The Two Religions

Jesu Juva

St. Luke 18:9-17                                                               

October 23, 2022

Proper 25C                                            

 Dear saints of our Savior~

          There are certainly a lot of religions in the world.  There seems to be no end of options, choices, and flavors.  Traditionally, historically, you’ve got your big three:  Christianity, Judaism, and Islam.  Expand the circle just a bit and you can add Hinduism, Buddhism, and Sikhism.  Moving on from there, the possibilities are limitless:  Baha’i and Taoism, Mormonism and Paganism, Shinto and Scientology.  Getting a handle on all the world’s religions can be kind of a daunting task.

          So let’s simplify.  If you struggle to differentiate dozens and dozens of religions, then let’s limit ourselves to two.  Because when you get right down to it, there are only two religions in the whole wide world.  Let’s call these two religions the religion of the Law and the religion of the Gospel.  In the religion of the Law, you work your way up to God.  In the religion of the Gospel, God comes down to you.  In the religion of the Law, you must earn God’s favor; in the religion of the Gospel, God’s favor is an unearned gift.  Under the religion of the Law, you justify yourself; in the religion of the Gospel God Himself justifies you and shares with you His holiness.

          When it comes to world religions, there are really only two.  Under the religion of the Law, your salvation is up to you—your works, your fasting, your prayers, your piety.  And you’d better get it all right.  Last week I got in on part of my 35^th high school class reunion.  And I was reminded of a classmate whose last name was “Goodenough,” Mark Goodenough, spelled just like it sounds.  And whenever Mark Goodenough stepped out of line, our 5^th grade teacher would inevitably say, “Goodenough, not good enough.”  And that’s the ultimate verdict for every person trapped in the religion of the Law:  not good enough.  Try harder.  Do better.

          The religion of the gospel is totally different.  Under the Gospel, you approach God not by works, but by faith in Jesus—not on the basis of what you have done, but on the basis of what Jesus has done—and not with commandment keeping, but with promise believing.  Under the gospel you don’t aspire to be “good enough,” but to be made righteous through faith in the Son of God.  From a simple standpoint, those are the world’s two religions:  the religion of the Law and the religion of the Gospel—also known as the Christian faith.

          Now, in case you’re still confused, we have the simple parable Jesus told in this morning’s Holy Gospel.  It’s a tale of two religions.  It concerns two men—a

Pharisee and a tax collector—who went up to the temple to pray.  Now, on the surface, both men worshiped the same God in the very same temple.  They are seemingly adherents of the very same religion.  But all is not as it seems.  In fact, their religions are very different.

          The danger with this simple parable is that we oversimplify it—that the Pharisee and the tax collector become one-dimensional stereotypes—that this is a black-and-white portrayal that requires almost no thought whatsoever to interpret.  Tax collector good:  Be like the tax collector.  Pharisee bad:  Don’t be the Pharisee.  But until you can see some of yourself in both men, I don’t think you’ve let these words of God have their way with you.  So let’s dig a bit deeper.

          Both men went up to the temple to pray.  Both men sought out God’s fellowship and favor.  And for that, they both went to the right place.  Both recognized and revered God’s holy presence in His temple.  They didn’t go looking for God in other places.  Regardless of how full their calendars may have been—or how many activities they had going on—both men sought the Lord in His temple.  It was a priority.  We each have priorities too—priorities that often lead us to this temple, and other priorities that sometimes keep us away from this temple.

          The Pharisee can be easily faulted for his pride.  He’s proud that he’s not like “other men,” and he’s proud of his fasting and tithing.  But also consider this:  the Pharisee was a devout and conservative man.  He was respected and admired in the community for his good works.  He worked hard to do the works God required.  He was pious and disciplined.  In fact, he was so pious and disciplined that he fasted twice a week—went without food—deprived himself—denied himself the pleasure of mouthwatering meals.  When was the last time you fasted—or, at least, denied yourself something out of devotion to your Savior?

