(Homily on Luke 18:9–14)
In reading Luke 18:9-14, we see that our Lord sets before us a tender yet searching parable. Two men ascend to the Temple to pray—one a Pharisee of established reputation, the other a publican burdened with public disgrace. Both stand in the place of prayer and both speak to God, yet the spirit of their prayer diverges utterly. The Pharisee rehearses his virtues and measures himself against his neighbour; the publican, standing afar off, can only strike his breast and whisper, “O God, be merciful to me, a sinner.” In this contrast, the Church is given a mirror for the soul—the form of prayer may be shared, but its heart discloses whether we seek communion with God or consolation from ourselves.
The Pharisee’s stance reveals the danger that shadows religious observance when detached from humility. He “prayed thus with himself,” which is to say that his words rose no higher than his own self-approval. Fasting and tithing, holy in themselves, become a ledger of achievement when severed from contrition. Ascetical works are medicines, not medals; they are given to heal the passions and open the heart to grace. Whenever we compare ourselves with others, tally our devotions, or rest upon our disciplines, we move from prayer into performance, from worship into self-regard. Such prayer leaves the temple unchanged because it never truly left the self.
The publican, by contrast, is like a quiet teacher of the monastic heart. He does not draw near presumptuously, nor lift up his eyes demandingly; he lowers himself and pleads for mercy. This is the spirit of the Jesus Prayer—“Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner”—which the Fathers commend as a way of uniting breath, mind, and heart in repentance. The publican’s few words carry weight because they spring from truth. He does not present excuses, nor seek to beautify his condition; he simply places himself in the light and asks for mercy. Such prayer never returns empty, for “a contrite and humbled heart, O God, Thou wilt not despise” (Psalm 50:19).
In the Divine Liturgy the Church learns this posture collectively. We do not gather to display attainment, but to confess need and to receive mercy. The petitions—“Lord, have mercy”—are not the repetition of doubt but the steady rhythm of faith. They train the soul to turn again and again to the Giver, to place our hope not in personal achievement but in grace. The altar is not a stage but the place of offering; there the faithful bring “Thine own of Thine own,” confessing that every good is God’s gift and every healing His kindness. In such worship pride has no footing, for all glory returns to God.
Monastic tradition speaks of “nepsis”, watchfulness, which is a careful guarding of the heart so that vanity does not intrude upon prayer. The Pharisee lacked this watchfulness; he allowed praise of self and contempt for another to lodge within. The publican practised nepsis in the simplest form—he guarded his eyes, moderated his voice, and kept his petition pure. We, too, must watch—when criticism creeps into prayer, let us answer with silence; when self-congratulation arises, let us make a prostration; when we are tempted to judge, let us remember our own sins first. Such small obediences, repeated faithfully, purify the inner chamber where God alone is to be adored.
It is important for each of us to pay close attention to our Lord’s closing word. They contain both warning and consolation. “Every one that exalteth himself shall be humbled; and he that humbleth himself shall be exalted.” Exaltation belongs to God alone to bestow. The one who grasps after it descends; the one who bows in truth is lifted by a Hand not his own. Justification, then, is not the reward for performance but the gift given to repentance. The publican went down justified because he entrusted his case to divine mercy. This is the way for all of us—to place our poverty in God’s richness, our wounds in His compassion, our darkness in His light.
Pastorally speaking, this parable comforts those who feel unworthy to pray. The publican’s distance did not disqualify him; it became the place where grace met him. No life is too entangled for mercy; no history is beyond the Physician’s art. Begin where you are—stand quietly, state your sin as it is, and ask for mercy. If words fail, borrow the Church’s: “Lord, have mercy.” If strength falters, make a small bow, trace the Cross, and begin again. God is near to the lowly; He runs to the humble as to a beloved child in need.
Let the fruit of this humility be charity. The Pharisee’s contempt for his neighbour unmasked the poverty of his prayer; the publican’s sorrow for his own sin guarded him from scorning another. If our prayer does not soften our speech, lighten another’s burden, and move us to reconciliation, we have not prayed as the publican prayed. True humility restores communion—it widens the heart, gentles the tongue, and makes room for the other. In this spirit let us leave the temple, justified by mercy, and carry into our homes and streets the quiet radiance of a contrite heart, for God delights to exalt the humble and to dwell with those who know their need of Him. (Isaiah 57:15)
May God bless you +
Fr. Charles
26 October 2025
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