I am a Pharisee.
There.
I said it.
It's ugly.
But true.
I am one of the obnoxiously
Self-righteous.
There.
I said it.
My hair's just right.
My clothes are oh-so-appropriate.
My words are perfectly diplomatic - tolerant and inclusive.
My reputation carefully crafted - and almost spotless.
"Good teacher..." I say.
"Why do you call me good?"
The letters are red.
I think:
Because isn't good what you are?
Right, appropriate, diplomatic, tolerant, inclusive...
Or maybe that is my idea of
Good.
Because you did say
The prostitutes and tax collectors get in before me.
The harlots and cheats?
Before me?
Before "good?"
From the mouth, mind, and heart of this Pharisee, you should not be called "good."
I'm beginning to see:
My good is all bad.
My right is all wrong.
I ought to:
Do the work of the Father,
Tend to his people,
Work in his field.
Dirty, sweaty, calloused, and wise
With unkempt hair,
Ragged clothes,
Words and reputation formed from labor,
Not vain practice.
Grace is good.
"Teacher of grace?"
Inspired by a sermon by Aaron Baker on Matthew 21:28-32, "The Man with Two Sons," at Covenant Presbyterian Church, February 2nd, 2014.
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