          The Pharisee also tithed.  That means he returned to God a tenth of all his income—more than that, he gave the Lord a tenth of everything he took in, right down to the herbs and the produce that grew in his garden.  Now these days, under the New Testament, we’re quick to point out that God doesn’t require us to tithe.  That was just an Old Testament requirement.  But if that was God’s standard for the people of the Old Covenant, how much more reason do we have to give to God generously and sacrificially—we who have seen and experienced the fullness of God’s love and mercy in the person of His Son, Jesus Christ, who loved us and gave Himself for us?  Despite his faults, the Pharisee took his religion seriously.  He had the receipts to show for it.  Do we? 

          Now, the tax collector also had receipts—lots of them.  Other people’s money was his business.  Money was his idol.  Because Jesus went out of His way to associate with tax collectors, we sometimes subconsciously place a halo above their heads.  In reality, nothing could be further from the truth.  Tax collectors were awful—rogue rebels with unlimited potential to hurt you.  Imagine that the US economy collapsed; and that the USA became a wholly-owned subsidiary of China.  And then imagine that your neighbor went to work for our new Chinese overlords—a man who collaborated with the enemy—who regularly stopped by your house to carefully audit your finances—a man who, all by himself, could single-handedly serve as your prosecutor, judge, and jury.  Think of someone like that when you think “tax collector.”

          Both men were sinners.  Both were broken in different ways.  We are like them.  Each of us is part Pharisee, part tax collector.  Each of us is eager, like the Pharisee, to compare ourselves to others.  And like the tax collector, there’s very little we wouldn’t do to boost our financial situation.

          What makes these two men different is their religion.  And this difference is everything.  The tax collector stood alone at the temple.  He couldn’t even lift up His eyes.  He could only beat his breast and pray, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.”  In the Pharisee’s prayer, he didn’t ask God for a single thing.  The tax collector in his prayer asked for nothing but mercy.  The Pharisee came with his impressive record of good works.  The tax collector came with his sin.  The Pharisee offered God a tenth of everything; the tax collector offered God his entire, sinful, broken life:  God, be merciful to me, a sinner.

          Jesus tells us that this man—the tax collector—went home justified—declared righteous.  This man, who was despised by everyone, was loved by God.  The Pharisee who was admired by everyone—well, he had no need of God; and God, therefore, had no need of him.  The tax collector had the right religion—the only right religion on God’s green earth.  The tax collector worshiped God in the way of the Gospel—through faith in God’s goodness and mercy.  And God justified him.

          If you attempt to worship God according to the religion of the Law, you will be humbled.  If you attempt to earn His favor by your commandment keeping, your good works, your witnessing and your offerings, you will not be justified, but condemned.  If you attempt to use the Law as your ladder to heaven, it will not end well.

          But here’s the best of news:  If you are humbled under the law—if you accept the law’s verdict that you are a sinner deserving of punishment, you will be exalted.  You will be raised up like the tax collector who went home justified.  God justifies the ungodly, not the already godly.  He forgives sinners, not saints.  He acquits the guilty, not the guiltless.  Don’t hide your sins.  Don’t look down on others.  Don’t make excuses for what you’ve done.  Instead, confess your sins.  Own them; they’re yours.  And only Jesus Christ, your Savior, can bear them all away.  Only His blood cries out for your eternal pardon.

          Today’s gospel reading concludes with babies.  People were bringing even infants to Jesus that He might touch them.  What did those crying, squirming, diapered infants have to offer Jesus?  They had nothing to offer.  They could only receive.  They are utterly “giveable to.”  And this is why we baptize infants—why infant baptism has been going on from the get-go.  The baptism of an infant is the perfect picture of our salvation—the perfect illustration of how one is joined to the religion of the Gospel:  the child does nothing; the Lord does it all.

          You have also been baptized into the religion of the Gospel.  Your worship is like that of the tax collector who came empty handed, seeking only God’s mercy.  You are like one of those tiny infants in the arms of Jesus—receiving the kingdom of God just like a little child.  And in this religion of the Gospel, you, today, get to go home justified in Jesus.

          In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.