30th Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)

Sir. 35:15-17, 20-22; 2 Tim. 4:6-8, 16-18; Lk. 18:9-14

The Gospel of Luke tells us of two men who went up to the temple to pray: one a Pharisee, and the other a tax collector. At first glance, the story seems simple, almost familiar, but within it lies one of the most profound teachings of Jesus on the nature of the human heart. The Pharisee stands tall, confident in his own righteousness, listing his achievements before God like a merchant presenting his accounts: “I thank you, Lord, that I am not like other people—robbers, evildoers, adulterers—or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week. I give a tenth of all I get.” Meanwhile, the tax collector stands at a distance, unable even to lift his eyes to heaven. He beats his breast and whispers, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.” And Jesus concludes: it was the tax collector, not the Pharisee, who went home justified before God, for “everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and the one who humbles himself will be exalted.”

The contrast between these two men is not merely about prayer styles. It is about two different ways of understanding God, life, and ourselves. The Pharisee’s prayer is filledwith himself. His words revolve around I: “I thank you… I am not like others…

I fast… I give…” God is only a listener to his self-praise. He compares himself to others, and in comparison, he feels superior. The tax collector, on the other hand, compares himself only to the holiness of God and can only see his need for mercy. He knows he is flawed, but he stands before God, nonetheless, trusting in His tenderness. His prayer is only seven words long, but those seven words open heaven.

This story echoes many moments in Scripture where God reveals that the humble heart is more precious to Him than the proud performance. In the Old Testament, when King Saul disobeyed God yet justified himself before Samuel, Samuel rebuked him saying, “The Lord prefers obedience to sacrifice” (1 Samuel 15:22). It was not the offering or religious act that pleased God, but the heart aligned to Him. When Isaiah saw the glory of God in the Temple, he did not boast of his prophetic calling. Instead, he cried out, “Woe is me! I am a man of unclean lips” (Isaiah 6:5). When the prophet Daniel prayed, he did not defend the sins of the people or claim innocence; he said, “We have sinned and done wrong” (Daniel 9:5), though Scripture calls Daniel righteous. The hearts closest to God were always the humbled ones.

Jesus Himself modeled this humility. Though He was the sinless Son of God, He emptied Himself and took the form of a servant (Philippians 2:7). He knelt to wash the feet of fishermen and tax collectors. He ate with sinners not to prove superiority but to reveal the mercy of the Father. His humility was not weakness; it was the strength of love.

This parable also resonates with the story of the repentant woman who came to Jesus while He was dining at the house of Simon the Pharisee. She washed His feet with her tears and dried them with her hair. Simon looked at her with contempt, convinced she was beyond redemption. But Jesus saw her heart. “Her many sins are forgiven because she loved much” (Luke 7:47). The Pharisee in that house, like the Pharisee in the Temple, measured holiness by behavior. But Jesus measured holiness by the heart’s capacity to recognize its need for God.

Throughout history, the saints understood this deeply. St. Augustine, once a brilliant and proud scholar, realized that his greatness meant nothing if it was not surrendered to God. He wrote, “It was pride that made angels into devils; it is humility that makes men into angels.” St. Francis of Assisi, who could have boasted of his influence and miracles, would often remind his brothers that he was just a sinner loved by God. When someone praised him, he responded, “What a man is before God, that he is — and nothing more.” St. Macarius of Egypt, one of the Desert Fathers, once said that if a person sees all others as better than themselves, they will find peace.

There is a striking anecdote from the early monastic tradition. A young monk once asked his elder, “Father, what is the heart of the spiritual life?” The elder replied, “Go to the cemetery and insult the dead.” The young monk did so, shouting insults, and returned. “What happened?” asked the elder. “They said nothing,” said the monk. The elder then said, “Now go praise them.” The monk returned once more: “They again said nothing.” The elder smiled: “When you can respond to praise and insult in the same way, you will be free.” The humble heart does not depend on human approval.

In ordinary life, we often see this contrast between the Pharisee and the tax collector. There are people who do good but make sure everyone knows it. They give charity but expect recognition. They speak loudly about the mistakes of others but quietly excuse their own. But we also meet people who quietly care for others — a mother who sacrifices without complaint, a teacher who encourages discouraged students, a nurse who treats every patient with tenderness, a worker who does their job with integrity even when no one notices. These people rarely consider themselves righteous, yet their lives shine with the goodness of God.

The danger of the Pharisee’s pride is subtle because it hides behind good works. It is possible to fast, pray, and give alms—and yet not truly love. It is possible to attend church faithfully and still carry a heart that judges, excludes, or despises. The tax collector reminds us that we do not come to church to show God how good we are. We come because we need God’s mercy. We come not because we are worthy, but because God is loving.

How then do we live this message in our world today? Our society is filled with comparison. People measure themselves by achievements, wealth, appearance, social media followers, public impression. Pride has become a silent poison. But Jesus calls us to live differently. Humility does not mean thinking less of ourselves; it means recognizing that everything we are is a gift. It means understanding that we stand before God not as judges of others, but as people who all need compassion. It means seeing others not from the height of our successes but from the depth of shared humanity.

To practice humility, first, we must learn to listen more and speak less. The Pharisee talked; the tax collector prayed. Listening opens the heart. Second, we must not compare ourselves with others. Each person walks a unique journey known fully only to God. Third, we must acknowledge our need for mercy. The simplest prayer — “Lord, have mercy on me” — can soften even the hardest heart.

Finally, humility leads to compassion. When we know our own weakness, we become less harsh toward the weaknesses of others. When we see how much God has forgiven us, we learn to forgive. When we recognize that we are not self-made, we become more generous to those who struggle.

At the end of the parable, Jesus tells us that the humble man returned home “justified.” That means he was healed, renewed, restored. Humility does not humiliate us — it saves us. It frees us from the exhausting need to prove ourselves. It opens our hearts to grace.

Let us then stand before God like the tax collector — not in despair, but in trust. Let us beat our breasts not in shame, but in the hope that God receives the contrite heart. Let us remember that the holiest people are not those who appear perfect, but those who are honest before God.

May we learn to pray with sincerity, live with gentleness, act with compassion, and walk humbly with our God. And as we do, may God lift us up — not in the eyes of the world, but in the quiet joy of being held in His mercy.

Satish