgives it. He went home justified; the other man went home as he came.