The Publican and the Pharisee

I'll speak to silence every envious heart— I've been blessed abundantly by God's own part: I am a Jew, by God's own hand elected, And by the Law, as Pharisee, respected.

In our family the Law was held most dear, Our parents taught us year by passing year. We honored Moses' Torah faithfully— A Torah given to a Jew like we.

I lived, I thought, completely in the right, And Pharisaic ways were my delight. I knew Gamaliel personally well— He often came to visit at our dwell.

The Law stood at our every corner stone, Thus through the world my life had grown. I went to temple for my prayer each day, Two days each week I had to fast and pray.

We lived beneath the Roman yoke's control, Yet God had spoken to our every soul: "Become enslaved to no one—hear My call..." We asked Him when deliverance would befall:

"When, Lord, will that appointed hour arrive? When shall we cast the Roman chains aside? We wait for the Messiah to appear And by His power break the bonds we fear."

One came from Nazareth with simple speech, And common people heard His every teach. The teachers asked in wonder and in fear: "Who are You, Jesus Christ—why are You here?"

I must confess it sparked my curiosity, To listen to His words (in honesty). The crowds would follow Him from place to place, And I kept wondering—who was this face?

He did not teach the people in the temple, But spoke with them on streets, with ways so simple. I heard He gave examples as He spoke, And called the Pharisees a faithless folk.

He called our tombs—beautiful without, Yet full of death, He left no room for doubt. He spoke against the Sadducees with weight, Against the scribes He poured out all His hate— And how could God not punish such a one? How could the Almighty let him go on?

I lost my peace then, turning day by day, Wondering still—what had I heard Him say? What boldness made Him dare to speak this way?— "He will not die"—so bold a thing to say...

I found no answer to this mystery— I wandered round in troubled reverie. What should we do? The question haunted all... I went into the temple to pray and call.

Few people gathered there. I bowed myself And turned to God, to Yahweh, for my help. I prayed before the altar, standing straight, Then raised my eyes—and saw the man I hate.

I thought within my heart: what brings him here? My soul recoils from him—this much is clear. Let him go out into the outer court— To stand beside him brings of me just tort!

I conquered my revulsion and prayed on, And thought of how my fasts had made me strong... "Thank You, O God, that You have chosen me, I've become learned in the Pharisee.

I am no robber, neither thief by trade, I bring my gifts to You—they're properly made. I pay all tithes and everything I owe, Not like this publican—my piety's show."

What could I say of him? He's steeped in sin, He ought to leave this temple in chagrin... But still the publican stood off to side And would not raise his eyes—his shame, his pride.

He beat his breast continuously, I saw, And asked that God forgive him of his flaw, He kept repeating—"I am wrapped in sin." And I could hear his anguished, bitter din.

I stopped my prayer and searched for him once more, I hoped he'd quickly fled the temple door, That senseless was his coming to this place— He had no righteousness to show his face.

What could he bring before God's throne on high? With what prayer dare he raise his voice and cry? His merits?—meaningless, a empty breath, He's sinful—so I judged him unto death.

Again I turned my heart back to my God, And shared the righteousness upon which I trod: "I thank You, God, I am not like this man, Our destinies were written in Your plan.

I reminded God about my fasting days, (So He would see my spiritual ways!) I spoke again about my tithes I gave, That He might bless me, help me, guide and save."

I rose up from my knees, I still recall, While still the publican, not moving at all, Continued bitter tears and sobs to shed, He beat his breast and bowed down his head.

Then slowly he arose—with tear-stained face, As if he held within his hands God's grace. He quietly passed by the altar stone, And whispered: "Lord, have mercy on me—alone."

I also left. His trace had disappeared. What did the publican from prayer hear? But I—ah, that's a different affair, I'd leave here justified beyond compare.

I walked along the streets I'd always known, Yet found no peace within my heart, alone. I looked ahead—a crowd I could perceive— And He spoke words—I couldn't then believe.

Without intending to, I stopped right there, I bent to tie my sandal with some care. I heard a conversation starting then— About the publican and Pharisee men.

It was the words I'd heard about before, The tale that I would long remember more! He spoke of how the Pharisee had prayed, How to the Lord the publican had made His supplication and confession there— He told my prayer—as if He'd been aware:

"Two men went out into the temple to pray, The publican, the Pharisee that day, Both left the temple their own way to go, But more was the publican made righteous, though,"— And Jesus said this ending then, at last, And all my certainty came falling fast.

I felt my legs go weak beneath my weight, When these words were pronounced by Him of late, How could this Jesus know what I had prayed? How could He know this parable He'd made?

I wandered through Jerusalem that day, Lost in my thoughts, I'd nearly missed my way, I passed my home and didn't even see, I sat down on a stone and wept for me.

Later I returned back to the temple space, And there I saw Him standing in that place. I crept up to Him quietly, like one afraid, And timidly about this parable I made

A question, asking Him to explain the tale He'd told the crowds—would He my doubts curtail? Jesus directed His gaze upon me then, I felt no judgment—only love again.

He taught me how to truly pray aright— And now I wish to share this sacred light: Before your God, my friend, do not take pride, Just bow your heart and let your ego die.

Your merits God already knows full well, And mercies new upon your life He'll tell. Don't whisper words about yourself to Him, Just speak with silence, let your prayers be hymn.

In prayer give thanks unto your God above, For He has done for you His works of love. God dwells amid the praise of all the sainted, And gives His glory to no soul acquainted.

Thank Him for day and night, for all you own, For son and wife and daughter—God alone Has sent the rains, has brought the growing light, And set the sun and stars in endless night.

Jesus then said: "You are the Pharisee, A chosen Jew—God's people, as can be, But keep your merits to yourself, I say, In prayer glorify God alone each day.

More justified the publican than you— In prayer he judged himself through and through. Before his God he wept without a shame, And called upon the Lord's most holy name.

And you boasted that you are no thief—" Jesus continued with His words of grief, "But this is not your merit, don't you see? Don't boast beside the altar's mystery.

God Himself will notice every deed, And if required, will answer to your need. Understand—God opens every door, But He alone can close them evermore.

I'm glad you've returned here to pray, And turned your heart to God this day. In prayer lies strength, and fasting too you need, Without them both, you'll never see the seed

Of growth within your soul. And tithes must go To God—for all your wealth, show gratitude's flow. If one has decided to bow down in prayer, Then join with him—you too must show you care.

I listened to His words and said nothing at all, No answer did I give to His call. I wanted all my prayers to change their way, To love God stronger with each passing day.

How good it was that I returned to pray, I'll give my life to God from this day! Within this conversation I have found A revelation—I am heaven-bound:

To serve Jesus Christ—that is my choice!