Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time

A bridge spanning wetland at MSF

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.

Who would have thought that God – the supreme power – is actually concerned about the powerless? That is not the way we humans do things. The powerful maintain power at all costs and feel morally justified in doing so. 

Experts on American politics have observed how George W Bush systematically amassed more power for the presidency during his two terms, and Barack Obama has not surrendered any of it. Only a major setback like the Watergate Scandal can diminish the president’s authority, and then only briefly.

Dominant powers have always assumed The Ultimate Power is committed to supporting them, whether they were kings, popes, dictators or cultural majorities. As Peter O'Toole's  Henry II’s declared in The Lion in Winter: “I am the king! When I pray, God listens!”

Part of God’s job too is maintaining the self-assurance of the righteous. That’s why the Pharisee in Jesus’ story could so confidently stand before the altar and thank God that he is “not like the rest of men.” 
Prayer feels good and it makes you feel good about yourself, no matter which religion you practice. I recommend it to everyone!

Until we actually read the Bible we’re reasonably certain God is on our side. That’s why Jesus’ parable is so unsettling. The lowly Samaritan, an outsider in Jerusalem, an unwelcome presence with only marginal right to be in there in the first place, goes home justified, but not the Pharisee. 

Thomas Merton once said, “God cannot hear the prayer of those who do not exist.” The Pharisee in today’s story has created an artificial man, a hand puppet to stand before God and speak for the fool who hides beneath it. He is so absorbed in himself he cannot even consider what God might want to hear. He says only what he wants to believe.

Our liturgy teaches us to approach God humbly. Every Mass begins with an Act of Penance. We recite the Confiteor or a similar prayer. Repeatedly during the Mass priest and people recall our sins. “O Lord I am not worthy to have you under my roof. Say but the word and my soul shall be healed.”
“O Lord, wash away my iniquity and cleanse me of my sins.” 

Penance must be the beginning of our prayer.

I once imagined a bit of fun a church might sponsor. Clowns could stand outside the church as the congregation enters, men and women who actually know the local people, and remind them of who they are:

What are you doing here, Joe? You were the Lothario of Central High!

What are you doing here, Mary? Weren’t you the vainest mother who ever brought your precious Lord Fauntleroy to church?

Hey Jack, since when do we allow racists in our church?

I don’t suppose the farce would last very long. It might cause a riot!

The clowning might remind us we have no right to be in church. We have no right to pray. But God in his gracious mercy gathers us in prayer that we might love him. 
As we approach our prayer we should gently beat our breasts as the Publican did. O God, have mercy on me, a sinner.