Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year C (2025) - Fr Anthony Walsh, OP

Jesus begins this parable very simply: “Two men went up to the temple to pray.” Nothing dramatic—just two men, going about something holy. But as the story unfolds, it overturns everything we expect. 

One of them is admired and respected—a man of faith, known for his devotion. The other is despised, mistrusted, and written off as a sinner. Yet when they go home again, it’s not the respected man, but the despised one, who is justified before God. 

This story is not only about humility. It’s about who truly belongs to the people of God. It’s about how God redraws the boundaries of righteousness, and how easily we get those boundaries wrong when pride takes hold of the heart. 

The Pharisee, to begin with, is not an evil man. He’s devout, disciplined, and generous. He fasts more often than the Law requires. He tithes carefully, even down to the smallest herbs. By every visible measure, he’s doing well. 

But then he begins to pray. “God, I thank you…”—so far, so good. But soon, his prayer turns into a speech about himself. “I thank you that I am not like other people—thieves, rogues, adulterers—or even like this tax collector.” 

He’s no longer speaking to God. He’s speaking about himself—in God’s direction. He’s turned prayer into a mirror. Saint Augustine saw it perfectly. He said: 

“His fasting and his tithing were good works, but his heart was swollen with pride.” 

That is the Pharisee’s tragedy. Even good deeds become empty when they’re inflated by pride. When we start comparing ourselves to others, we stop comparing ourselves with God—and prayer becomes self-congratulation instead of communion. 

Then comes the other man—the tax collector. He doesn’t stride into the temple; he stands at a distance. He cannot lift his eyes to heaven. He beats his breast and says, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.” He has no speech, no list, no defence. He brings nothing but his need. And Jesus tells us that it is this man who goes home justified. 

The Pharisee cuts himself off by despising others. The tax collector opens himself to God by refusing to exalt himself. But what does it mean to say he was justified? 

In Luke’s Gospel, the word means more than being forgiven. It means being vindicated by God, declared to be in the right—not only before heaven, but as a member of God’s own people. It is relational; it’s about belonging. 

And that’s what makes this story so powerful. By every social and religious standard, the Pharisee looks like a model Israelite. The tax collector, by those same standards, looks like a traitor. Yet God’s verdict reverses it. The one who seemed inside is found outside; the one who seemed outside is brought home. 

For Saint Paul, that means Gentiles can be included by faith. For Saint Luke, it means sinners and outcasts who turn to God in humility. In both, God is redrawing the boundaries of His people—around mercy, not merit. 

This “great reversal” runs all through Luke’s Gospel. Mary sang it in her Magnificat: “He has brought down the mighty from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; He has filled the hungry with good things, and the rich He has sent away empty.” The Pharisee stands tall among the mighty. The tax collector bows low among the hungry. And once again, the pattern holds: the lowly is lifted up; the proud is sent away empty. 

Origen, one of the great teachers of the early Church, saw this clearly. He wrote: “The Pharisee’s righteousness was outward; the tax collector’s plea came from the heart.” Centuries later, Saint Thomas Aquinas would echo that same truth: “Pride perverts even good works, while humility orders the soul rightly to God.” The difference, then, is not in what they did—but in how they stood before God. 

What does this mean for us? First, personally. Each of us is called to the humility of the tax collector. It’s easy to come before God listing our efforts — our prayers, our sacrifices, our service. But the truth is, none of that earns us a place before Him. We come as we are — poor, needy, and dependent on mercy. When we pray, we don’t tell God how good we are; we ask Him to make us His own. And we recall, as Pope St. John Paul II reminded us: “We are not the sum of our weaknesses and failures; we are the sum of the Father’s love for us and our real capacity to become the image of His Son.” 

Second, as the Church. This parable tests what kind of community we are building. Do we resemble the Pharisee’s prayer group, congratulating ourselves that we’re not like others? Or do we resemble the tax collector, standing together before God as sinners loved into holiness? The Church’s boundary is drawn not by pride, but by repentance. 

And third, for the world. This parable is good news for anyone who feels despised or unworthy. God’s people are not the respectable few, but all who come to Him with empty hands. When the Church welcomes them—when we welcome them—we make visible the mercy of the God who justifies the humble. 

At the end of the story, two men walk down the temple steps. One thought he was righteous—but goes home unjustified. The other thought he was lost—but goes home right with God. So we might ask ourselves: When we leave this house of prayer today, who will we resemble? Will we go home clinging to our own merits? Or will we go home justified because we trusted in God’s mercy? 

Jesus ends with the line that sums up this teaching: “For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, but the one who humbles himself will be exalted.” The Pharisee’s prayer was full of himself—and it closed heaven’s door. The tax collector’s prayer was empty of himself—and it opened God’s mercy.

Fr Anthony Walsh, OP is the Master of Novices, assigned to St Laurence's Priory, North Adelaide, South Australia.