Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time

 Lectionary: 150

The prayer of the lowly pierces the clouds; it does not rest till it reaches its goal, nor will it withdraw till the Most High responds, judges justly and affirms the right, and the Lord will not delay.

Vladimir Nabakov's famously began his memoir, Speak, Memory with: 

The cradle rocks above an abyss, and common sense tells us that our existence is but a brief crack of light, between two eternities of darkness. 

But "common sense" is often a false assurance with little memory and less wisdom. For the two eternities of darkness have been split when the Word of God spoke like a bolt of lightning. Its thunder still resounds eternally throughout the universe. For the Word appeared in a moment of time but secular historians dismissed it as culturally biased, unproven, and anecdotal. 

No one should suppose that doubt of God's existence provides one with an excuse for ignoring the cloud-piercing prayer of the lowly. They will be heard! Their prayer, as Sirach teaches us, "does not rest till it reaches its goal." 

Today the Lord tells us the familiar parable of two men who went up to the temple to pray. The first "spoke this prayer to himself." Though it might have echoed around the temple, it was not heard in heaven. For God cannot hear the prayers of those who do not exist, and the one who sounded the prayer was like an actor on an imaginary stage. He was playing the role of a holy man, and badly at that. 

The second offered the prayer of a sinner, "O God, be merciful to me a sinner." This prayer, we're assured, pierced the clouds and rested in God's presence. 

Then Jesus adds: 

I tell you, the latter went home justified, not the former;

for whoever exalts himself will be humbled,

and the one who humbles himself will be exalted."

I have heard the complaint of some people who rarely attend church, that those who do are like the self-confident Pharisee. They're smug, complacent, and aloof toward the occasional guest who wanders into the church. 

I don't believe it; that's not my experience. From the altar I see people whose minds may be wandering but their hearts -- even the troubled hearts -- are resting in God's presence. Their faces are soft, their eyes are closed or intent; their bodies are still. They are enjoying a respite from the harassment of an anxious, uneasy culture; a culture which dreads, and resolutely denies, both "eternities of darkness." 

The hypocrites are those who think they are more sincere for not attending any church. 

The Pharisee in today' story is like the Bill Murphy character in the movie, Groundhog's Day. He is caught in an eternal now. He remembers neither the past, with its history of sin, nor his own particular sin. Nor does he anticipate a future of vindication, redemption, and freedom. He looks forward to nothing. 

The Publican, on the other hand, remembers a long history of God's mercy, from Abraham and Sarah through Moses and Miriam, innumerable holy men, women, prophets, and sages. He emulates the original penitent, King David, and Jesus, the Son of David. He looks forward to a bliss of eternity in God's presence with Mary the Mother of God, all the saints and angels. If he now lives in the present moment with a foolish Pharisee, he never forgets eternities past, present, and future which are illuminated with the thundering  Word of God.