October 27, 2019: "Rightoholics Anonymous"
October 27, 2019 Rev. Rhonda Blevins, DMIN
Rightoholics Anonymous
Luke 18:9-14
He also told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and regarded others with contempt: “Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. The Pharisee, standing by himself, was praying thus, ‘God, I thank you that I am not like other people: thieves, rogues, adulterers, or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week; I give a tenth of all my income.’ But the tax collector, standing far off, would not even look up to heaven, but was beating his breast and saying, ‘God, be merciful to me, a sinner!’ I tell you, this man went down to his home justified rather than the other; for all who exalt themselves will be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be exalted.”
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Good morning. Welcome to the Clearwater Beach Chapter of Rightoholics Anonymous. My name is Rhonda and I’m a rightoholic. It’s been . . . let’s see . . . zero days since I have been convinced of my “right-ness” and another’s “wrong-ness.” I am addicted to being . . . right.
For example, the other day in the office I was talking with Bob Prast, the chair of our property committee, and Rick Frye, our facilities manager about something we needed to buy for the church. I looked at Rick and said, “You have the printout of the product description, right?” Rick said, “No, I gave it to you.” I said, “I don’t think so.” Rick said, “Uh, yeah, I gave it to you.” I said, “Ok, let me go look on my desk.” Guess what? There it was. Right there on my desk, taunting me. I picked up the paper and walked back to where Rick and Bob were standing and I said, “Rick, you were right.” To which Rick looked at Bob and Debbie and anyone he could find within ear shot, “Did you hear that? Can I get this documented? She admitted I was right!”
I am a rightoholic. Too often convinced of my own superiority. Too easily impressed by my wisdom, intellect, and discernment. I am a rightoholic, but I’m not the only one.
I was there in the crowd that day, maybe some of you were there too, when Jesus sensed the need to confront some of his listeners on their sense of self-righteousness. I’m pretty sure Jesus was targeting me (us?) when he began to tell a story to (in the words of The Message paraphrase) “some who were complacently pleased with themselves over their moral performance and looked down their noses at the common people.”
Jesus introduced the story this way: “Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector.” That’s his hook. Jesus labels these individuals, prompting his listeners to make a quick judgment. He knew that at the mention of a Pharisee that his listeners in that crowd would think, “Fine, upstanding citizen. Moral exemplar.” And when he mentioned a “tax collector,” his listeners would flash a reflexive snarl while thinking, “Sinner! Traitor! Thief! Extortionist!”
But like almost every parable Jesus tells, he hooks his listeners, and then he offers a surprising twist. The problem in this story isn’t the tax collector’s sin at all. The problem is the self-righteousness of the Pharisee: “O God, I thank thee that I am not a sinner like this tax collector. Aren’t you lucky, Lord, to have someone like me? I go to church every Sunday. I give a tithe to the church, and I sometimes even put a little extra in the blue envelope. I volunteer. I recycle. Why, I haven’t used a plastic straw in over two weeks! Thank you, Lord, that I am so awesome!” If you consider Jesus’ motive in telling this story, the real problem is the self-righteousness of his listeners that day, and the lack of humility that goes with it. You see, Jesus was talking to a crowd full of rightoholics.
As a self-professed rightoholic, I have some opinions, and my opinions happen to be, well, right. With that, I know exactly what’s wrong in our country. You want to know what’s wrong with ‘merica these days? I’ll tell ya! (Somebody say “Preach it, sista!”) The problem with ‘merica is we’re a nation full of rightoholics. I’m right about this. Trust me.
But if you don’t trust me, maybe you’ll trust the data. A couple of weeks ago the Pew Research Center published a report about the attitudes fueling the political divide in the country:
When asked to describe the morality of politicians based on party affiliation, 55% of Republicans say Democrats are more immoral, 64% that they are more close-minded, and 63% that they are less patriotic than other U.S. citizens. Democrats’ views of Republicans were no more charitable, with 47% saying Republicans are more immoral, 75% that they are more close-minded, and 38% that they are less intelligent than other Americans.[1]
Where’s the humility? Most of us have become so locked in, so impressed with our own opinions about how the world should work, that we castigate and demonize those who hold differing viewpoints. In the words of Anne Lamott, we “can safely assume [we’ve] created God in [our] own image when it turns out that God hates all the same people [we] do.”
