Gospel according to Saint Luke 18:9-14
Jesus addressed this parable to those who were convinced of their own righteousness and despised everyone else. “Two people went up to the temple area to pray; one was a Pharisee and the other was a tax collector.
The Pharisee took up his position and spoke this prayer to himself, ‘O God, I thank you that I am not like the rest of humanity — greedy, dishonest, adulterous — or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week, and I pay tithes on my whole income.’
But the tax collector stood off at a distance and would not even raise his eyes to heaven but beat his breast and prayed, ‘O God, be merciful to me a sinner.’ 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.”

From the depths I cry to you, Lord (Psalm 130)

Luis CASASUS President of the Idente Missionaries

Rome, October 26, 2025 | XXX Sunday in Ordinary Time

Sir 35: 12-14.16-18; 2Tim 4: 6-8.16-18; Lk 18: 9-14

The parable of the Pharisee and the tax collector praying in the Temple is provocative. And Christ also uses a provocative, delicate comparison, because it involves a hated tax collector who declares himself a sinner and a pretentious Pharisee who only talks about some of his undoubtedly good deeds.

We must pay attention to what the Master wants to teach us, which is NOT that the Pharisee is a perverse liar and the tax collector is good and honest. What he teaches us is that the tax collector went home justified. This means that he opened his heart to grace. We do not know if that tax collector would accept the grace he received, if he would value the forgiveness that God had just given him… or if he continued as before, deceiving and mercilessly exploiting the poorest, the orphans, and the widows.

The important thing is that, at that moment, as St. John Chrysostom says, he received from God inner absolution, which is an invisible transformation of the soul. The secret to achieving this is to make the effort that Psalm 130 asks of us: From the depths I cry to you, Lord. Our prayer, our gaze toward heaven, must be one of recognition of who I am, without ceasing to admit my weakness and my continual sins.

A story will help us to fix this idea in our minds.

The story goes that a man went to the doctor on a gray winter morning. He had waited a long time to go, not because he was not in pain, but because he was so used to it. He had been feeling unwell for years, but he had learned to live with his discomfort as if it were an old shadow, that one no longer notices.

When the doctor asked him what was wrong, the man spoke in detail about his cough, his fatigue, and the insomnia that visited him like a thief every night. The doctor listened, nodding slightly.

After a while, the silence became longer than the conversation. Then the doctor asked him gently, Is that all?

The man hesitated. There was a twinge, a deep pain that he had been silencing for years, but he had turned it into a secret, and secrets weigh more heavily when they are spoken aloud.

Well, he said at last, sometimes I feel pressure here”-and he touched his chest- but it goes away.

The doctor looked at him with a mixture of compassion and seriousness: What you say ‘happens’ is what shouldn’t happen. The rest is noise. The heart doesn’t warn you very often. And when it falls completely silent, it’s because there’s nothing left to say.

The man looked down. For the first time, he realized that he hadn’t gone to the doctor to be cured, but to distract himself from his fear. He paid for the consultation, put on his coat, and went out into the street. The wind was cold, but something had been ignited inside him: the sudden awareness of his wound, and the suspicion -still distant, still timid- that perhaps recognizing it was the beginning of healing.

—ooOoo—

It is easy for us to pray superficially, not “from the depths,” because we are inclined to feel like victims and thereby try to hide our guilt: They put me in an extreme situation and I exploded with strong words… but it’s true that I didn’t hit anyone.

However, as John Paul II said: The tax collector does not justify himself; he lets God justify him. That is the essence of all prayer: to let God be God, to open one’s heart to him with humility and trust(September 21, 1983).

The Pharisee does not really pray; he talks to himself. His “I” takes the place of God. Moreover, he seeks to expose his merits before God, submitting to his instinct for happiness, which tells him: That fast, that alms you give, are more than enough, they are pleasing to God, who probably has nothing more to ask of you.

Something essential that Jesus tells us is that the Pharisee was not only wrong in his way of addressing God, but also in comparing himself to others, the rapacious, the unjust, the adulterers… or “that tax collector.” This tendency to seek comfort by comparing ourselves to others, especially when we do so with contempt, reveals a form of defense that, although it seems to give us momentary bitter relief, distances us from truth and love.

Let us note how the Gospel text says that the recipients of the parable are those who consider themselves righteous and despise others.

