Luke 18:9–14

The man who prays trusts in God. The trouble with so many is that they trust in themselves and in their own righteousness. The Lord aims the next parable at them. The Pharisee and the tax collector are typical men. He takes for granted that God's grace, which brings justification for men, was available. But He shows that everything depends on the attitude of the one who needs it. The Pharisee exactly represents the elder son of chapter 15, the rich man of chapter 16, and the unrepentant thief of chapter 23. The tax collector represents the younger son, Lazarus, and the repentant thief.

The opening words of Luke show us how very wide this lesson is. This is not a picture of God's different ways with Jews and Gentiles. It is a moral portrait. It tells us how God regards those who pride themselves on the correctness of their ways, and lean on that before Him. And it tells us what He thinks of those who are broken before Him, because they now feel their own sinfulness and loathe it.

Not that the Pharisee represents a man who denies God, or who is not a religious man. He is religious, but such religion is the most damning thing about him. The evil is not just his sins, but his religion. Nothing blinds him and other men more. Nothing dishonours God more. The poor tax collector, on the other hand, has neither clear light nor peace. But he has at least reached the beginning of all true light — he has learned enough of God to condemn himself.

Human righteousness, human wisdom, high position and riches all share in, or lead to, this character "trusted in themselves," and so set aside the Holy Spirit. There is another effect or trait of this state — despising others. It is a state of sin that is sinful right through. It stands against all that God is in Himself, and against all that we ought to be before Him, whether by the law or in grace. For God is mighty, and He despises no one. He is love, so He has special regard for the poor and needy. He needs nothing, but He loves others. But pride is always needy.

Pride. There are several words so translated in the Greek Testament. The one used here (hyperephania) conveys the sense of a spirit of self-exaltation in a man coupled with the disparagement of others. The Pharisees are glaring examples: they trusted in themselves that they were righteous and treated others with contempt (Luke 18:9). But the Gentiles are no more free from guilt here than the Jews (Rom. 1:30). This kind of haughtiness offends God and is open to His swift judgment. Both James and Peter write that "God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble" (James 4:6; 1 Peter 5:5).

The parable teaches God's judgment on those who trust in their own righteousness and despise others, as the opening verse plainly says. The whole context shows self being set aside for the kingdom of God — self in any form you please. This parable shuts out self-righteousness. The blessing of the little children by Jesus rebukes self-importance. And in the rich ruler, self in the way of pleasant nature, moral habits, high position, and large possessions counts for nothing. The greatest advantages of flesh and world, humanly speaking, are a hindrance, not a help, to the kingdom.

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.

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!

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 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.

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).

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 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

"Twice a week" means on Mondays and Thursdays, according to the Talmud. The Old Testament commands a fast only for the Day of Atonement.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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."

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.

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.

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.

The Lord of all declared: "I tell you, this man went down to his house justified, rather than the other." That is to say, the tax collector went home justified, and the Pharisee did not. This is the very opposite of all human thoughts. By human standards, the religious and generous Pharisee should have received the blessing. The corrupt tax collector should have been driven away. But it is never so with God. This is a clear case of the kind described in Romans 4:5-6 of righteousness credited apart from works. But on what fair principle is God able to deal like this with the guilty? Let us note it carefully and reverently — it is the blood of Jesus (Romans 3:24-25; Romans 5:9).

He was not violent and corrupt like other men. He was not even like the tax collector, whom he cannot mention without a hint of contempt — "this tax collector." He then displays his own habits of fasting and his strict religious rule-keeping. He made no false claims. He did not shut God out. But he trusted in his own righteousness as his ground of acceptance, and he made nothing of anyone else's. He never saw his own sins in the sight of God.

The evil is not just his sins. It is his religion. Nothing blinds him and other men more. Nothing dishonours God more. The poor tax collector, on the other hand, has neither clear light nor peace. But he has at least reached the starting point of all true light. He has learned enough of God to condemn himself. "The fear of the LORD is the beginning of wisdom." He alone of the two judged things according to his little light. He judged himself truly, and was therefore in a moral condition to see other things rightly.

The sense here is not absolute justification but comparative justification. It is like Judah's words in the Greek Old Testament of Genesis 38:26: "Tamar is justified rather than I" — that is, more righteous... Every variation proves the intended sense: the tax collector was justified in comparison with the Pharisee.

It does not mean the tax collector was justified more than the other. Such comparative justification would be of little comfort to a man in his condition. What counts before God is the whole question... Righteousness is credited to the man who most plainly disclaims all righteousness of his own. It is certainly not credited just because he admits he is a sinner. It is credited because God has provided for sinners a propitiation for sin, and his faith appeals to its value before God, however weakly.

The Pharisee and the tax collector do not set forth the doctrine of atonement or of justification by faith. They set forth something certain: self-righteousness is displeasing to God, and lowliness because of our sin is most acceptable in His sight. The Pharisee does not set God aside. He "stood by himself and prayed: God, I thank you." But then he thanks God for what he is, not for what God is. The only hope of the tax collector was in God Himself.

In one sense men cannot humble themselves. They are sinners already, and cannot go lower. A saint can. True humility is forgetfulness of self.