Reading this text today, we’re challenged to imagine our enemy as the one justified before God. This requires a humility quite foreign to the rightoholics in the room, yours truly included. My old seminary professor would remind us arrogant seminarians, “Dare to think you’re wrong.” Few of us, as it turns out, are that daring.
But there’s hope for us. Jesus puts a model before us in this story, and in classic Jesus form, it’s the person you’d least likely expect it to be—the tax collector: “standing far off, would not even look up to heaven, but was beating his breast and saying, ‘God, be merciful to me, a sinner!’”
This tax collector’s prayer is part of the “Jesus Prayer.” The Jesus Prayer is more familiar in Eastern Christian traditions—an ancient prayer, perhaps arising from the Desert Fathers. The prayer is this: “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.” The idea is to repeat this prayer over and over, first with our lips, then with our minds, then with our hearts. It is believed that, repeated hundreds of times over the course of the day, this prayer opens our hearts that we might live into the teaching of the Apostle Paul to “pray without ceasing.”[2] I invite you so say this prayer a couple of times with me now: “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.”
Ironic, isn’t it, that it’s the tax collector who shows us how to pray?
Every time I read this story, I think back to the morning when I got word that my dear friend (I’ll call her Joan) lost her 13-year-old son to suicide. As soon as I heard, I rushed to her house to be with her and her husband (I’ll call him John)—to “sit shiva” as our Jewish friends call it. Before too long, my friend’s pastor showed up with a couple of his associate pastors (kind of like an entourage). He was a quite well-known pastor of a “big steeple” church. He wore a coat and tie, his hair perfectly coiffed, and he carried a large Bible. When he walked into my friend’s home, he took up all the air in the room—you know what I mean by that, right? His words were appropriate. His prayer was nice, perhaps a bit rehearsed. But when the big-steeple pastor left the home, the space felt emptier than when he entered. Little comfort was given, but I suppose the pastor could put the visit on his report to the Deacons. Sometime later, another person showed up. It was a friend of John’s from his Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. The friend came in quite disheveled. He rushed to embrace John and wept bitter tears of sorrow with his grieving friend. He didn’t have the right words. He didn’t utter a beautiful prayer. He simply held his friend—two men unafraid of their tears—undaunted by their display of affection.
Who best demonstrated the love of God? The pastor with his polished perfection? Or the guy in recovery, raw and void of pretense?
I left my grieving friend’s home that day wishing that church could be more like Alcoholics Anonymous.
When I say that I’m a rightoholic, I offer that phrase with the utmost respect for those who find the courage to go to AA and other recovery groups. Admitting the need for help, mustering the courage to go to that first meeting, requires the kind of humility Jesus lauds in the story he tells his smug listeners.
And to my fellow rightoholics in the room, let me ask a question: isn’t it exhausting, being right all the time?
Last year, a similar question resonated with the world. Lady Gaga wrote a song that won the Academy Award for Best Original Song. Here are some of the lyrics:
Tell me somethin’ girl
Are you happy in this modern world?
Or do you need more?
Is there somethin’ else you’re searchin’ for?
Tell me somethin’ boy
Aren’t you tired of tryin’ to fill that void?
Or do you need more?
Ain’t it hard keeping it so hard core?
We’re far from the shallow now . . .
Being right all the time requires a tremendous amount of energy. Fellow rightoholics, “Ain’t it hard keeping it so hard core?” Maybe there’s freedom in “daring to think we’re wrong.” Maybe there’s healing. Maybe there’s . . . love.
When we dare to think we’re wrong, we’ll find ourselves further and further away from the shallow, swimming deeper and deeper in God’s ocean . . . where rightness and wrongness fade away and we become one with each other and with all God’s creation.
Here’s my confession: my name is Rhonda, and I’m a rightoholic. It’s been zero days since I have been convinced of my “right-ness” and another’s “wrong-ness.” I’m here because I’m tired of the shallow. I’m tired of having to be right all the time. I’m here in this place, with you, because I want to do better. Do you?
[1] https://ethicsdaily.com/polarized-politics-in-us-fueled-by-negative-views-of-opposition/
[2] For more on the “Jesus Prayer”: https://www.orthodoxprayer.org/Jesus%20Prayer.html