Behind this frequent impulse, there are at least three realities:

A poorly concealed insecurity: When we are not at peace with ourselves, trying to look down on others gives us a false sense of superiority. There is also wounded pride (heightened by the aforementioned feeling of victimhood); that is why we project judgments onto others so as not to feel so vulnerable; we seek to protect ourselves in a clumsy way, guided merely by instinct.

And, worst of all, we are blinded by a lack of compassion, forgetting that each person has their own story, their own struggles, and their own context.

All of this creates a barrier between God and me. It also distances me from my neighbor; let us remember that the original meaning of the word “Pharisee” is ‘separated’ or “apart.”

How can we escape this trap?

* First, by learning to look at others with mercy: instead of contempt, cultivate a gaze that seeks to understand. In our case, as Christians, it is even easier; we know that our neighbor is someone who has already been forgiven by God, that the Holy Spirit is working in their heart, and that their final destiny is to spend eternity with God the Father.

* Furthermore, we must recognize our fragility, for humility does not diminish us, but liberates us. Those who hide or lie are subject to constant tension and effort. Lying or hiding constantly subjects a person to sustained psychological and emotional tension, which leads to mental exhaustion and an inability to establish relationships with those around us. Of course, it also dulls our sensitivity to all that the Divine Persons continually reveal to us.

* And finally, seek comfort in the truth: The deepest comfort comes from knowing that we are loved by God, not from imagining that we are better than others.

The tax collector beat his breast, which is a religious gesture representing the beating of the heart, the seat of all sins. We also do this at Holy Mass, as yet another public declaration that we are far from perfect.

—ooOoo—

The First Reading also conveys the value of humble prayer, which “rises to the clouds.” But let us also remember the episode recounted in 1 Samuel 1:9–20. Hannah, barren and humiliated by Peninnah, comes before God with a broken heart. Peninnah was another of Elkanah’s wives, the one who could have children. She liked to show off as a mother to the other wife, Hannah, who was barren. In her prayer, she does not utter audible words, only moving her lips, and the priest Eli mistakenly judges her to be drunk.

Hannah replied:

No, sir, I am a miserable woman, but I have not drunk wine or alcohol; I was only pouring out my grief before the Lord. Do not take me for a shameless woman; if I have spoken out of turn, it was because I was overwhelmed by my grief and my misfortune.

Eli said to her:

Go in peace, and may the God of Israel grant you the favor you have asked of him.

And after this moving scene, God hears her silent and humble prayer and grants her a son: Samuel, who will become a prophet.

Furthermore, this episode from the Old Testament is an example of how Peninnah seeks to feel superior through her cruel contempt for Hannah, another case similar to that of the Pharisee who despises the tax collector.

We can use this story to ask ourselves a question: Is there anyone who does NOT need God’s mercy and kindness? Not only believers, but everyone who goes through moments of helplessness, insecurity, or deep pain needs to share it, to express it in an appropriate way, to someone who knows how to listen.

—ooOoo—

That is why confession is so important, why Christ speaks to us today about two men -not very exemplary ones- who go to the Temple to pray, asking to be heard, because confession is rebuilding a bridge between two shores. Whether sacramental, personal, communal, or intimate before God, it transforms us.

We must recognize that many people’s difficulty with confession of any kind is compounded by the difficulty of being heard in an appropriate manner. Amid their imperfections, today the Pharisee and the tax collector show signs of trust as they address God.

Those who have the mission of governing, guiding souls, or administering the sacrament of Penance should consider themselves privileged, for they prepare people for authentic contact with God. That is why, in sacramental confession, the priest, though unworthy, ends with words that have the power that only God has given him: Your sins are forgiven; go in peace.

Every prayer begins, in some way, with a confession, like the Penitential Rite of the Holy Mass. Not necessarily a confession of sin, but a confession of inner truth, of need, of dependence, of humility. This is what Jesus himself teaches us in Gethsemane: My soul is sorrowful even unto death. It is a confession of anguish that precedes the joyful surrender of his whole being.

As Psalm 51, composed by King David after he had sinned gravely, says: You, O God, do not despise a broken and repentant heart.

_______________________________

In the Sacred Hearts of Jesus, Mary and Joseph,

Luis CASASUS

President