I Am Not Like Them

Between the Roots has me thinking a lot about the prayers we say, and the ones hiding underneath them. I was sitting in church today listening to the message when Jesus’ parable about the Pharisee and the tax collector came up. I have heard the story before. Two men go to pray. One stands there thanking God for who he is, for what he does, and that he is not like the people around him. The other stays back, lowers his head, and asks God for mercy because he knows he is a sinner. Usually when I hear that story, the Pharisee is easy to recognize. Today I recognized him a little closer to home. I pray almost every day, and a lot of those prayers include thanking God for what He has given me. I thank Him for the opportunities I have had, for the people He has put in my life, for the changes He has made in me, and for the things He allows me to do in His name. There is nothing wrong with thanking God for those things, but sitting there today, I realized that sometimes the words coming out of my mouth are not quite the same words sitting in my heart. I can say, “Thank You for the opportunities You have given me,” while somewhere underneath it is, Thank You that I got opportunities they did not. I can thank Him for where my life is today while quietly being thankful that I am not living somebody else’s life. I can tell Him that I pray, that I serve, that I try to help people, and somewhere deep underneath those words there can be another thought: See what I am doing. Remember that I did this for You. Notice me. Almost like I am trying to make sure God knows who I am before I ever stand in front of Him. That is when the Pharisee’s prayer stopped sounding quite so distant. I do not stand in church and loudly thank God that I am better than the person beside me, and I would never intentionally pray that way. But apparently I do not have to say the words for them to find their way into my heart. That is what caught me today. I try very hard to see people equally. I try not to judge someone by where they are in life, and I try to remember that everyone has a story I cannot see. But pride can hide in some pretty respectable places. It can hide inside service, inside Scripture, and even inside prayer. The more I learn, the easier it can become to notice what someone else does not know. The more I serve, the easier it can become to notice who is not serving. The more my own life changes, the easier it can become to look at someone whose life has not changed yet and quietly feel that I am standing somewhere above them. Then I meet people who destroy that idea completely. People who have almost nothing and still thank God for what they have. People whose lives look broken from the outside but whose faith is stronger than mine. People I might be tempted to think need something from me, only to discover that God is using them to teach something to me. Sometimes “those people” have more faith than I do, and suddenly the little pedestal I built inside my prayer does not feel very tall anymore. I am also reminded of a story I once heard about a priest and a homeless man arriving at the gates of heaven. Jesus welcomes them both in and begins leading them through the kingdom. Eventually they come to a house near the far edge, and Jesus says, “This one is for you.” The homeless man steps forward, but Jesus stops him and says, “No, this one is for the priest.” The priest looks around and asks why his home is so far away, out near the edge of the kingdom. Jesus tells him that he had known Him all his life, then looks toward the homeless man and says that this man had spent his life needing Him close. That story has stayed with me because I can spend years learning about God, serving Him, praying, and doing everything I believe I am supposed to do, and still forget what someone with almost nothing may understand far better than I do. I need Him. The tax collector in Jesus’ story did not tell God what he had accomplished. He did not remind God that he prayed regularly or followed the rules, and he did not point across the room at somebody worse. He simply knew where he stood, a sinner asking for mercy. That is where today’s message landed for me. I am learning that maybe it is not only what I do that matters, but why I do it. I can serve someone because I love them, or I can serve because I want someone to notice that I served. I can pray because I need God, or I can pray while quietly keeping score of how often I do it. I can learn Scripture because I want to know Him better, or I can learn enough of it that I begin using what I know to measure everybody else. From the outside, those things can look exactly the same, but God sees what is underneath them. Even the people we hold up as examples of incredible faith still needed His mercy. Billy Graham spent much of his life preaching Christ to millions of people, but all of those sermons did not put him beyond the need for grace. Paul is another reminder for me. Before he became Paul, Saul knew the law and was convinced he was serving God while persecuting Christians. Then Jesus met him on the road and changed him, and that same man would eventually write letters that make up a large part of the New Testament. Knowing Scripture did not save Saul, and being used by God did not make Paul suddenly worthy of grace. He still needed mercy. So do I. I can thank God for everything He has done in my life, and I should thank Him. But I also need to pay attention to what my heart is saying underneath the thank you. There is a difference between being grateful for what God has given me and being grateful that He has given me more than somebody else. There is a difference between doing something in God’s name and doing it because somewhere inside me I hope it earns His praise. Maybe some of my prayers need fewer reminders to God about the things I have done and a little more honesty about why I did them. Not, Thank You that I am not like them. But, Forgive me, because I have placed myself above others and I am a sinner too. I do not need to make sure God notices me before I get there. He already knows me. He knows the things I do, and He knows why I do them. He knows the prayers I say out loud, and He knows the words hiding underneath them. Between the Roots, I am not like them. And maybe believing that I am is exactly when I need to ask for mercy.